The church bells,
the sly sun,
saying
See all his beauty?
It is yours.
That was morning;
it lay upon sea scented sheets.
He slept.
In truth, we both slept.
The clatter of the knife upon the plate,
lamp light casting shadows
over all that came before.
He sat working on a painting,
his back to me.
"What matters most in Art?" I asked.
He stopped, sighed, his shoulders slumped.
"A personal style." He replied.
The clock, infernal moon upon the wall,
nag, knave,
the hands that slice the heart at night in sixty ways.
The steps, percussive.
The door, a clap of thunder.
All ensuing years, a familiar ballad
sung in a personal style.
All poetry and photographs are the original creations of Jo Ann Wright, artist, writer and art teacher and are copyright protected
The Museum of the Ordinary Woman
Rain
Karl At White Columns 1983
A Personal Style
Time
Passing Over
God and the Brain
HOME
Love Blog ~ New as of April 2004
Love Blog ~ New as of April 2004
jwright@gcsd.k12.nj.us
