Thank you for your kind words and friendship; however, I must take a temporary leave of absence for several months to provide care and support to a friend, out of state.❤️
As an artist, my soul's decree,
Is rooted deep, profoundly free.
Before my hand can ever start,
To pour its passion, form its art,
A sacred threshold I must tend,
Where preparation has no end.
My very tools must speak to me,
A language felt, intuitively.
Each brush, each blade, each sliver, shard,
Must whisper tales, however hard
The silence seems. They hum and call,
Before my spirit stands up tall
And dares to shape, to cut, to gleam,
Or manifest a vibrant dream.
And then, the quest for rarity,
A singular discovery.
I scour realms, both seen, unseen,
For elements that stand serene,
Distinctly carved, uniquely born,
Beyond the common, never worn.
The most unique, the chosen few,
From which my wild designs accrue.
For only when these threads entwine,
The speaking tool, the rare design,
Can true creation take its flight,
And pour its form in purest light.
This union's breath, this silent pact,
Is how my artistry is tracked.
To find the voice, the hidden grace,
And then, with purpose, to design its place.
-
Author:
Friendship (
Offline) - Published: October 10th, 2025 10:03
- Comment from author about the poem: Growing up on the island as a child, we had a unique dump in our town where people would discard their old belongings and put them out for others to take, a true treasure trove of creativity. Well, one day I went to the dump with my dad, and it was as if the universe had unfolded its wonders before me as an artist. As an artist, my things need to resonate deeply with me, to speak directly to my soul. My dad used to always say, 'Thank God we didn't live that close to the dump for you to walk,' but little did he know that dump was a goldmine of inspiration. There, I stumbled upon a table overflowing with supplies to craft with, and for me as an artist, it was akin to discovering a long-lost treasure. My items have to whisper tales of beauty and wonder, and Lord behold, I found the most exquisite paintbrushes - they sang to me in perfect harmony. My dad tried to convince me that we could venture to the hardware store in town and acquire brand new ones, but I knew in my heart that these were the best ones in the world, for they held the essence of my art. So I took them home, painted them with love, and Lord behold, that's when my journey as an artist truly began, as I embarked on the magnificent path of creating artwork on surfboards and boats. And to this day, I still cherish them, my loyal companions on this wondrous adventure.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 18
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments5
A lovely poem of what one loves to do and the treasure one creates from raw materials found. A mine from people's discards. Artfully done.
I thank you for stopping by and reading my poem.
Most welcome
The beautiful things that can be created from what other people have discarded. I understand the artist feeling there work talks to them, so pictures I see I feel talk to me, enjoyed the read
Awesome, I thank you for stopping by and reading my poem.
Your welcome
I stopped by.
I appreciate you stopping by and reading my poem. Have a great weekend
That is so cool! Are those your brushes? What a beautiful way to describe them.
Yes, I thank you for stopping by and reading my poem.
Friendship, this piece shines with gratitude and devotion...the artist, the tools, the divine spark all meeting in quiet harmony. Your story and poem together form the truest portrait of creation. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
I thank you for stopping by and reading my poem, my friend.
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