An artist paints his life from mark to end,
from mix to finish, like the pigment oils
that while on painter's pallet blend,
on canvas cling to boast the master's toils.
O see me through and find such painting plain,
composed by introspection and long years
of shock, of distant shores, of light, of pain;
so with each dab some fuller portrait nears.
And though it were not trivial to frame,
not trivial at all but love extreme;
the misery of art is mine to blame,
and gained by it, my muse, and by your theme:
No life, nor breath, nor other poet's art
will ever bare so dear the likeness of your heart.
March 16,2006
Good sonnet and nice work David. the third line however may be made decasyllabic also. Regards, Dr John Celes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hi! I’m Eddie Roa and I just got in to this website. By chance I came across your name in the list of poets and read some of your works. I have posted some of my poems today and yesterday. My style ranges from light to dark poetry (modern enough but not postmodern) and some Japanese verse forms like haiku, senryu and tanka. I hope you will bother to check out my work. Thanks and happy writing.