Orbler
Byron Twain
Brenton
Dexter
Jeanne Dininni
Shilpa KarhikLife and Art by Emma Lazarus
September 20th 2008 00:21
Life and Art
by Emma Lazarus
by Emma Lazarus
Emma Lazarus
Not while the fever of the blood is strong,
The heart throbs loud, the eyes are veiled, no less
With passion than with tears, the Muse shall bless
The poet-sould to help and soothe with song.
Not then she bids his trembling lips express
The aching gladness, the voluptuous pain.
Life is his poem then; flesh, sense, and brain
One full-stringed lyre attuned to happiness.
But when the dream is done, the pulses fail,
The day's illusion, with the day's sun set,
He, lonely in the twilight, sees the pale
Divine Consoler, featured like Regret,
Enter and clasp his hand and kiss his brow.
Then his lips ope to sing--as mine do now.
Review in Poem by Dexter
Fervent adoration of form,
Addicted to substance and meaning.
The artist’s strength is spying inspiration,
Distilling inspiration with molded phrases, piloted brushes.
Expressing pure emotion,
It is the external influences, relationships and experiences,
Drawn into elegantly built glimpse of the minds eye.
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