"masterpieces" poems
#*It's delight which flows without measure
from the assurance that through every circumstance
and detail of my life God is ever beckoning and drawing me
into deeper intimacy with Himself, ever whispering to my heart,
“Come closer still.”
Joy in the midst of devastating loss, crushing disappointment,
unbearable pain or scourging heartache is about the discovery of
treasure so precious and rare that it never could have been found
had we not been forced to walk a path of affliction in the desert.
It's in the isolation and brutality of the wild that we come to know Him
in ways that transcend the span of human imagining or desiring,
and all the songs and all the poems and all the masterpieces
taken together cannot capture an estimable description
of the pleasures that might be unearthed there.
There lies before us in our afflictions a vast and wondrous beauty
yet undisclosed behind the fog, and like a theatrical curtain
slowly pulled back to reveal a perfectly set stage
He will sublimely unveil it in His own directed time.
And we shall be elated at the view,
for it's against a backdrop of struggle and darkness
that the best and most moving of stories have always unfolded.
Maybe nothing truly beautiful can ever take form on earth
without the shroud of mystery and brokenness surrounding it—
at least not the kind of beauty that takes our breath away
and leaves us yearning to possess it.*#
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 10:54 PM UTC
Together they were the perfect team.
She was tired of perfection long before she met him. Constantly having to put up a successful front was exhausting, but her barrier of bravado was faltering.
It's hard to find imperfections in an idyllic world.
He didn't want to live in the life of his reputation anymore. The tornado that his life had become was beginning to ruin him and he wanted nothing more to find some quiet.
It's hard to find solace in the storm.
No longer did she want to create masterpieces; she wanted to wreak havoc. She had a taste of the life she wanted, but once you take the first few steps on the path of self-destruction, you cannot turn back. The whisper in the wind becomes seductive. Like a drug, she needed it. She made a U-turn, a complete diversion from the road that had been paved for her. She felt a rush from the change of direction, and fell in love with it. He was her change of direction.
It's hard to find fault in someone that provides the mess you've been searching for.
He wanted nothing more than some peace in his whirlwind of a life; maybe that's why he gravitated towards her. She gave him the comfort that he had desired for years. She made him feel as if the rollercoaster, designed as a downwards spiral, that he has been riding since birth was starting to calm down. She became the sense of calm in his brutal life.
It's impossible to reject something you have been seeking for years.
Together they were unstoppable. She lost herself in his chaos and she took it on herself. She was an angel who lost her way, blinded by desire for imperfection and love for a boy that finally made her feel again. He was a hurricane that found the solace in her that he has wanted for what felt like an eternity. He revelled in the peace she brought to his life and he loved her more than he could articulate.
She found her demon; she became a fallen angel, the devil reincarnate that took the chaos out of his life and put it into hers.
He found his angel; he became a quiet rainfall that gave his tornado to the girl that craved the destruction it created.
Together they were the perfect team.
Feb 27, 2018
Feb 27, 2018 at 3:42 PM UTC
Artists are often
broken people
using the fragments of themselves
to create something new
and although
being healed
feels so complete
sometimes i want to be broken again
sometimes i want open wounds
so i can use the blood
to paint sunsets
so i can use the torn off pieces of skin as a canvas
so i can carve
masterpieces with the jagged bones left behind
but I can't bring myself to break my own heart in the name of Art
Jul 17, 2018
Jul 17, 2018 at 7:59 PM UTC
*So many colors on nature’s palette
There are many moods and emotions
Picturesque gallery of many paintings
Forever framed in the travelers mind
Masterpieces cannot be recreated
If we only hold onto black and white
Immerse the soul in nature’s color
Many shades will color the spirit*
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 9:08 AM UTC
there's nothing like being young
and starving,
living in a roominghouse and
pretending to be a
writer
while other men are occupied
with their professions and
their possessions.
there's nothing like being
young and
starving,
listening to Brahms,
your belly sucked-in,
nary an ounce of
fat,
stretched out on the bed
in the dark,
smoking a rolled
cigarette
and working on the
last bottle of
wine,
the sheets of your
writing strewn across the
floor.
you have walked on and across
them,
your masterpieces, and
either
they'll be read in
hell,
or perhaps
gnawed at by the
curious
mice.
