Picasso Poem by Singleton M. Tate
Picasso
Sculpting,
subtle vise,
sketching erratic lyrics,
with flute and guitar.
Hands,
deep in pastel,
color hues that few,
set eyes to view.
Vibing,
on Central Avenue,
Saturday's blues are green,
Envy sings a lullaby tune.
Turbid,
clay twists in sorrow,
for tomorrow I run away,
from the vacuous reality,
of today...
© Copyright 2012 THE GIFT a.k.a. Singleton M. Tate
All rights reserved.
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4/26/2024 7:16:02 AM # 1.0.0.1119
