Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Tags
#poemsaboutart
She invited me into her palace of art, Where everything signified something else. She wore a silvery gown, Covered with a million miniature mirrors. I was badly dressed. “Beautiful lady, be my love and heal my soul. My life is fragments. Make me whole.” “I made this place to stand apart, A window to a world purer, deeply felt. Everything here is for you but my heart. Don’t get the idea that it’s going to melt Later on.”  Music played. Nirvana. Or maybe it was “Deacon Blues.” Twisted letters carved On doorknobs offered clues To someone else’s mystery. “Then be my muse, Teach me the language of clouds The coded words on the ceiling’s vault.” A digital river flowed beneath A winding stair down to an analog sea. I asked “Are these ‘caverns measureless to man’?” “Yes,” she said, “But not to woman.” I wandered through room after room, One printed, one painted, one sculpted, one Paneled with friezes like the blazing tomb Of an epic queen deified by the sun. I saw a near-empty room with a single chair. The light defined its form, its form escaping into light. “Is this real or a photo?” “Yes,” she serenely replied. I came to two doors.  One said Discipline, One Desire. “How can I possibly choose?” “They lead to the same place,” she said. What was real and what wasn’t flowed together “You’re starting to figure it out.” The innocence of a woman’s arched back, And the wisdom of children.   The solitude of a lonely pier. I knelt and I thanked her “Was all this for me?” “I made this to give away. Not just for you. What have you learned?  Let’s review. “Art is a shield Against falling glass. Art healed My divided mind, which used to devour Itself, giving away its power. Art is hunger, a piercing lack. Art is a ride on a gull’s back. Art is a dodge, the as of the mirror. Art destroys, callous clearer Of old order.  Art is a dance, a surrender to chance. Art is not all seduction and fire Or tethered to your desire (Except when it is).   Beyond the dazzle of you and me, Art is a failing light for learning how to see.” I said “Now I understand less than before.” “Then you’re ready.   Imagine starry ways beyond these walls. Use an innocent eye.   Confusion calls.” I never saw her again. But it was enough to start small.   She tempted me like an empty page. From this immense vacuum, I write.
0
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 1:50 PM UTC
david-adamson
In the Palace of Art
She invited me into her palace of art, Where everything signified something else. She wore a silvery gown, Covered with a million miniature mirrors. I was badly dressed. “Beautiful lady, be my love and heal my soul. My life is fragments. Make me whole.” “I made this place to stand apart, A window to a world purer, deeply felt. Everything here is for you but my heart. Don’t get the idea that it’s going to melt Later on.”  Music played. Nirvana. Or maybe it was “Deacon Blues.” Twisted letters carved On doorknobs offered clues To someone else’s mystery. “Then be my muse, Teach me the language of clouds The coded words on the ceiling’s vault.” A digital river flowed beneath A winding stair down to an analog sea. I asked “Are these ‘caverns measureless to man’?” “Yes,” she said, “But not to woman.” I wandered through room after room, One printed, one painted, one sculpted, one Paneled with friezes like the blazing tomb Of an epic queen deified by the sun. I saw a near-empty room with a single chair. The light defined its form, its form escaping into light. “Is this real or a photo?” “Yes,” she serenely replied. I came to two doors.  One said Discipline, One Desire. “How can I possibly choose?” “They lead to the same place,” she said. What was real and what wasn’t flowed together “You’re starting to figure it out.” The innocence of a woman’s arched back, And the wisdom of children.   The solitude of a lonely pier. I knelt and I thanked her “Was all this for me?” “I made this to give away. Not just for you. What have you learned?  Let’s review. “Art is a shield Against falling glass. Art healed My divided mind, which used to devour Itself, giving away its power. Art is hunger, a piercing lack. Art is a ride on a gull’s back. Art is a dodge, the as of the mirror. Art destroys, callous clearer Of old order.  Art is a dance, a surrender to chance. Art is not all seduction and fire Or tethered to your desire (Except when it is).   Beyond the dazzle of you and me, Art is a failing light for learning how to see.” I said “Now I understand less than before.” “Then you’re ready.   Imagine starry ways beyond these walls. Use an innocent eye.   Confusion calls.” I never saw her again. But it was enough to start small.   She tempted me like an empty page. From this immense vacuum, I write.
Continue reading...
70