I can remember vividly, when it all began,
I saw the words of wisdom in a color wheel,
Red, blue, yellow, waiting to be blended,
Put into view.
My Oxford became my palette to blend the
Words I seek, to get the message out to you,
As all go together, like painting on a canvas.
Pencils, pens are like brushes or a quill,
Ready to be dipped.
The palette used to mix the words no longer lying,
Still in my mind.
Words finally reach paper, and are posted in the field.
That is how it happened, when it all began.
Poetry by Charles Garcia
Mar.2006
Painting comes with Love, energy, time and skill.You have captured something beautiful here.The reader may glance at your fine work from their own angle and yet, it still comes across beautiful, for it holds so much within.Love Duncan
wonderful poem, Charles. I love to paint with words too. Ten from me. sincerely, Sandra
I like the image used in this poem. However, while it is not incorrect, I was confused by the use of 'pallet' rather than 'palette' - I thought first of pallet as bed, then of pallet as storage platform and finally realized you meant artist's pallet. Then I looked in the OED to see if 'pallet' was a legitimate variant. In my reading, this became a distraction. Other's may have no problem, but it's still worth mentioning.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
the more of your poems i read, the more it makes me proud that you commented on one of mine - thx again. and this one is beautiful - true blue