The Artist

by tfawcus

He paints the spaces between his images
with as much care
as a poet writing behind the lines.

His puppet, a Pierrot figure,
lies slumped
on a narrow pavement,

with loosened strings,
no longer dancing
to the tune of war.

Each brushstroke licks around
memories of leaden soldiers,
as if they were ice-cream melting

on a hot summer's day;
a foretaste of death
dripping on the nursery floor.

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This poem is a personal response to an abstract work of art viewed recently in Cuenca.

Pierrot figure: the wise fool, the harlequin.

Toy soldiers of the past contained a high proportion of lead, poisonous if ingested.

Photograph, by the author, of 'Galeria de la Mina' 1965 by Manuel Millares (1926-1972) [Museum of Abstract Art, Cuenca]

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Free verse

A chapter in the book Free Verse Collection

The Artist

by tfawcus

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