Painting naked women makes them nude,
And I do long to see two painters feud
Over my full size portrait, wielding brushes
And colorizing my impromptu blushes.
There was a painter once whose eagle eyes
Pierced through my skin like penetrating spies
And saw tomorrow in my outstretched hand,
Wielding a baton, leading the home band.
Alas the prophet’s dead, but not his sight,
Which carried me through deepest, darkest night.
LRH
5.5.06
'and saw tomorrow in my outstretched hand...' a gorgeous metaphor, Linda. This poem has it all...beauty and laughter. You can't beat that combination...and so well-written. Raynette
Well Lind, I don't know anything about Mr Koerner, but your poem has left me positively tickled! Nice to see you again, Lind. How was NYC? Love, Gina.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
like penetrating spies, great line.............................