Voracious For Life Poem by Suzanne Hayasaki

What defines an artistic mind?
Is it a special sense?
A refined eye?
A natural talent for balance?

Are you born with it?
Must it be planted in you
Like a cash crop by ambitious parents
And then cultivated by a master
Who weeds out your mediocrity?

Or is it an attitude?
As rare as myrrh once was
And curiosity has become
In our Internet-ridden world?

Can it be judged by fame?
Rated and ranked?
Disregarded by all
Until recognized by the select
Who define and advertise the trends
We plebeians must rush to study
And adopt or drop on command?

Or is it a hunger?
Does an artist starve
Regardless of his fame
Or wealth, even at his easel,
Never sated by what he creates?

I believe that the art is in the quest
Constantly driving the artist forward
Towards discoveries
She didn't even realize she was seeking.

My restlessness waxes and wanes.
I may catch a glimpse or a whiff
Of something flitting
Just beyond my consciousness

But where a genius would give chase,
Like a dog with the scent of a fox in his nostrils,
I am likely to note it with a single sniff
And then let it escape unscathed.

My art will not consume me.
The flames of my vision
Will not become my pyre.
I will live timidly
But I will revere those
So devoted to their pursuit of beauty
That they become as blind
And as wise as monks.