Thursday, February 5, 2015

February 5, 2015 The Sunday Whirl/The Days of the Artist

The Days of the Artist

the measure of an artist                       is not judged by the number of his patrons

it is not a race                       unless we are talking about the race from birth to death

the amount of snow that has fallen              is measured in inches

she measures herself              knows who she is                 yet keeps her humility

the clock is ticking                                     the days are numbered         a limited few

there is no rescue                             for the small creature running on the wheel

minutes ticking                       the hands spin on the face of the clock

the pages of the calendar                    are flipped by a terrible wind          a hurricane

yet she must spend long hours            at hard labor       or hard hours          at long labor

there are no shortcuts                          she is in a constant state of creation

she hosts her muse                  an honored guest               her day will come soon enough

the sun will not shine              a cloud will spread over the sky       the hour will always be 


February 4, 2015


Sherry Blue Sky said...

Oh this really hits my heart, Annell....the small creature running on the wheel, the calendar page flipped by a terrible wind, the long hours of hard labor or hard hours of long is what we are called to do, gives us purpose and fulfilment. I seriously love this poem.

Debi Swim said...

"she hosts her muse an honored guest her day will come soon enough"
You always write from a deep, sensitive place inside. This is wonderful and touching and what I feel as well.

Jae Rose said...

I am glad she has these days...labouring...hard work and yet i hope so very fulfilling...a safe place to be herself and share with others..most especially your muse xo