On My Poetry

On My Poetry

I am a child playing with finger-paints,
plopping blobs of multi-colored paint,
which runs and clumps onto the canvas,
making my attempts,
to depict what I see and feel,
into murky shadows of a world too crudely rendered.
Incomprehensible swirls,
of my chubby little hands,
with mindless tenacity,
to paint,
blurry, evanescent, unrecognizable details,
as senseless as the death throes,
of a writhing salamander,
half drowned in a paint can by a sadistic child,
and thrown onto a canvas,
to create art,
through the stains of its death throes,
A child,
in a middle-aged body,
staining with artless hands,
unrecognizable forms,
in a pointless effort,
to render,
some meaning,
on the canvas,
of his life.

From Of Pain and Ecstasy: Collected Poems
(C) 2011 Victor D. López


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