The Artist. Poem by Tracy Sullivan

The simple faces that he draws,
Opens up a lot of doors,
He often draws what's on his mind,
Sometimes its not so very kind.

His talent shows within his art,
So first on paper is where it starts.
Some images he would put on skin,
Until the ink looks old and thin.

Lots of portraits he has sold,
The quality in them is as rare as gold.
His talent is so very strong, His genres just grow on and on.


His body carries art quiet well,
Some are stories of which to tell.
People often stop and stare,
But being an artist; he doesn't care.

A colourful life of which to tell,
Is in tattoos of which he'd sell.
So give him an idea of what to draw,
And you will be surprised with what's in store.