Thursday, October 22, 2015
Jim Klein (poet/painter/mentor)
Your toes curl in the blue-green tepid waters
of the South sea where Chevy Novas and super-novas
vie for attention in the abstract pastels of
water-colors dripped over palettes of pristine white.
Where painters and poets dwell
to bark at wheels and skies and surf.
You live and die in humorless verse of
hardened paint brushes and broken pencils
and twisted tubes of paste.
Whatever colors and thoughts
you put on canvas or paper,
opposite lobes compete with each other,
and you give a name to this thing:
this painting, this poem, this creation . . .