CREATION
Copyright 1999 by Joel D. Ash | All rights Reserved
The young sculptor prepares to embark,
Inspiration, a bright shining spark;
His mind set afire,
Creative desire,
A vision the gleams in the dark.
The seed of creation deep sown,
A quest now to find the right stone;
Many marbles inspected,
With dozens rejected,
At last! Just the piece he must own.
Long hours of study and thought,
Perusing the stone that he bought;
Hard work is begun,
Rough cuts are first done,
Precise lest the toil come to naught.
Days and days when his chisel must chip,
Concentration and sweat, endless drip;
So consumed with his vision,
Precision incision,
The art taking shape without slip.
A figure at last can be seen,
Lovely Venus with beauty serene;
Face and smile of a sprite,
Skin a radiant white,
So inviting, yet adamantine.
Every detail is carved to perfection,
No flaw there for future detection;
Expectations exceeded,
Beyond what was needed,
A masterwork due genuflection.
Final polishing done with great care,
To prepare for acclaim and fanfare;
Will the world disagree?
There is no guarantee,
Critics often can be quite unfair.
On the day that the work is unveiled,
Not one single aspect assailed;
The Venus is lauded,
Creation applauded,
Well worth all the effort entailed.
Curators and critics all nod,
The pathway to greatness is trod;
Recognition and fame,
Everyone knows his name,
Very soon he will be an art God.
Joel believes that “ordinary people do not do extraordinary things – the fact that they do something extraordinary makes them extraordinary by definition” and he thinks a master artist is a good example.
We’re Going To Rome
By Ethel Paquin
(Try to hum the tune of “Sweet Betsy from Pike” as you read this ballad.)
I hardly can stand it the kids have all grown.
The dog died last week and now we’re on our own.
I waltzed down the hallway and picked up the phone
and made reservations for Rome.
Remember our dreams love way back in the day?
We’d raise us a family, we’d rake in some hay.
We had two more kids than we’d planned, but okay,
they’re gone! And we’re going to Rome.
We’ve faithfully done everything that we should,
raised kids that we’re proud of, for that knock on wood,
helped out with our parents whenever we could,
and now love our time is our own.
I found a container that fits all our pills
I talked to the lawyer to up-date our wills
I cancelled the papers, and paid all the bills.
Start packing we’re gonna leave home.
We’re flying first class though I know the price jars.
We’ll stay in hotels with at least fifteen stars.
We’ll dance in the Forum, carouse in the bars,
smile Sweetheart! We’re going to Rome.
Lost
By Klaran Warner
She knows she’s lost her Toyota car key,
the one with the purple beaded band
She can’t find it in her pocket
She can’t find it in her purse
She can’t find it under the floor mats or
tucked between the car seats
She’s looked all day and it seems to be just gone.
They say she’s lost her husband, the one she married 47 years ago
She finds him in a pocket of her heart
She finds him in all the quarters he saved for her purse
She finds him tucked under the comforter and between the pages
of an unsent valentine
She doesn’t have to look all day, and it seems he was just here.
What is “lost”?
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