poetsday

Still Life After Twenty Years

of the initial fifteen minutes
the first is the worst; aware of risk
a void, staring into the abyss. into
white space, no one to hear you scream
suffocating, grasping towards the surface
throw a line, a purchase, anything you can find.

it's tough, and the next fourteen are no better
fear, hesitation, and mind numbing doubt
but around the fifteenth - a glimpse of form
the light falls roughly where it should
and shadows fix tenable foundations on which
three apples orbit, pulled together with gravity

so there's still life in the old dog yet
how quickly I forget: it only takes a day
for confidence to wane and back again
to minute zero and the long climb out
judging myself harshly by every next effort
but if it was too easy, would it be worth doing?

*
this is a poem celebrating my return to drawing and my pleasure at discovering a reasonable likeness of three apples on my paper at the end of my first exercise.

I'd run out of time somewhat and it's left me with a very unsatisfactory finish. I will come back to this but if anyone offers a better alternative, I will consider it. I always feel I have ownership of the sentiment but not necessarily the words. Art should not be selfish in that way.