Brahms is the only
friend you have,
the only friend you
want,
him and the wine
bottle,
as you realize that
you will never
be a citizen of the
world,
and if you
live to be very
old
you still will never
be a citizen of the
world.
the wine and
Brahms mix well as
you watch the
lights
move across the
ceiling,
courtesy of
passing
automobiles.
soon you'll sleep
and
tomorrow there
certainly
will be
more
masterpieces.
14.4k
I know...
I am not one of the pages of your book
or the words in your poem
But...
I will tirelessly watch over you from every nook.
I know I am your never
but you will forever be my always...
I know...
I am not the potrait you are painting
or the inspiration behind your masterpieces
But...
in my heart , it is your name I am engraving.
I know I am your never
but you will forever be my always...
I know...
I am not the reason for your smiles
or the tickles of your laughter
But...
for you, I would walk a thousand miles.
I know I am your never
but you will forever be my always...
I know...
I am not your shining star
or the light in your life
But...
till forever is through, I'll admire you from afar.
I know I am your never
but you will forever be my always...
I know...
I am not the one your heart beats for
or the one you desire
But...
my hearts says as long as it brings you happiness,
it wants nothing more.
I know I am your never
but you will forever be my always...
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 10:49 AM UTC
running
deliquescing into nature
i am engulfed in stillness
i encounter a deer as i round a corner
its chestnut eyes intensely sense
something wild within me
transfixed
we meld palpably
whispering our essence
myopic views warp into acute focus
golden flowers stretch and arch
and yawning into the sun
swell with bursts of luster
whilst violets polka dot the path
with lilac luminescence
dead tree trunks
mutating into masterpieces
yearn for new life
drawing in the squirrels
yellow-bellied birds
hover
sensing my motions
whilst woodland winds undulate
pine scented waves of sea salt oceans
my ears enchantingly enhanced
by bristling leaves caressing trees
as scintillating amber butterflies
dance in synch
with the clock tower’s
ancient chiming
a gust of wind
catches a patch of sand
and sends it quivering
fusing high in summer air
then falling soft as feathers
hidden fairies prance about
answering unheard questions
problems dissolve in emerald meadows
without a hint of striving
essays write themselves
upon my mind
poetry flows through me
wings of meadowlarks
trace my face with nuances
interlaced with connotations
rushing home
i write it down
then bowing i take credit
for what was etched upon my soul
by a sunbeam in the forest
©2016janetaylor
May 25, 2016
May 25, 2016 at 10:09 PM UTC
I wandered slowly
Through sidewalk cracks and broken pavements
Finding my own piece of Gethsemane
So that people would know I exist
I was a ghost
To eyes that didn't even care to look
A boring book
To minds that didn't even bother to read
A blank canvas
To those who didn't even try to understand
That I was somebody
All of them only saw me as an empty bottle
Not knowing I just want to be filled with silence
Because silence is a beautiful symphony
And I am the conductor
I am a human being capable of owning a soul and
Live through a thousand lifetimes
I was never the boring book
In fact, I am the author
Writing my own story on Life's pages
I am an artist
A dreamer who can create masterpieces even on
A blank canvas such as myself
But most of all, I am an introvert
A carapace even I consider a home
Because it makes me who I am and
Not because of what you say I am
May 27, 2015
May 27, 2015 at 8:04 AM UTC
#*Joy in the midst of devastating loss, crushing disappointment,
unbearable pain or scourging heartache is about the discovery of
treasure so precious and rare that it never could have been found
had we not been forced to walk a path of affliction in the desert.
It's in the isolation and brutality of the wild that we come to know Him
in ways that transcend the span of human imagining or desiring,
and all the songs and all the poems and all the masterpieces
taken together cannot capture an estimable description
of the pleasures that might be unearthed there.*#
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 1:13 AM UTC
Take me to an art museum on our first date
Snip pictures of me next to the masterpieces and when im hungry buy me a veggie burger and strawberry smoothie
Compliment my kinks when I take out my braids tell me on gorgeous even on
those ****** days ".
