POEMS ABOUT ART
Nights as frigid as Antarctic ice
Waging war with the redcoats yet also with survival
Bloody, calloused feet bound in rags,
Men wounded, half naked and starved,
Wishing for an end, any end.
A calm, cool mien, but deep down he fears the worst
The worst for himself, his men... his nation.
"Why, Mr. Washington?"
"Why do you look so impassive?"
"Why bring your men to such a horrible place?"
"Are you a madman?"
Everyone turning to Washington for advice, leadership, courage,
Fighting tooth and nail for what we often take for granted,
Blood, sweat, and tears building the foundation of the United States of America.
When children wonder and question things,
That cannot be retorted.
They turn to a place where strange contents rest,
Where exotic objects are assorted.
All you need is a simple question,
And a dash of imagination on top.
Anything you want can be in your reach,
And it's called the Curiosity Shop.
One man's trash is another man's treasure,
That's the motto in this buisness.
Untensils, inventions, and gadgets galore,
Bought by the rich and even the poor.
Each treasure that ever exists in the store,
May have it's own special history.
Portraits of presidents and dolls made of porcelain,
Every crack and defect a mystery.
Young children escape to another world,
As they play with trinkets unassertive.
Adults look on and remember once,
That they too were once as inquisitive.
So when children are looking for an explanation,
Or dress up or spin a top.
they can skip on down,
To a world of discovery,
It's called the Curiosity Shop.
She must remain in this class.
Her class,
Truly her class.
The world was at her feet as she danced.
The world collapsed when she fell.
Nervousness filled the room.
What would happen?
What would she do?
Not a sound in the room
Everything in slow motion
Everyone staring, not a soul moving.
Her legs felt numb.
She couldn't move.
What would she do?
She saw her reflection in the mirror.
A young girl lost in thought,
A young girl losing all hope.
The music started.
Reminding her of how much fun it once had been.
She was in her world.
Nothing, not anybody could destroy it.
Joy rushed through her body.
She did the triple pirouette
She had made it once again!
A spectacle for all to see,
Gold eagle,
An emblem of our nation.
An honorary task.
A perfectionistic painter.
Above the smokey silver sky
Hanging by a risky rope
Pipe in mouth,
Workman's clothes,
Completely engrossed,
Forgetting the bustling city below.
He wants to get the job done,
Wants it done right
Appears tired, weary
Task may secretly be thrilling
For inside, he feels on top of the world.
Old man feeling young once again.
The soft green walls of the ballet studio echo,
with sounds of music and voices,
The beautiful dancers,
Warming up and stetching,
Asking each other for help with their hair and bows,
Practicing their combinations and dances,
Happy and tired faces fill the cold studio,
Filled with excitement,
Sitting and waiting,
Practicing for hours at a time,
Filled with laughter,
Trying to get warmed up and ready to dance,
Wanting to become famous,
Filled with dreams.
Like the preparation
of a house before a storm,
the mind obsesses
till the flicker turns to a raging fire.
Her foot points toward heaven,
Others extend legs to the barre.
Pondering the upcoming performance,
her pretty face hides fear.
Does fear affect performing?
The final execution
leaves her heart fulfilled.
Silence fills the hall,
but the aura is peaceful.
The dance speaks of effort
and satisfaction.
Running likes bats out of hell,
Scraping, yelling, freezing, laughing,
Getting away, getting caught
What were they thinking?
Scared and hearts racing
Something I would do
The mischievous doings of childhood!
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