The Oil Painting

paint Vibeke Friis

I stood and stared in wonder at that oil painting
close enough to smell the paint and pigment and age
and see the cracks and the thick waves of color rising and cresting from the canvas
and the beauty ran me over like a steam train
like an avalanche and I was captured
desiring nothing more than to crawl inside and be surrounded
enveloped
by that skin of paint
and to know what it was like to feel so beautiful                                                         when people stopped and stared…

 

©jayetomas2014

 

*artwork by Vibeke Friis*
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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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4 Responses to The Oil Painting

  1. kamilica2002 says:

    Sometimes, instead of comment I would like to write to your poem, I am left speechless, with no words to find, like there are no enough words to express the feeling…

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