Support my dream to strut the runway but dont force me to go to church on Sunday
Love me for who i am
Is all I ask
Effort will take you a long way
Once you complete this task
Sep 9, 2015
Sep 9, 2015 at 9:49 PM UTC
***** I'm dreaming*2),..nigga I'm believing,.. I'm chasing hope & faith mane..I'm chasing my dreams, ***** I'm believing, I'm chasing (my goals & aspirations2)..nigga I'm believing,nigga I'm dreaming (Yeah2)..(nigga I'm dreaming*2)
Dreaming..nigga I'm believing, ***** I'm dreaming.. Dreaming..I'm (having hope & faith2)..nigga I'm believing.., (I'm having hope & faith2)..nigga I'm dreaming, ***** I'm believing, (I'm having hope & faith2)..Yeah..(nigga I'm dreaming2)..Nigga I'm believing, Im (dreaming2)..I'm chasing hope mane,..(I'm chasing my goals & aspirations2)//nigga I'm dreaming, ***** I'm believing, I'm chasing (my goals & aspirations2)..Aye..(I'm dreaming3)..dreaming, ***** I'm believing , I'm chasing (my goals & aspirations*3)..(nigga I'm dreaming, my ***** I'm believing*2)..(I'm chasing hope & faith *2)..mane,
I ain't chasing after fame, I ain't chasing none of these hos either,..(nigga I'm dreaming2)..nigga I'm believing,..I'm dreaming, I'm chasing (my goals & aspirations3)..nigga, I'm believing, ***** I'm dreaming, ***** (I'm believing2)..(Im dreaming3)..dreaming..,aye..I'm chasing, (my goals & aspirations*3)..
Goals & Aspirations.. Aye
That's what I'm chasing after like a hungry cheetah, I never been a cheater, ***** Imma believer, a true believer, a King Yeah..Aye, I'm chasing my goals & aspirations, &( I'm speeding*2) like,fuck the laws I'm going past the speed limit, **** a stop sign, no braking, I'm in drive ***** Its so hard being patient, but I'm tryna be Aye, no time waiting , no time waisting, none of my days being wasted..Im so wavey..Aye, Yeah I'm getting so faded, so wasted, Lord please forgive me even , tho I smoke alot of **** on a regular basis, that's (my medication2)..& I need it, it helps me from going (crazy2)..,I ain't never had **** partner, I come from nothing, I ain't had alot of money at a point of time in my life , I was so broke my ***** all I ever had was my goals , dreams, & aspirations, Yeah I was dreaming, & believing, I was chasing after hope & faith.., not after no females mane,Aye..
Nobody can't tell me nothing paparazzi better stay away from my face, aye I ain't on that Kanye West **** I ain't selling my soul for a happy meal ***** In happy all ready, God owns me, So I'm investing in my own worth homie, Yeah..I'm building my on corporation..Aye man..
***** I'm dreaming*2),..nigga I'm believing,.. I'm chasing hope & faith mane..I'm chasing my dreams, ***** I'm believing, I'm chasing (my goals & aspirations2)..nigga I'm believing,nigga I'm dreaming (Yeah2)..(nigga I'm dreaming*2)
Dreaming..
I ain't chasing after fame, I ain't chasing none of these hos either,..(nigga I'm dreaming2)..nigga I'm believing,..I'm dreaming, I'm chasing (my goals & aspirations3)..nigga
Uhh,Yeah
/This is (only for the Real3)..if you don't know well then now you know nigga/3,..
Aye, if you don't know ***** then pull a chair up & listen, Turn this **** up & listen, Blaze one up, (& listen2), pay attention..This is (Only For The Real2)..Aye
I'm teaching ****** lessons like a teacher ***** I didn't have to go to college to teach ***** but that doesn't mean I can't teach you ***** I was blessed wit this gift from God, thank you so much Heavenly Father, thank you so much Jesus Christ, Ayo we all can learn something from each other, we all sisters & brothers word, Uhh..
Let's come together, let's stand up to this curropted government system, rise up & destroy them..Uhh, Aye I usta be all alone man, so lonely stuck in my room writing hits all day, I been a big factor my ***** man I always been the man, Yeah..Uhh, I ain't conceited either my ***** I'm just saying I'm confident,.. (Yeah nigga*2)..
I just been (chasing my dreams & aspirations2)..I write (masterpieces2) Pablo Picasso type of **** if you don't know well now you know this is (Only For The Real*2)..Aye,..
