THE PAINTING POET
(a poet who paints with words . . . )
Pen in hand, she looks around wondering if
she can accomplish it . . .
with her books and paper at the ready
she stares at the blank page and wonders out loud
without words . . .
So at last her mind all ablaze with streaming words
she sets her hand to the task
let it flow, let it flow, her muse whispers in her ear
let your feelings go . . .
Suddenly, the descriptive words come to mind,
disjointed at first, then rushing forth like a waterfall
all her thoughts and feelings tumble out
easing her heart, mind and soul . . .
From where did thou’st cometh, oh panting words?
Where did you hide in my soul?
For I thought you were buried there eons ago
never to rise again . . .
Now you are resurrected and so
you play the poet, painting words as you go . . .
I am painting words as I go . . .
Copyright © 2011 Mary L. Montalvo. All rights reserved.
(a poet who paints with words . . . )
Pen in hand, she looks around wondering if
she can accomplish it . . .
with her books and paper at the ready
she stares at the blank page and wonders out loud
without words . . .
So at last her mind all ablaze with streaming words
she sets her hand to the task
let it flow, let it flow, her muse whispers in her ear
let your feelings go . . .
Suddenly, the descriptive words come to mind,
disjointed at first, then rushing forth like a waterfall
all her thoughts and feelings tumble out
easing her heart, mind and soul . . .
From where did thou’st cometh, oh panting words?
Where did you hide in my soul?
For I thought you were buried there eons ago
never to rise again . . .
Now you are resurrected and so
you play the poet, painting words as you go . . .
I am painting words as I go . . .
Copyright © 2011 Mary L. Montalvo. All rights reserved.
