Constant movement of brush, of hand,
to create over and over
as if grief would never get itself down
in thick enough paint or hard enough clay
to etch your face, your name,
my heart upon, after cremation,
prior to filling what there is left of us.
You move my heart and settle it on paper
as if silent figure took my wrist
and tapped each finger until I wrote him
in another pathetic poem.
Give way, my lover, let go of my creativity
so I might paint happy pictures,
write pretty poems with a mind of their own,
not yours that fills palette with only your hues
and tones of every color we ever shared.
I am tired of sad grays and blacks and whites
with no splash of yellow joy nor pink passion.
This mud is not pliable enough to change you
to one who bends on knee and begs forgiveness
for fiddling with my frailty when I am busy
borrowing other people’s ecstatic red
to simply bear to do my art at all.
If you let go, would I ever do any art again?
Would I know how to feel, and therefore have words,
phrases, poems in living swatches
to wrap us up in masterpieces of memory’s tapestry
before brutal burning it will take to have you gone;
scattered across old canvases stuffed in old attics,
carried on new winds, and mute so you bother
My Muse no more?
Author notes
How long does it take before the hand that let go, lets go of one's heart, spirit and Muse?
In a list
- My Favorite AP Poets • next in list
- Silver Poetry • next in list
- Writing About Writing • next in list
A contest entry
- Sensory Imprinting.... developing metaphors in poetry writing by Melodies.
475 points, ended June 11, 2007, 11 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 10 of 10
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Truly quite the poignant word painting of one who is torn between honoring memories and making new ones. Your inner dialogue is actually very touching in the sincere and pleading manner of its request. This was really a marvelous extended metaphor and a pleasure to read and ponder. Best of luck in the contest.
David Michaels
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ty David. I struggle cosntantly with wanting to let go, but fearing it... I appreciate yoru stop by to comment.
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Very sad,but very good.I hope whatever youre going through that the sun comes out again in your little piece of the world and dries up your tears.Good luck in the contest and I hope every thing turns out just fine.
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truly, I am a happy person...I have this shadow in a part of my heart, that seems to like the darkness and once in a while it reminds me of what I lost and so I honor that.
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Sad but beautifully tender as well
Here's somethin that might cheer ya up..!1
Bro and I ( mainly brother ;o) are workin with a lady from Conneticut that wrote the original concept of Barney!! LoL I know..everyone hates Barney. lol
BUT she's writing a book based on the Unicorn Sonata that called at this point "Indigo Moon" about a gifted little girl who is a musician by calling,
Heck of an inspirational story full of light and healing...
Will
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I lvoe Barneyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy....raised my little kids on him. I lub you, you lub me, we're a happy familyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy...."
It sounds wonderful if it has the say inspiration and good themes. Let me know when and how to find it....I have grandchildren that would love it.
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"You move my heart and settle it on paper
as if silent figure took my wrist
and tapped each finger until I wrote him
in another pathetic poem."
Sighhh...They are not pathetic, my Sister. They're hauntingly beautiful. Would you do your art again, without his memory casting shadows upon the page??? Yes. You would. You will. I'm sorry you're grieving so much, so hard, right now, Sweetie. As Nic says, keep writing towards the light...Until then, I'll light candles for you to help you find your way...Good luck in the contest, my Friend. 
Wanda
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Youa re ther dearest friend. When I write these...I always know, Wanda will know.
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An attic studio!! I see it now!!
Music is playing in the background as sunlight streams in through three dormer windows. The music is by Bach and is quiet, but dramatic. The air is scented with lemon and also oatmeal cookies. This poem dances seductively through the room, streaming ribbons of all colors!
It feels like plunging one's hand into a bowl of warm, fragrant popcorn! This is an affectionate poem, loving, but sometimes sad. 
I love you, poem!
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aw...ty, and ty for the silver.
There is drum music in the background. Sister squirrel and family come to watch. The woodpecker mother is teaching her babies to land ont he bird feeder ( such antics)I am out under the arbor creating loons out of gourds and scultping clay flowers. How did you know about the popcorn??? *smile* And, I always have a smudge-frie going in the firepit to ward off those little I-am-gong-to-bite you" noseeums. *smile* and contemplates the day of making singing hoops today.
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