/Im chasing my goals & aspirations2..(my goals & aspirations2)/*2
(Aye, we all on*3..)..now..we all on..now
(Aye, we all on*3..)..now..we all on..now
/Aye it doesn't matter what anybody gotta say about ya, forget a doubter let them hate man, if you dream it see it in yo mind, & believe it, then you can achieve it/*2
**** right..my *****
if you dream it see it in yo mind, & believe it, then you can achieve it..for real dawg..Ayr
You can become anything that you want my ***** for real dawg, gotta push yo self, uplift yo self if nobody else will, chase after hope & faith, chase (your goals 2), chase (your dreams2) & your aspirations, don't ever stop ***** Cuhz, (anything you put your mind too you can achieve it,*2) Yeah mane, you can..Uhh
***** I'm dreaming, I'm chasing hope & faith, I'm chasing my goals & aspirations/*3
(Goals & aspirations*3)..aye
Dec 28, 2015
Dec 28, 2015 at 1:44 PM UTC
his writing caught everyone’s attention
like an artist i once saw on the street in québec
he stood out amongst the crowd in montréal
i asked to take his picture
he obliged
this writer is also canadian
and paints masterpieces
with words
his colorful lines sometimes float on jagged edges
brushes of sticky sugar coating are exchanged
for starker strokes of reality
tinged with weathered wisdom
creating shadows in his work
accentuating the light
there’s not a write of his
that does not stir emotions
his words linger
rolling around in your head
bumping into each other
morphing into new connotations
his easel alive
you wonder if he did that on purpose?
could anyone have that kind of talent?
yes…..his brush continues flowing
even after the paint is dry
suddenly at midnight i awaken
and hear another morsel
a word, a phrase, a color
that only made itself known
in the dark of night
understanding he's a favorite
i imagined audibly hearing a collective sigh
when he contracted cancer
would he now leave his canvas dry?
no, this courageous artist
bravely took his palette
and continued painting
his words that us awaken
now e’vn more radiant
with tragedy astride
and ‘tho he talks of dying
i pray that he will stay
but should his spirit fly
we have seen a master show us
how to walk into the light
©2016janetaylor
Jun 7, 2016
Jun 7, 2016 at 11:48 AM UTC
Dead fish do not move.
They lay there,
Dead.
Dead fish do not breathe,
They lay there,
Dead.
Dead fish do not speak.
They lay there,
Dead.
But the dead fish do wander.
They wander around fish heaven,
Or fish hell.
Dead fish's minds, lasting longer than their physical bodies do,
Explore crevices of the universe that people aren't even familiar with.
Well, at least not people from Earth.
Dead fish not only wander, but they do this thing that sounds like wander and is spelled like wander but is called "wonder."
Their minds forever wonder about things.
Like seaweed, ah the good ol' days of eating seaweed.
Or maybe dead fish wonder about what life is like now that they are gone.
They might wonder if it's raining, or if it's sunny.
But they're fish, so what the hell matters if it's raining or sunny?
You see, dead fish also do this thing.
It sounds much like wander and wonder but it's different.
The thing is "nothing."
Well, I assume "nothing" would sound like the words "wander" and "wonder" to a dead fish.
Considering dead fish can do nothing.
They just lay there,
Dead.
But we are not dead fish.
We are alive people, well at least some of us.
We can do things.
Like ride a rollercoaster, or eat a sandwich.
We can watch televisions shows probably longer than most other human beings can.
We can write poetry books that only five and a half people will read.
(One of those hits home for this author.)
We can go out and live lives livelier than those dead fish.
We can live for those dead fish.
We can wander and wonder and do nothing all at the same time.
We are all given life to live and lives to breathe life into.
Alive humans and dead fish.
At one point in time, we all have the opportunity to be someone who does something maybe even with somebody.
Alive humans and dead fish.
Dead humans and alive fish.
Alive humans and alive fish.
Dead human and dead fish.
Creatures have beautiful and blank canvases on which they can spill beautiful masterpieces on.
Or even blank masterpieces.
It just depends on who you're asking to paint you a picture.
An alive human, or a dead fish.
Both have some type of story to tell.
Aug 26, 2015
Aug 26, 2015 at 11:16 PM UTC
I am literate in daydreams
and letting my imagination rule my head
I am literate in music
where rationale can be abandoned.
I am literate in procrastination,
pushing away my mind-defying.
I am literate in heartbreak
which has been already over-endured.
I am literate in lazy weekends
spent with my sister and a remote.
I am literate in creating;
not masterpieces, but heart and soul pieces.
I am literate in ramen noodle and green tea afternoons
in sweatpants and sneakers with no makeup on.
I am literate in moment-capturing
and finding the right words to explain.
I am literate in thunderstorms
and dancing in between water droplets.
I am literate in heart confessions
over acoustic guitars and games of solitaire.
