The Realist
(for Clark Gussin)
In August, when the wheatfields flame into gold,
There is brilliance to the brush and pen,
Past all remembrance, forgetfulness, sin
As Pisces and the Scorpion unfold
Their ghostly faces. It is blue midnight
And the brush still, the painting finished,
The house grown quiet, now undiminished
By any slant of sun or Northern light,

What is the meaning behind Van Eyck or
The Northern masters? What reverent words,
Praise of God, issues from their age-cracked lips?
Realism is its own reward. Is your
Mastery peaked when in peace with the Lord?s
As is the hand, the brush the soul?s eclipse?

- Calvin Green (USA)

Published in "Rubies in the Darkness". Issue 16, 2010
  Copyright © 2017 Clark Gussin, All Rights Reserved.
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