Living The Image Poem by james watkin
Living The Image
This of man's craft
Is not layed under
With plums falling all about!
Ignore what's offered
Of plein-air painter.
Nothing there rendered
Through mis-applied dabs
Worked windily in and out.
His 'Lover's Repose'
Mould at your peril.
Its a fickle-weathered place!
Kiss quick; then depart
From what breaks his skill
In its storm-crash to impart.
What, in requiring
A rain-soaked brush does blot; deface!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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8/22/2025 1:18:15 AM # 1.0.0
