Maturestudenthanginginthere  is hosting a virtual creative writing class for the next few Saturdays.  With an accelerated heartbeat,  I’m participating.  I love poetry but rarely share what I have written.  For the next few Saturdays, I will share.  If you’re here for my usual witty (humor me) posts, you’ll have to wait for another day.

  Enough rambling.  Here is my first assignment and first ever published poem.


The door of the museum opens on

the exhibit of the long gone artist.

The couple walk in and look at his work.

Momentarily, he and she observe.

He raises an eyebrow and her eyes roll.

They move to the next, not understanding

the intimacies they bear witness to

in the blacks and grays and blues and purples.

They do not see love and hate, life and death or

the secrets of a man’s life put on display,

illustrated in the mingled pigments.

But one day the front door opens again.

A woman stands before the artist’s work.

Her pulse quickens, her spirit awakens.

She perceives the passion the painting holds.

She feels the love and hate, the life and death.

For her, the colors tell the lost story

of the artist who created to share

history, written in textures and hues

of paint tinted with his dripped sweat and blood.

As he labored, he hoped some would see

with eyes of the soul and not the socket.

The woman knows that long ago, he stood

in his studio and painted for her

the picture hanging in the museum,

and finally, she has come to see it.