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
puff
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
return

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

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

laughing
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

hat
drawn over his eyes

leaning back
against
the strong tree

seemingly
sleeping


© Frank Prem 2018

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

3 thoughts on “seemingly the painter

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.