I am literate in wanting
and taking away from what I already have.
I am literate in wanderlust
and a wholehearted need to escape.
I am literate in color-coordination and clothing arranging
and bringing out all my best.
I am literate in kissing with desperation
and wanting to have it be effortless.
I am literate in wasting my time
in my head, in my heart, and in the clouds.
I am literate in everything mentioned
and so much that I can’t even say.
Apr 1, 2013
Apr 1, 2013 at 10:26 PM UTC
You are a flower
Blooming on a page
Drawing everyone near
With your sweet smell
And elegant glory
You are so beautiful
I long to pick you
To hold you in my hand
And breathe in your scent
And cherish you close
But I can only
Admire you
From afar
Hanging
Your masterpieces
On my wall
Feb 23, 2025
Feb 23, 2025 at 9:03 PM UTC
You are brief and frail and blue--
Little sisters, I am, too.
You are Heaven's masterpieces--
Little loves, the likeness ceases.
4.3k
Time is the eternal sculptor
Chiseling away through centuries
To create innovative masterpieces
Where many facets of life emerge
Bridging the past, present and future
Shaping the moments we dwell in
Where events are scheduled
To display the varied installations
Which cannot be replicated
Recorded in the chronicles of time
When our world will fade away
But time will be there till eternity
Relentlessly sculpting for the future
For, time brings change
And everything changes, except time itself
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 12:27 AM UTC
Her long fingers grasped
the midnight blue pigmented stick of oil,
pulling it across the sand coloured card
as if nothing else existed.
The way she focused on the piece of art
she was creating-a piece of art
much like herself,
was exhilarating.
On the card was variations of
shapes, colours and shades-
much like herself.
She wore a prominent frown when she drew,
shaking her head and muttering things to herself when she went outside the lines,
making her hair fall into the middle of her shoulder blades.
Just like her masterpiece, she was
made up of
shapes, colours and shades.
Eyes a large oval shape
her nose a triangular sculpture against her soft features.
The skin on her nose and against her cheeks were a darker shade of olive,
compared to the rest of her imperfect countenance.
Hair like black coffee cascading down her back,
merely reaching her frail waist.
A sense of nostalgia surrounded her small frame.
The masterpieces she creates show sentimental meanings,
hidden with oval shapes and midnight blue pigmented sticks of oil,
much like herself.
Apr 18, 2015
Apr 18, 2015 at 5:00 PM UTC
Often times I’m staring
Awing in the curves of full blooming lips
Carved jawbone covered with deepening dark moss
The journey through the damp forest after warm rain
It is all awake alive and breathing clearly
Rising and falling like the rare drops from deciduous leaves
I cannot tell you how inhuman you feel to me
Your skin darkens around your eyes from nights up
Long evenings too many and whiskey that never even made it to a cup
Sometimes I cannot break a gaze from the casement around your pupil
The pools of honey drip further toward me
My feet find it impossible to remove themselves
So much like quicksand but sweet calming and warm
Smooth and simplistic in youth the way skin drapes
Hangs over structured bones in the most phenomenal way
Just as your eyes are lavished in graham brown
You stay glowing even in the cold weather from blessed ancestry
Down to tender arteries and muscle where I’ve placed lips a thousand times
Shoulders swoop outwards like broad boulders
Distinguishable markers play connect the dots toward inked surfaced skin
Permanence of scarred lines forming a hot air balloon and anchor pulling it down
It’s from your favorite band, I’m noticing synapses collide on the concept
Elongated extended vines lead to tools that hold and create masterpieces
Strong slender hands with fingertips that press and pluck strings
Coat themselves with paint on late evening or early mornings
Tread lightly on my skin and illuminate my face with a coaxing touch
You are the rain forest from sunrise
My heart thumps to the sense of danger behind a corner
But I know such things and if they were to **** me,
I would be treasured in becoming a tall Kapok
With roots buried miles deep
Sep 19, 2015
Sep 19, 2015 at 11:33 AM UTC
We look upon each other
Drawing in the attraction
Wondering what’s beyond the skin
Inadequacy is sometimes found
Once we’ve pierced the heart within…
What if what makes us who we are
A total package if you prefer
Gives away our true kind
Decreasing the images’ worth
Creating a change of mind…
A peek inside the soul
Could be all we need to see
Sealing the fate of charm
A face that’s average to the eye
Has the heart to unravel and disarm…
If you look at all the masterpieces artists have created
Whether paint or pen, marble or clay,
