THE SUNDAY WHIRL
BEFORE THE CLICK
supplied the wordle words for us to use.
BEFORE THE CLICK
We click and click so effortlessly;
We click at everything we see.
Those we don't fancy we then 'delete''
So we click, click, click walking down the street.
But Canaletto, in the past,
Made images that were made to last.
Bridges and every blade of grass
Were not mere things that he would pass;
Ragged clouds rolling through the sky
Were not just items floating by;
They were beauties to preserve,
And that he did with grace and verve.
Before beginning he had to drag
His easel and he dared not flag;
He had to choose an elevation
Exactly right for the situation.
He had to climb on sills and ledges,
Striding over walls and ledges.
No doubt he stretched his aching back;
And he'd straighten to bring the feeling back.
After such physical exercise
Complete collapse would not surprise.
Modern man, without a doubt,
Would feel completely rusted-out.
The head would nod, the eyes would glaze
And we'd go to bed for several days!
Canaletto made his great climbs
To preserve his scenes for later times.
But I've a feeling that he would
Have 'clicked' like us, if he only could!
Waking was painful.
Sleep had been such a boon
And I wished it could go on
My fat, sluggish body
Had become repulsive to me.
I saw my reflection in a dewdrop
And wished that I could die.
Unable to help myself,
I withdrew from the world.
I laboured mightily,
Spinning, spinning, spinning.
I was obsessed.
All that mattered
Was that I should hide away,
Reject a world of beauty.
I was unworthy.
I created my own prison.
But it was more than a prison;
It was a shelter, a haven, a cell,
Where I could play dead.
I lay, enclosed.
Brilliantly feathered birds,
Trees weighed down with magnificence.
What right had I to compete?
Call it an inferiority complex
If you like.
I only know that I sought sleep
As an escape.
At last, I slept,
Unknowing, uncaring, unthinking.
Then I woke.
And oh the pain!
Every part of me ached!
I felt sticky, constricted, spiky, odd.
It was a nightmare.
I had hated myself,
But not this much!
What was happening to me?
I had to escape!
This was a living hell!
I stretched, pushed, crumbled, splintered, yawned
I blinked in the sunlight,
It was later that I discovered
That I was one of the most beautiful things on earth!
Great wordle word painting! And the second one would work perfectly over at dVerse Poetry's prompt from yesterday.
Ah yes, I agree. So many artists would have 'clicked' if they could!
Very, very nice. Each piece lovely.
Love butterflies. And the first piece for the wordle is so true of our lives today. We've become such a 'throw away' society. Like the little girl in China, run over, twice, and no-one went to help her for nearly ten minutes. Is there hope for us as civilisations... I have my doubts.
I love both pieces. Thanks for the introduction to Canaletto. The butterfly piece is beautifully constructed.
Two lovely pieces of art...and now, lucky for us Canaletto is just a click away:)
I loved your wordle poem. I am sure that you are right and many of the old masters would have clicked too. :-)
Your butterfly piece is beautiful!
Two wonderful poems - I hadn't heard of Canaletto before, so I thank you for the introduction. I suspect that many of the master artists of old would be master graphic artists these days, lords of the laptop rather than luggers of easels. ;)
The second poem is wonderful, not only because I like butterflies, but also because of the message. We can never see ourselves clearly when we're fixated on what we hate about us. :)
Clicking is so much easier than actually doing anything productive. And it's much, much easier that being a socially conscious caterpillar.
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