THE ARTIST (POEM)

never good enough
this picture, the last picture
the next picture

an internal struggle between my unspoken self and
the bountious beauty of life, longing to preserve the petal
to immortalise those steady wave patterns on Holywood’s shoreline

the touch of her hair on a frosty January morning
all soft and fluid and flowing

AND

I SO want to preserve our love
that singing Starling and I

in music, on canvas, in words
to enthrall those who are still to come with
tales of long, late nights
mornings filled with laughter
filled with revealed emotional truths

many tears

to become closer
glued together with the truth

to pull life’s luminescent innards out through it’s ever pleading mouth
and chew and spit those divine entrails onto the heavens

to outshine the shining stars with a brush

to outgrow the viridian, unfurling fern filled forests

*

I sit down at the piano
children shouting and pulling
and focus inwards

what gift can I give to her today?

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