Picasso’s Muse
Her parents died in Nashville,
where they were born,
where their parents were born.
A truckload is delivered. Every piece,
one by one up the ladder.
In Berea, seasoned by insulation
and in dust, the boxes unopened, slept
until this present now.
Dumbfounded
by the broken open,
brittle masking tape seals
I stand in the bright light of a bare bulb.
Holding a hand bound,
yarn-threaded-three-hole
copy of some child’s idea of,
Mommy look, I made a book.
Rubbed red craft-paper cover
lettered in crayon between
faded pencil guide lines,
My Poems.
The opened book makes me
reach out to a rafter for support.
Crayon haiga, one after another
after another, after another.
And I remember,
I remember again what Picasso said.
It has taken me a lifetime to learn
how to paint like a child.
23 thoughts on "Picasso’s Muse"
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how to paint like a child….. yeah, Coleman
He knew a little somthin!
I hope he was less chauvinistic as he aged. I much prefer Chagall but he doesn’t have a timeless, universal quote.
Lol…..I prefer chagall too…I’ll see if I can find somethin. Thanks for the prompt. This time of the month any good prompt is coin.
Absolutely amazing
Thank you Carrie 😊
This poem is beautiful, Coleman.
“Dumbfounded
by the broken open,
brittle masking tape seals
I stand in the bright light of a bare bulb.”
Your descriptions put us right next to you. Lovely work.
Attics. Theres just something about them. Thanks 😊
What a great discovery:
poetry of a child from long ago
that bridges the gap of time.
Yes it takes a lifetime to learn
to be a child.
Truth. Yeah im still trying to get there ……:-)
“Haiku” of the day
Omg!!
Something about them kids
“I have a puppy
It licks my face all the time
and makes me giggle”
Thanks jim.
This is breathtaking, Coleman. I mean, I literally had to take a breath at the end. So descriptive. And meaningful.
Love the phrase “seasoned by insulation ”
Like a seasoned wood burns more brightly, or a seasoned meal has more flavor, looking back on the seasons that created who we are, provides a richness and complexity that is hard to match.
I especially like the telling detail “the broken open,/ brittle masking tape seals” and “Crayon haiga”
Such the love poem. It’s great, Coleman. Your attention to the “little things” is so fine.
love the rhythm and image:
“seasoned by insulation
and in dust, the boxes unopened, slept”
I am in total agreement with all of the comments. The one quote that I’ll carry with me for the whole day is the closing. Thank you, Coleman. I hope this is my permission to write like a child too.
Lol….as they say in the forest” the universe doesn’t only tolerate children, it perishes without their existence. ”
Thanks so much for being 😀
What a breathtaking beauty of a poem. Thank you, Coleman.
Thank you Karen 😊
I love this poem! Your choice of words made large the moments like a cinematic view into your discovery and your sensations and thoughts exploring what you found…so much comes across…I love this: “reach out to a rafter for support.
Crayon haiga, one after another” It is beautiful– this awe!
Thank you for your beautiful poem!
i like how you get the most use out of words – “until this present now” – the here now, the gift, and the in-the-moment experience. Different perspectives are gold!
Really beautiful, Coleman.
Stunning depth, musicality, and personal narrative. Touches deeply with its rich, powerful imagery: “In Berea, seasoned by insulation/and in dust, the boxes unopened, slept/until this present now.” Well done, Coleman
This might be my favorite piece of yours this year. You tell this story so precisely and masterfully, and the ending is an emotional turn that feels earned and very much like your work.