Love, composer of many a tune
Frolicking heights to sickening noon
And I have painted them all...
First the reign of that damned Bethany
Untill an angagement with a noose stole her from me;
Wild my soul fled into the shattered snow
Questioning the game of fate, who's rules I can never know.
Creeping forth from the mist departing,
The maiden Chantelle was the next chapter to bloom;
Once winter had told me, it's heart was with her
So I left them in twilight to romance's myrrh.
If you were to ask how long I stared
upon the fields of easles pervading the air.
answer you I could not, For I know only this
Obsession came flying through madness's bliss.
They hang on the walls
Every corner never lonely,
Each beauty's smiles dress the nights halls.
Some grieve like Penelopy in a shower of sodomy.
Madman to a poet, insane to their lord.
On canvas they can never leave, ever!
Though paintings can always bleed away...
Comments
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this is artistic
I think the need to be artistic can express in many forms, like poetry, art or acting and you do it so well. This poem is magnificent and shows great insight.
You have used many poetic devices. I am interested in Penelope because it is unusual to see it as Penelopy, but that gives assonance with 'sodomy,' so it really fits well. Maybe that is another way to spell it anyhow.
I have read this several times and shall come back to read it again because there is too much in it for me to absorb in one sitting.
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Oh forgot to mention the reason why the last paragraph in "the artist" doesn't rhym is because i wanted to show his frustration and obsession at it's height, i'm not sure if you noticed that Chantelle made an appearance from one of my previous works, showing the winter the season itslef was actually the one in love with Chantelle hopefully it came through in that poem
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Poets have the heart of an artist as you have so well demostrated with your words. This is a good write, but I feel it is a bit less than great, just very good.
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It is writing like this that reminds me of why I love to write. Your words are like paint upon the canvas; such a perfect title you choose. Great writing.
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I wonder what it is that makes a poet different than an artist. We both create vivid imagery that's meant to move the masses. Perhaps it a different kind of madness that drives us to write rather than draw our emotions.
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