More Poetry by Robert R. Woods

June 28, 2013

   Started this LATE last night and worked on it all day today. I don't like rushing... but sometimes I do. I work until I feel it's done... that doesn't mean I won't look at it a few days from now and think it needs more work. It came out of my working on a picture of myself in BeFunky that has a lot of new apps. I've been working with THIS particular picture as a base for quite a while now... maybe too much.

Life as Art

 

Fashioned by rough hands,

scraped and shaped,
splattered and peeled
then rudely framed,
hung on a naked wall
that chuckles each time
the critics pass by,
lift their noses in disgust
and slowly wander off…

 

A younger couple, blond hair

thick between the eyes.
Jeans, old, ragged,
the smell of weeds
in their breathy sighs.
A red glare studies me,
my curves, the textures,
all those uneven lines
haphazardly reveal… a face?
They can never figure out
just what the hell I’m all about.

 

And there’s the gray folk too.

One propping up the other,
a plague of winter sweaters
woven into fleshy fingers.
They try to touch what they
believe should… MUST be there,
deep beneath acrylic skin.

 

Above the tinted skylight,

my only friend. She smiles,
observes my youthful morning,
my adolescent noon,
the darkling years to come
when she marches West…
each time, I’m sad to see her go.
The stars and moon can be aloof,
the nights too black and lonely.
—rrw o6-28-13