Entry: The Artist Friday, September 30, 2005



Scribble.
Yes, crooked lines.
Some more crooked lines.
A few words.
And some phrases, too.
Meaningless at first.

Dab.
For now, with just watercolor.
Cheap watercolor whose shades
change right before your eyes
and colors fade even before
you're done.
Some figures.
Abstract.

Step, point, step.
And mincing steps.
Observe the feet of your
meticulous instructor.
Endure the pain
of the stomping
of your sweating mate;
on your foot
and her verbal lashing
when you take your turn,
accidentally.

Resonate.
Exhaust your vocal cords
until the piece is over
and your trainor's
long list of sharps and flats
you did
extincts;
until you run out of breath.

As grains of sand
slip between your fingers,
a heap forms.
Gradually.
Ascending to a height.

Build your castle.




Ariel Lalisan

   2 comments

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ivy
March 24, 2009   02:17 AM PDT
 
i like this one!! nice poem po!!!!!! god bless!!!

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