Living Galleries
by Odin Roark

Creation need not be confined to the artist,
for no one desires their imagination to be thought of
as a half empty existence,
when half full is possible.

Yet…

Facts suggest a wanton will to capture and preserve:
observation and experience worth manifesting,
rare emotion without manipulative agendas,
and intelligence void of self-righteousness.

Such indeed in the plight of man’s endangered expressions.

Titan-strength rhetoric is not the answer.
Honest tear-drenched sentiment not the need.
Scholastic excellence not a necessity.
Abstract brush strokes and dissonant sound not required.

What is needed is a renewed creative purpose,
the kind used to arrest,
upset,
bring forth reality,
engender healthy fantasy,
underscore everyday lessons,
and offer frequent laughter.

Unfortunately…

Astride such worthy aspirations,
rides the abuse of imagination’s grudge match,
a stampede of once bridled exchanges,
now but the morphed and deranged mindset
of junkyard dogs knowing only to bite,
often bearing their twittisized fangs of 140 character impact
for a moments rush,
some even icing their frustration-cakes with rabid video-contagions,
maybe some Garage Band noise masquerading as colorful sprinkles,
but all an expression of “Celebrate me. I’m more important than you.”

“Really? Can you explain?”

Sadly, the usual answer results in nothing for the serious to embrace,
arousing instead the need to fend off more bloodletting attacks,
a mongering aggression designed to demonize innocence.

Some ask why this travesty of humanness,
this avoidance to express empowerment,
this ignoring of childlike honesty
innate to man’s heart and mind,
where once the knowing,
the curious,
the willing,
welcomed discovery,
shared the enlightenment,
and then…

But dream we must,
for everyone’s inner bells to ring freely again,
yesterday’s doors made to swing open once more,
blackboards given fresh chalk to rekindle
the boundaries and goals so important
to work in progress,
to once again encapsulate the resonance
as tomorrow’s infinite possibilities,
to mirror the yin and yang of love,
as just the simple essence of being human.

If only...

But Washington is only about running-for-office half empty,
not about creating a half full trust for all to enjoy.

Such continues the galleries of possibility,
empty of canvasses worth framing.