Tuesday, April 08, 2008


How physical is that?
It’s a flying paintbrush
Aimed at you
That paints a hole
In your head
That daubs a smiling face
That smears a purple sky
With grey

It’s an eraser
Found in an old address book
A magnet
And your favourite cassette
A pencil stub
Too short to use
A missing score
A landscape, wild and untamed
No frame will fit

And when you finally
Hang the portrait on the wall
No one comes to look
And who can blame them?
There’s another, and much better one,

At the exhibition next door


Open Grove Claudia said...

Loneliness always reminds me of a person who stares at his/her navel while ignoring the world around. Great poem though. I've never had the knack for poetry! :)

Roger Stevens said...

You're writing a novel? Is it set in Denver? We had a friend there and spent some time visiting a few years ago.

Roger Stevens said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
TICTAC said...

Good metaphors, ironic ending :-)

Loneliness so dear to artists so hated as an unwilling solitude..I happen to enjoy it when it is a short term one, it is so inspiring.

Hi Roger, I visited the blog you recommended me, fluxlist.
It is cool. Thanks for the link.


Hugh said...

Thanks for dropping by - albeit on the Beatles ticket. (My favourite band) Try My Personal Stuff, my personal blog - some poems on there that I wrote years ago, not as interesting as yours though.

GeL (Emerald Eyes) said...

Keen capture via imagery and kinesthetics. I like how strongly you captured this choking blanket of loneliness. That ending smacks one between the eyes as the ultimate rejection: the pinnacle of loneliness.

rch said...

Hi Roger, hope all is well. Loved this poem more than my meager words can say. Pleasure reading you, take care,