The Portrait

February 7, 2012

Art, Poetry

Daystar - Original oil by Brad Snowder, 1978.
The portrait I paint begins with gold colored hair.
It glows and it flows and it mixes with earth.
This is where sunshine shows what it’s worth.
For there in-between the sun and the mud, we find life.
It laughs and it loves as it lives there between.
It grows and it goes and turns everything green.

The brushstrokes I use are a wind through the mind.
They swirl and they twirl like the stars in the skies.
They shine and they sparkle like a little girl’s eyes.
The way we see wind is the way we see time.
Time is the wind that weathers the face.
It gives shape and motion to the great clouds in space.

I admire the canvas with it’s pigmented skin.
The splotches are the quick little steps of a boy.
A keeper of frogs, with science his toy.
Memories of childhood color my life.
Splash of brown on the face and green stain on the knees.
A catcher of bugs and a climber of trees.

With this portrait in mind you’ll perhaps understand.
I wobbled and toppled and near fell from my tree.
To think that the sky would be smiling at me.
Science does not prepare a boy for this.
Eyes like the stars and hair like the sun.
And I have to ask, could she be the one?

What song will we sing?
I once heard a song sung by a stand of white birch.
They grew in the alley behind my dad’s church.
Will the wind through our lives sing a similar tune?
Her song and mine and some children in chorus.
And time as a wind that blows through the forest.

The paint is still flowing and the easel still stands.
Much like the boy still full of surprise.
Still singing with trees and watching the skies.
I live and I laugh and I love.
What a beautiful palette, what a picturesque world.
The sky, and the earth, and a wonderful girl.

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