An attempt (somewhat poor) at writing poetry. Based on a visit a few years back to the national gallery.
On Seeing Verrocchios David
In a room of the Smithsonian,
Universal history came alive,
In a diminutive piece of bronze
Wrought in a forge in Northern Italy,
460 years hence
Under the artists watchful eye.
David, the shepherd, stands over Goliath
In the sublime moment of victory
Over the tormentor of the Israeli tribes.
The look on his young face speaks volumes.
Stamped on lifeless metal,
The artist brings forth from the viewer,
Visions of ancient times.
To my amusement, I listen
To the conversations around me.
The docent drones on about minor technical details.
Grey haired patrons gossip their textbook definitions.
Content with superficial fluff, that ill befits
The progeny of the prophet Moses.
But David, forever gazing
With confidence into the future past.
Brought to life in immortality
By mortal hand.
The artist speaks to me
Across the centuries,
Clearer than that heard
With the senses.
Keep with the poetry, the imagining vision.
GwenAYF 2 years ago
OK.
Amiduffer 2 years ago
Excellent 5 Stars
Thank God, for poetry it is the only way to share what you feel, see, and like.
Frank
ockteby 2 years ago
Better. It can create new thoughts in the minds of other people, long after you pass away.
Amiduffer 2 years ago