Monday December 13, 2010/Potluck Poetry

http://jinglepoetry.blogspot.com/2010/12/poetry-potluck-hobbies-passions.html

The Madwoman in the Studio
It comes from the soul,
Down deep in the,
Who we are.
It constantly bubbles up,
Like a clear spring.
Always fresh and always new.

It is exciting,
We may have had it for years,
But it doesn't change,
We are changed.
Always fresh and always new.

It is what we want,
It is what we do,
It is who we are.
It constantly bubbles up,
Like a clear spring.

It is as unique as we are ourselves,
Like a finger print,
With it's individual whorls,
It is a precious part of our being,
And should be respected,
Never taken for granted.
Like a tired pack animal,
With it's ability to transport,
Us to another place,
It is the passion,
The magic of our lives.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________



Prompt: Dead man poem.

1. The Dead Artist and Art
The dead artist lost her way,
Thought art was dead too,
She had seen it all,
Thought art was boring,.
Paintings of people, places and things,
Paint thrown and dibbled,
All the ideas had been done.
Nothing new under the sun.

2. More About The Dead Artist and Art

The dead artist approached her canvas,
And said, "I will recreate this whole thing,"
Try as she might it didn't come out right,
She painted more people, places and things.
Until she opened her heart,
Her work was fraught,
With disappointment,

But once soul was engaged,
Her art was a new page.
And she did recreate the whole thing.