Words like birds fly over my head.
The dense fog which is my brain
cannot comprehend the language of
the cosmos.
Bright star-given expressions flow
and pour out through brilliant poets.
Mythological references
abandon me.
The gods laugh at my ignorance.
Only one preferred poet from
centuries past, soothes and strokes
me with his words.
I am not an observer of masters
of the written word.
My muse is paint and pigment and
one hundred forty pound paper.
But my fingers are stiff from
forty five years of holding a
brush. My neck is tired from
leaning for hours on end.
My passionate love is becoming
a closed chapter.
My poetry emerges as a painting.
It comes from art and life.
My words are from me, but no
study or reference lies behind them.
I feel the weight of empty bricks
on my head. I feel the heavy
heart of no value.
Why am I here?
I know these feelings - I'm an "untrained" poet, feeling my way. I daresay if you look again you'll see you feel a quiet certainty that you are here to live from your heart. Trust that heart to give you the words that can speak far more eloquently than those flowing from a lifetime of study.
You and I are soooo in the same stable, Janet... but we've got to learn to HEAR and SEE ourselves as others see us - and just LISTEN to what is being said below: YOU ARE AMAZNGLY AND CREATIVELY GIFTED and your voice, whether it be in pictures or words, is a jewel without which each one of us would be all the poorer. YOU ARE HERE BECAUSE THERE IS A PLAN AND A PURPOSE FOR YOU, FOR THE BEAUTY OF WHO YOU ARE, and because there are things on this earth that can only come from YOU. I am constantly being told at college that I manifest gross insecurity in my work and constantly do myself down: Yeah, of course! That has been my experience all my life, so what do you expect - especially, like you say you are, I am hopelessly ill-read and ignorant in an environment of academic excellence! But hey! We are where we are because of WHO we are - and if people say we're good, believe me WE ARE GOOD!! Irrespective of what we think about ourselves. Sorry to put my bossy hat on so early on a Friday morning - but I feel passionately about this because I feel you are my mirror-image talking right back to me - so believe me, I am giving myself a good talking to here, too!! I know you will take this in the spirit of friendship and encouragement with which it is meant, Janet, and know that I don't mean to sound heavy-handed. But these things go soooo deep - I don't think it is any coincidence that I nearly lost my life through contracting an immune-system disorder which was basically my own body turning against itself! This poor self-esteem has filtered into the very deepest parts of me - and I want you to know that there are probably MANY of us who feel this way. Sorry, I've taken up FAR too much space, but... GOOOD WORK AND JUST YOU LET OUT YOUR BEAUTY AND WISDOM EVERY WHICH WAY! LOLOL xxxxxx Kate ... and I couldn't be more passionate and sincere about all of this - I think you know that.
Janet your words are indeed a beautiful painting, first with a light wash, a little scumbling and then with the softness of a sable, you blend the edges into a masterpiece. I really enjoyed this write.
I recently wrote something called 'Searching for meaning' that expresses this same message but in a different way. Yours is unique and a vivid portrait of an artist searching for meaning. You are compelled to write because that is how you express. As tired as you may feel, you will continue to do so. I wish I could reach out and offer you a hug right now. It sounds like you could use one.
With love
Chanti
Reviewed by Judy Lloyd (Reader)
Reviewed on December 2, 2004
Well because someone has to write the words of the images that only you see and can say.
Oh Janet! Your mastery with poetry is as brilliant as your mastery of the use of color with your brushes on canvas. Don't ever doubt that for one minute. This poem is true art.
oh I get this janet lol ty!
I used to be a silversmith......quit doe to asthma....now I poem for
creative outlet.....
it's like a fever......the process has to burn........
but its fun, huh?
:)
Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader)
Reviewed on December 2, 2004
Ah, Janet, where I, and others from Kudzu have remained about the same, your zeal for your poetry and the poetry itself, have matured ten-fold. You do things with words these days that astound me. Take this poem, for instance . . .
Janet you are a born poet! Anyone who can write like this my friend, has innate talent. don't question it, just use it!;-) I love your wisdom and your writing!
Reviewed by La Belle Rouge (Reader)
Reviewed on December 2, 2004
I have come to realize that sometimes when we feel the most useless is when we are just about ready to shine. Heart touching poem, Janet.
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Ron
Art in all it forms is an excellent way to leave the world with a wonderful part of yourself.
Joy and starlight
Allen
With love
Chanti
I used to be a silversmith......quit doe to asthma....now I poem for
creative outlet.....
it's like a fever......the process has to burn........
but its fun, huh?
:)