seemingly the painter

Poem #263 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction

no sooner
had he painted
the cloud

than an unannounced
from a breeze
blew it away

he tried
to leaf the tree
but they twisted
and twirled
away from the brush

a tickle
on his hand to mark
their waving

and the tree
painted so strong
as though caught
in a gentle
but determined

quickly now
he outlined a brook
gravel painted in first
then the water
it flowed

and cavorting
over the stones

what could he do

he executed
a patch
of green

dappled beneath
a slow movement
of the leaves

he then painted
the painter

drawn over his eyes

leaning back
the strong tree


© Frank Prem 2018

Bachelard and me Poem #264: the unslilvered glass (nothing)

3 thoughts on “seemingly the painter

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