Friday, April 13, 2018


It is a weekday
Nothing special
I enter the museum
Through the glass door
The air is cold on my skin
On the walls before me
The paintings are large
The colors so fresh
They could have been painted yesterday

I am suddenly reminded
I am seeing the work of dead people
Many died long ago
Their voices now silent
It is only through the works
They are held in memory
Like a fly in amber

Their paintings are visible
But not the artists who have died
Not even their bones are left on view
Yet they seem to be preserved
In the magic of oil paint

The paintings can make you angry
Or they can make you feel happy
The artists themselves seem to 
Come alive in the works
Step down from the walls
No longer dismissed to history

I whisper
I know you through your work
I hear your laughter
Today you return
Flesh and blood

April 13, 2018


I don’t mean to whine
Or seem ungrateful
My life is rich
Beyond expectation
A gift wrapped in colorful paper
An invitation to share a laugh
Toast the days 

The morning begins windy
The sky a forever grey
The wind chimes shiver
Play a wistful tune
…Otherwise silent

Low light
No shadows
It is the light found in between
In between heart beats
In between breaths
In between words
No longer whispered

The band around my chest
Chokes the breath from my lungs
More often than I like
Still I search the old trunk in the attic
For the exact words
To avoid misunderstanding
I look into your eyes

April 13, 2018


Cressida de Nova said...

Art really does speak to you. I remember sitting near a painting that moved me so much I stayed a long time there because I did not want to leave it. When I lived in London I use to visit the National Gallery often just to see a Titian which gave me a lot of comfort. I was lonely and I did not know anyone and it used to make me feel better.

Kim Russell said...

Your poem is so immediate, Annell, like a painting in the museum, I can picture is so clearly. 'The air is cold on my skin' makes it even more real. I love the way you invoke the ghosts of dead artists through their works, 'preserved / In the magic of oil paint'.

Sanaa Rizvi said...

"It is the light found in between in between heart beats in between breaths in between words no longer whispered".. this so beautifully evocative!💞

Anonymous said...

Beautiful Annell, both pieces. There is nothing to forgive,


gillena cox said...

Yes i know the feeling staring in art galleries. I remember on vacation in London visiting The Tate and was spellbound also at Madam Tussad's wax museum


Sherry Blue Sky said...

I love that artists - and poets - will be remembered through their work. In the second poem, i love most the description of the morning, and the quality of the light.

Ellecee said...

You describe feelings of being in the art gallery so well. I could feel myself there, and know I would wonder about the artists' spirits as well. I can relate to your ending as well.
" I whisper I know you through your work I hear your laughter Today you return Flesh and blood"

Rosemary Nissen-Wade said...

I love the deep thoughtfulness in these.

Sara McNulty said...

These poems are so filled with emotion, and the wonder of gazing into the artist's soul through his work.

Toni Spencer said...

The deep thougthfull of your lines. I especially liked the invoiking of the spirits of the artists. I felt myself there, looking with eyes so wide open.

Dan Julian said...

to me, the stroke of genius in the first poem is the coolness of the air in the museum
it really takes me there
and "The sky a forever grey" is masterful

Marianne said...

So many beautiful images in FORGIVE MY SORROWS SILENTLY. And I love the way you've linked each stanza with the next through your use of the words SILENTLY or SILENT.

Frank Hubeny said...

I like this description of their memory as "In the magic of oil paint".

Magaly Guerrero said...

The narrator of the quote and your speaker get along so well together, echo each other's song--while her art survives, the artist lives on.

Anonymous said...

Silently we live through our sorrows. It's so true, Annell.
Nice write.


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