The Case of the Blear-Sighted Artist

 "About My lOve, the aRtist"

 

Secreted in the hallway tunnel

I heard him tell my old friend

“How odd a wonder it is

a painter’s role to take

for he is color blind,

He cannot tell blue from purple

has to second guess.

Does not see red from green

Of holly berries in faraway trees

or spring red apples on a leafy branch.”

 

I stepped back into myself

a reactionary breath to take

need I find a defense to make

near-sighted or hue-impaired

I see the array of color

in rainbow of paramount hues

the passion in a flower blue

that burns with hues of red

or the brilliant lustful poppy

sharp crimson bowing to a heart of blue

the viscous flow of ultamarine sky

mixed with saffron tones

the kaleidoscope of springtime greens

that overjoys with yellow & hints of baby blue

 

as the poet crafts words

to sound the poem

the painter plays with color

until the surface blooms

the soil embracing the roots

the sun, the dark, the moon light

bathe it with the visual fragrance of life

 

I wonder though if in my works

Deception lies in my eyes

I do not see what viewers see

From me myself I hide

 

 

Pondering in the middle of the night of

International Poetry Day  ©j.m.frase-white 3/21/2022

(Top Photo: taken in the "glow" of my first Stained Glass Window, circa 1991, Rochester, NH.   Bottom Photo: Taken at Concord, VT, circa. 2014, maybe)