asks us to consider this artist
asks us to consider this artist
I wish I'd thought of it first.....
That sploshing the paint around!
That laying sheets of canvas
On the floor or on the ground,
Then hurling, dripping, splashing,
The paint with a joyful shout!
That puddling, streaking, splodging;
That letting it all hang out!
I admit the results are pleasing;
The colours swirl and blend,
But did he even imagine
He was going to be a 'trend'?
I bet he was just having fun,
In a creative way.
Yet think how much his works are worth,
Right up to today!
No-one can ever copy him.......
'After Pollock' they would write.
They'd say the colours were too thick
To undisciplined, too bright.
For Pollock was a 'one off',
The very best thing to be.
But how I wish I'd thought of it!
Then you'd all worship ME!
SPARE A THOUGHT
Spare a thought for the stand-up comic who doesn't make the grade,
Who doesn't make the people laugh and who hasn't learned his trade!
He strides with confidence on the stage, looking smart and debonaire,
Full of bright bonhomie and a dash of savoir faire.
His head is full of anecdotes, and other tasty stuff;
He's practised in front of the mirror. And now it's 'off the cuff'.
He starts off with a roguish glance to win the peoples' hearts;
He's studied other comics and has seen their clever starts.
He pulls a few funny faces that make the people grin
And then he thinks 'I'll tell a joke to pull the audience in'.
But the audience starts to fidget as the joke goes on for ever;
It seems they've heard it all before, furthermore it's not too clever.
He decides on a little banter with a man in the front row,
But he soon runs out of witticisms and the pace begins to slow.
By now our comedian's sweating, and looking a little pale;
He knows he's on a downward path! He knows he's going to fail!
He does a silly pirouette that ends in a stupid stumble;
He's looking for some funny words, but all he does is fumble.
He's hanging on to the microphone as though it's for dear life!
He remembers the jokes went down so well when he told them to his wife!
There's a murmur in the audience and a shuffling of feet;
And he suddenly realises this joke is a repeat!
Someone stands and leaves the hall, slamming the door on his way!
Lots of other people think they really don't need to stay.
Our comedian sidles off the stage; he knows his performance stank.
Why, oh, why had he handed in his notice at the bank?
Poloocky pictures look like it was done by a child but no one can imitate his free wheeling style ~ Great capture of the artist ~
The life of a comedy artist is not funny, hey ~
So true. Well said. There is a lot of art that I wish I had been the one to think of. I often think of this when I go to our local art museum and view arrangements of colors or childlike scribbles with chalk; and there it is hanging for all to view.
I really appreciate this post. I have been looking all over for this! Thank goodness I found it on Bing.
Pollock definitely was one of a kind!
I wish I had thought of it, too
I love the spirit of your words and the playful nature of this poem~
He does have a scribble freedom that is so elementary and free...
YOU captured this in your poem...
Very clever words to match with both the images painted by the man and Mr Pollack himself. Of course all very costly to purchase these days:)
Thank you for your visit to my Blog and the comments...
Ha ha!! So true! Your opening line made me chuckle...me too!! :)
Poloocky pictures! LOL! Or Polloocky. Enjoyable read. Thanks!
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