Or perhaps the dust from the ground
We see many imperfections
But overall beauty may astound
Jun 4, 2015
Jun 4, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
It was 11 o'clock when they told me you were gone. 11 O'clock and I thought my dog had died or my dad's car had broken down or he lost his house maybe gotten sick and was in the hospital but it was at 11 o'clock that they told me you were gone. It's a feeling I'll never forget, one that I hope no one will have to encounter in their life. You were gone for a day before I knew. By a hand so familiar to you. A hand that had rubbed your stomach when it was upset trying to calm it, a hand that had made you soup when your nose was stuffed and sticky, a hand that created beautiful masterpieces no matter the canvas. You wrote a different kind of line, one with pink and purple and blue. They crossed and conjoined and streamlined across the world. You wrote a different kind of story. A story where you had it all together. A story where the main character never lost his smile even though he faced troubles unbeknownst to everyone. You painted a story of strength and virtue and people of all ages (young and old) hoped to be like you when they grew up. It was 11 o'clock and nothing could have prepared me for the news of your departure. All of the pain I've felt, all of the books I've read, news articles with similar stories, NOTHING could have prepared me for this one. Because this time the story was mine. Uncle Darrell, it was at 11 o'clock when they told me you left us. 11 o'clock is no longer a time I wish to be awake. 11 o'clock was on a Friday. I no longer like Friday's. At 11 o'clock I realized I hadn't been awarded the chance to see you one last time before it all came to a halt for you. At 11 O'clock I took in the fact that I will never see you again, nobody will. At 11 O'clock I found out I would not be making it to your wake. 11 O'clock has turned into both a time and a place since then. 11 O'clock is now a time when tears dare to fall from my eyes. 11 O'clock is now a place, it's a world without you in it. A place where people come to commemorate your life; where people come to celebrate the fact that someone as angelic as you once walked this earth. You were a blessing unto every person you have met and you will never be forgotten. I love you Uncle Darrell I hope that one day I will see you again.
Dec 3, 2015
Dec 3, 2015 at 7:22 AM UTC
i'll admit it
i'm just trying to score some prozac;
something to supplement the steroids
that never seemed to ease the pain.
my body never
tolerated
anything they gave me:
all their alcohol distraction,
all their **** carelessness,
all their acid lifestyle,
none of it.
as for ecstasy,
i never got the dosage right:
i've been offered ersatz masterpieces
and turned them all down,
so they sacrificed their snatches to other gods,
who happily and hungrily partook in the
appetizing, dangerous bounty for which there is no cure.
i was once appeased for my lust
and committed love crimes,
so i learned not take ecstasy
until i tried the steroids.
i'll admit it
i'm just a pair of eyes
in a white ocean
May 3, 2011
May 3, 2011 at 1:46 PM UTC
I've been collecting ear wax
Since the belly button lint dust fire went bad
I lost all my dignity in that fiasco
So ear wax is all that I have left
Believe you me, it's not easy
Coming up with another scheme
After burning the whole town down to the ground
To get a single soul to look or even listen to me
But that fateful day that I dug deep
And pulled a replica of the Eiffel Tower out of my ear
I knew that fame and fortune lay before me
My time had arrived, my time was here
Who should I call first over my artful discovery
The Post? The Enquirer? The Times?
No I would call The Museum Of Modern Art in NYC
For the Art World would soon be mine
I knew I had to ratchet it up a notch
One piece of ear wax art might be a fluke
So I got out my brush...the Q-tip
And removed a portrait of John Wayne AKA The Duke
Since I live in a hippie commune in the woods
Little furry creatures would always stop by
To gaze upon the artful process
Squirrels can be the best of critics...no lie!
Which gave me the idea with all the left over ear wax
I sculptured a mini-amusement park with mini-arcades
And charged the woodland creatures nuts and berries
Which helped feed the hippies with whom I stay
It wasn't long after that I received the letter
Stating that art had a need for me
I've become known as The Andy Warhol of The Art World
With abstract ear wax being my specialty
Now I go to all the major "Who Does"
Where everybody knows my name
As I create masterpieces right before their eyes
Just don't hold it to close to the flame
Who would have ever thought that ear wax
Would be the perfect medium
To jet propel this Simpleton
To Art World stardom and beyond
May 10, 2013
May 10, 2013 at 8:25 AM UTC