- Non-Erotic Poetry
- I’m No Van Gogh
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These were supposed to be the hands of an artist,
splotches of paint clinging to the wrinkles
around the knuckles.
The little hairs rigid with passion,
linseed oil glistening under the nails
as horsehair caresses canvas.
Rhythmic
daub
daub
daub
(The clock ticks upon the wall).
Metronome
daub
daub
daub.
These are never to be the hands of an artist
clinging to paint splotches,
knuckles wrinkled and passions
glistening like nails under linseed.
Horsehair daubs canvas with empty caress.
Rhythm less daub and daubing,
the clock ticking and slipping time,
marking endless daubs
in metronome counts.
(One more lost dream).
- COMMENTS
twelveooneover 19 years agohope not,
heh, heh
but you are a triple threat
funny, rhythmic, and you know how to sling words around
if not paint
LilDarlinover 19 years agoPlaying with words is wonderful. Deep poem an yet so light..Loved it~~!!
Maria2394over 19 years agoa Van Gogh, maybe his ear? that is how I have recently thought of myself, at least lately, the cast off, the offering. I really enjoyed this poem JD, it is deep, rich and slightly cynically funny. :)
