Inspiration often manifests itself
in a female form
poetry, prose, pretty girls
igniting creativity.
7th grade
heart smitten
hand clenched
scrawling, attempting
to formulate the essence
of the oak tree where we met.
Charcoal pencil
cardstock paper
smudged hands
furrowed brow
stealing glances at her face
(call it "motivation")
increasing heartbeat
blood flowing to my
fingertips
through the wood and onto paper.
It's cyclical...
tree trunk felled
for pencil and paper, reincarnated
as an oak
in a marriage of the two.
Wood reformulated,
oak leaves reaching to the sun--
the glowing aura of her.
The oak tree picture
its likeness
and she--
all left behind
in time
distance
memory.
Years later, I feel it again:
the siren song of a muse.
But long abandoned charcoal,
cardstock paper gone.
Now,
I am a painter
I decorate my canvases with words
of you, for you
the one who makes
my fingertips prolific
they fumble
searching for the path
to a Masterpiece.
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 12:43 PM UTC
Inspiration often manifests itself
in a female form
poetry, prose, pretty girls
igniting creativity.
7th grade
heart smitten
hand clenched
scrawling, attempting
to formulate the essence
of the oak tree where we met.
Charcoal pencil
cardstock paper
smudged hands
furrowed brow
stealing glances at her face
(call it "motivation")
increasing heartbeat
blood flowing to my
fingertips
through the wood and onto paper.
It's cyclical...
tree trunk felled
for pencil and paper, reincarnated
as an oak
in a marriage of the two.
Wood reformulated,
oak leaves reaching to the sun--
the glowing aura of her.
The oak tree picture
its likeness
and she--
all left behind
in time
distance
memory.
Years later, I feel it again:
the siren song of a muse.
But long abandoned charcoal,
cardstock paper gone.
Now,
I am a painter
I decorate my canvases with words
of you, for you
the one who makes
my fingertips prolific
they fumble
searching for the path
to a Masterpiece.
This is a story of then and now, two different people, obviously. Pardon the length; I hope it doesn't deter you from reading. =)
I read once somewhere that a study asked men to draw a picture in the presence of an attractive woman, and their art was far superior to a control group. Not nonsensical, but intriguing.
Request permission to use this poem