Copyright 2009 - Susan Abma
THIS PLACE
In this place that I live,
With brushes, paint and mind,
Hours go by that I have lost,
Not again to find.
A sunset may appear,
Or landscapes could unfold,
Familiar faces oft are found,
Of young ones and of old.
The vastness of the sky,
With its clouds and sun aglow,
Captures that within my soul,
That only artists know.
Short strokes and the right touch,
With a strong desire and will,
Can change a landscape in an instant,
From plain to magical.
The caustic scent of oil,
To others may offend,
But to those who live in this place,
It’s life’s blood and oxygen.
On the artist’s easel,
With its treasure that’s been built,
Is the artist’s very being,
On that surface at a tilt.
When color touches canvas,
And its white’s no longer bare,
You’ll see everything that I can see
In the painting that leans there.
In this place that I live,
With calm, no angst or haste,
Hours go by that I have lost,
Not one has been a waste.
By Susan Abma
*Protected by Copyright
