The Artist Poem by bryan wallace

The artist sits by the roadside
Overlooking White Park Bay -
Rathlin Island in the distance.
Concentration is written on her face,
A paintbrush is in her hand -
Poised above the canvas.

A tray of oil paints sits by her side -
Every colour you could ever imagine.
A small leather attaché case
Lies open upon the ground,
Displaying scalpels, pastels, pencils and brushes -
All the tools of her trade.

The scene starts to unfold upon the canvas -
The subtle details of the clouds,
The chalk white cliffs, the pale blue ocean,
The fishing boat plying its trade,
Swimmers on the beige-sand beaches.
Sheep graze the varied greens
Of wind-stunted wild grasses,
The golden eye of the mid-day sun casts its shadows.
The expert strokes of the artist's brush -
Records them all on canvas.

Yours truly sits and watches this unfold -
Deep with fascination and jealous admiration.
Oh but to be able to capture such a scene
In such a graphic detail for posterity.
Dejected, I put my hands in my pockets,
My fingers find my notebook -
Pencil stub jammed in the spine.
I take it out and open it -
A blank page - a pencil poised -
I'll paint with words!