Mind-drilling.
Deep thoughts...
Shhhh! Put off the TV!
Quietude.
'Mom, where's my shirt? '
Shhhh! Shut up!
Startled. Confused.
Vast recollection.
Derided. Unruffled.
Mind drifts far...
Hallucination. Delusion.
Multicolored, soft as clouds.
Tranquility.
'Dinner is served'
No! not starved.
Momentary silence.
Brush on pallette.
Pen on paper.
Fingers on frets.
An obramaestra.
'Mom! for god's sake! '
Shhhhhhhh! gimme a break!
'You give us a break! '
Sanity...madness
Madness...sanity
Solitary confinement.
Usual concentration.
Internalizing...
Digging. Drilling.
Gotcha!
Alas! ...a masterpiece!
Hail to an artist!
By the way,
Where are my kids?
On their way...
No visits on Monday.
Utter calm.
'How is she, Doc? '
Stabilizing.
Metals unwind.
Stood riveted.
Corroded.
Lost thread.
Still.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
tis the story of an uncelebrated artist...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is a fine explanation of the process, the preparation and the interuption. I like the line 'dinner is served' but wanted it to read afterward...'no one starved'....that's how I said it when I read it. I think you are saying in this poem...I can't do my thing with this boil around me, with the tedium of nurturing. I can relate to this though not a mother. Concentration is required to accomplish work of anykind and especially of creative endeavors.