Words of a painter about art, painting and other thoughts about life, death and things that get in the way. I began my blog 2010.
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Saturday April 9, 2011 NaPoWriMo Day #9
NaPoWriMo Day #9
This Day
It is early morning
The pink of passion
Fills the sky
The sun rises
Casts a rosy glow
As I view this coming day
I am reminded of a "jumble closet"
Where to start
What to do first
There is a lesson waiting for me
I must learn something new
So far I've given it only a glance
But it will require sincere study
I will begin a new drawing
As the one I was working on
Is now complete
Take a new piece of
Paper from the drawer
Begin the journey
The pencil will glide
Across the surface
And the texture
Will be made visible
At this point
Anything is possible
The drawing planned
Will be of a nest
Loaned to me from a friend
Found in New Jersey
Blown into the gutter
Retrieved in wonder
There is much to do
In the studio, but
I will have to go out today
And that means time wasted
There is never enough of it
To go around and
I hate to waste it in the car.
It will be a requirement
Of this day
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4 comments:
It's a beautiful sketch. And a lovely poem. I can absolutely relate to the day being like a "jumble closet"--story of my life. There never seems to be enough time, but somehow we manage to fulfill the requirements we set for "this day." How?
Annell, really like the idea of a twiggy bird nest compared to a "jumble closet". With an egg (life urge) waiting at its center. Your description of the drawing coming into reality, full of possibilities, makes this a poem of many layers, yet keeps that beating heart still at center. Wonderful work, all of it, my friend, all of it.
Elizabeth
I hear you about the car time when there is so much to do and to create. A bell of mindfulness, I think. I am trying to get my brain around the idea that the chores and the like are essential parts of the whole process and to embrace them.
Thank you for reading my book!
Your sketch is so very beautiful, so very delicate. And I love your words.
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