Put Upon a Page

Painted is my canvas made

Strokes of color vast and bright

Wood constructed frame

I look on with delight

Gazing from a distance

I implore:

Dearest Art!

Have I captured your brilliance?

Are you daring, provoking or tame?

Are you haunting or perhaps lame?

Will you invoke a thought?

Conjure up feelings or naught?

As my love and hate exist

Will my art’s loneliness persist?

I look on with disbelief

Angry with my grief

Wanting nothing but to destroy

With my fists and voice employ

My stomach’s madness

And soul’s sadness

I sit to write and sing My song

To tell the world: YOU ARE WRONG!

A poet’s dream

In essence yes

This artist shall her work commence.

NAOMI COHEN