On Being There*
The senses awaken,
Six in all to be taken.
In the first burst of light
On the screen; dim then bright
A pattern, at first lost in the maze
Escapes as from a hidden cave.
Sound emerges, then drives
The artist's inner muses.
A kaleidoscope of color,
As on silent water,
A dropp of oil spreads to catch
The light and reflect the maker's touch
Shifting and intensifying hues
In their chromatic due.
Touch, man's febrile attempt to control
Tactile, with electric enhancement bold
Arranges the electrons
That command the show.
Smell and taste are interlinked
Emerge and stimulate the audience.
Pheromones masked by man's imperfect attempts
Are there but only if the senses dare.
But what of the sixth sense; thought?
Which depends on involvement or is for naught.
You are entering into the solitary place of the artist
Where in Quixotic quest he searches in the mist.
Hanging perfectly on the wall
Lines parallel and perpendicular, all
Images appear ghost like to be suspended
In a world of computer animation.
From whence comes the illuminating light
Upward; look for the source, in sight
On platforms dark and well placed
So images are formed, embraced.
Then projected for all to see
Interfaces and illusions set free.
The art world of Roberto Bocci.
*On viewing the art of Roberto Bocci, in an invited artist show at Florida Southern College, Lakeland, October 2005.
Comments about this poem (On Being There* by Sidi J. Mahtrow )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
William Ernest Henley