Five Poems by Celia

I Am The Artist

I am the Artist,

I am the observer of society.

I sit outside of class awareness,

money, status, and social graces

mean nothing to me,

I can cut right through

the false trappings with which

man has endowed himself,

and look straight past the eyes

into the inner self.

I paint the man

inside the naked body,

I paint the spiritual self.

I paint the emotions

which are submerged so deeply

under the social exterior,

even the subject himself

is unaware of them.

I paint the Feelings beneath the bones,

I paint the inner muscles.

I paint the walls of the brain.

I paint the starry-faced

glistening sinews

of the imagination.

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Song for a Band Playing Heavy Space Pop Music

I lean my head on your mind;

I can hear your intelligence

beating like a heart;

like a two-winged bird,

I hear ice melting,

the jagged edges cutting

like thorns.

Be still and listen to me:

incline your knees

near my eyes

and like a thief,

steal away the clouds

that shadow my eyes.

Be purple and real;

indigo and bruised.

Stare at every breath

until it makes smoke;

Refresh yourself

with the wine

of Nature.

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Nature

The bees and bugs and birds

are abounding above and below

The cattle are feeding on fodder

And the clouds in the sky are hung low

Th e sky is blue and windy

and the elements are arranged to please

The cat is poised to pounce

and even the trees are at ease

Suddenly rain clouds appear

and the landscape is drenched in blue

Like our passion, which is like a rose

and I dream of making Love to you.

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Cleo and Charles

Cleo lily and Charles leaf and stem,

Branch out together and grow

Like a plant beside water,

Like the music of streams,

Their essences merge,

Their playful spirits swaying and bending,

Arching backs and powerful paws.

Cleo and Charles stones over which

The water flows, the lily grows,

And the sun shines warm

Upon blue and yellow eyes

Appearing and disappearing, by magic.

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Housework

Temperature 57 degrees Expect variable cloudiness

Today is shopping day, far clouds, win dy trees,

the tree trunk is bent over slightly,

the cat has thrown up and tried to cover her mess

with her paws, the four walls close in,

I'd like to get outside with the weather

for a walk, walk the cat, anything,

jump away from housework and into

Imagination like I would jump into pajamas;

whisk the world of dust and moths and routine away

and anticipate Loveliness, a peach-colored silken couch

draped with pearls, a man with a violin

and a handkerchief under his chin, a dark beard,

Freud himself come to life in the drawing room

holding a cup of tea in his left hand,

a painting in a black lacquer frame,

but the t.v. intrudes, the cat has thrown up again,

the Weather, the News, the Day is at hand,

and I must leave my dreams

swept under the couch with a pile of dust.

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Celia Wildfang is a poet and Artist in Arizona

http://www.geocities.com/galimatio/celia.html

http://www.geocities.com/galimatio/celia-photos.html

Author:: Celia Wildfang
Keywords:: Poem,Poetry,Feelings,Love,Explore,Nature,Artist,
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