The Painter
"What is done in love is done well." - Vincent Van Gogh
The sink stains blue as murky water drains
through five faux-horsehair brushes.
They fall on fading terrycloth,
thickest to finest, soldiers lying prone.
As water spills from tap to plastic cup
I glance back on the portrait still undone.
A seam of swelling sweat breaks my skin
from seizing seas within my chest.
The cup, empty, quells no storm.
I add passion and a hint of yellow
to my palette, adopted other hand.
The bare wood floor holds folds of red,
the heaps of cloth I've traced to last.
A crimson slash born of my trembling hand
becomes a curl of silk dress-ribbon.
A figure emerges. The brushes bloom.
I look up from my growing canvas world:
You wait in the shadows, poised as clay,
your red gown burning in your blush.
I carry your image into a canvassed heart
with the secret softness of every stroke.
The previous author prefers to remain anonymous, so name will not be published and prize will be awarded privately. I promise you though that this was written by a well known and loved dicer!
A very respectable third:
*Dear Traveller*
When will I find the one that knows me?
Are they in Nepal, on the mount?
Guide me to you.
Do they watch the water spin down the chasm of Lake Victoria?
Among the reptiles, maws open,
In muddy waters I would crawl to you.
Darest any dragon defy me?
Tell me of the Tundra
There is no cold I have not known.
Without you, lover, I cannot grow.
Every ray of sunlight is a betrayal.
Dear traveler, will I ever find you?
Would I know if I saw you?
Would you know me?
Do you know me?
I am here, awaiting the skip of a heart.
The light of the eye.
Account: Doge-Dice 97430
Honorable mentions in no particular order:
Ere the 14th of February,
Not much is known about the martyr St Valentine
Julia May-July
WE
a twist, a turn
I want to thank our esteemed judge, who shall remain nameless, for taking time to review all of these poems for us! :)
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