Acrylic Painter ~

Acrylic Painter ~

(for the artist)

The artist lifted his hands,

To gently touch the solid pane,

Of that small, inspiring portrait . . .

He slowly inched his bristles towards,

The edge of that adjacent crest,

Then suddenly he stopped to rest-

And he looked down and found it.

Extending past the thin accent,

A weak point, that was unnoted-

Until he dared to inch his tip,

Along the spiraling edge-

White fingers doused with flame,

The thick, golden stream of sunset-

 He dipped the brush within the fire,

Stirring up the molten gems-

And gripped with hues of pink, they rose,

In shattered panes of glass.

Moving as acrylic waves-

A rippled mesh of paints.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~

His soft eyes met his vision-

and then, the artist stopped . . .

slowly he removed the brush-

moving back to watch-

 as the outlier began to fade -

transforming from the base,

unto the measured spine.

 

A panoply of colored streaks,

drifting far beyond the lines

The acrylic paints he'd chosen-

trembling with lusty freedom,

escaping their confinement . . .  

 

But then suddenly-

they paused, as if they had,

suspended amidst their flight . . .

wavered, and then fell back-

To center where they'd started-

and became the likeness which,

the artist had inspired.

As the room darkened once more-

the man was made to wonder,

what had happened then, to make-

the crossing of his acrylic paints,

but he could not define a thought-

and he watched his work-

 a puzzle in his face,

that never slipped away-

to the darkness in his head . . .

but plagued him the entire night.

 

Reviews

[Wolfwind Words]

Wow... That was amazing. If paint and brush and canvas were people, I'm sure this poem would be a marriage to stand the test of time. I love how smooth all the descriptions are. There isn't any filler, simply a gentle flow of vision.

i really enjoy how this piece tells a story as it goes. It's comes across like a soft and messmerizing dream that captures and guides the inner eye.

Great ink!
Aaron

[Foxemerald]

Thank you again, Aaron!

I must admit, that I am guilty of ‘author’s negligence.’ Many times, I refrain from going back to work that has, in the past been meaningful. Either to escape the lingering emotions that arise from the words like past ghosts, or simply due to being more captivated by the goings on of the present-

Thank you, therefore, for the gentle reminder. The knocking on the door to open this work, once more. I appreciate you stopping by, and please, feel free to do so again- in fact, I entreat that you do so at ANY time!

Thanks,
Brooke ~

[Samuel Dickens]

Being something of a painter, (oils) I followed along, envisioning the flow of paint and steady hand. I even found myself holding my breath, the way I do when absolute accuracy is required. One tries very, very hard to make no mistakes, but they still happen, leaving the artist quite distressed.