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Open Poetry #35

Painting With Pride

D.Lester Young
Senior Member

since 2001-12-08

Posts 1219
Austin, Tx

0 posted 2005-05-13 04:12 PM

Refreshing are the brushes of paint.
Weathered in the mind’s imagination.
Windy stokes gently waving on canvas
Contouring as if sand dunes on beaches,
Caressing serenity, rippled paint ‘n water.

Canvas of the creative artistic pride,
Moisture of oil colors drying solid.
From the heartbeats of its creator,
Creations of masterpieces of thought,
Singular visions of multiple personalities.

Addiction of the true artist’s love,
Enlightened drug of natural highs,
Emotions that storm into motion,
Settling upon picture frames of peace,
Tranquility designed on legs of easels.

Painters are a breed of their own design.
Thoroughbreds prancing in independence,
Observing living variety within textures,
Grains of true coloring singing treasures,
Capturing perfection, eternity of pleasures.

Note: To deny a painter a pencil, canvas, or to deny a poet a pen, paper is to deny them their hearts.

This poem came about when I glanced to a business card for a painter named Sandra Pride (Northport,AL), with the Pride, and the sand in Sandra, this poem was born. Yes, I am addicted to the dreams of my words.

D.Lester 05/13/05 ©
Terminated poet of Americas freedom of speech,
Somewhere in America not on company time,
Liberated in dreams for all American free spirited minds.

ThisDiamond
Member Rara Avis

since 2002-02-22

Posts 9353
Michigan, USA

1 posted 2005-05-15 07:46 PM

Glad this one didn't get missed.
What a wonderful serenade to the artist you have written.
I especially liked:

"Grains of true coloring singing treasures,
Capturing perfection, eternity of pleasures."

How relevent to our poetry, and to our artistic expression. Indeed, take away the medium as you would take away the very breath within us.

Well done.
TD

Nightshade

Member Patricius

since 2001-08-31

Posts 13962
just out of reach

2 posted 2005-05-15 11:15 PM

I believe TD said it all.
Keeping this in my library!
hugs, Chris

Poetry is an echo, asking a shadow to dance.
~Carl Sandburg

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