This week’s poem is cleverly titled ‘Joan of Art’, I can’t remember who in the writers society suggested that but I know it was one of you bees! It is about Joan Miro who is an artist with a very big place in my heart.

Joan of Art

At first the colours make little sense, disharmonised and tense –

A war on the canvas.

Another look and the war resolves to peace agreements.

A moment to contemplate.

The gentle flick of old man’s hand with brush extended,

A mind and body twinned.

The paint-bucket lunge to cover the topmost corners

A lifelong child released.

Shirt and trousers always stained with yesterday’s work

Primary colours retaught.

Lunch break sandwich held in careless turpentine hand,

A blunt pencil in other.

Burns his finger tips lighting another match

Fire creature breathes.

Flames licking at the canvas until it opens up for him

And is forever changed.

An untitled piece, an artwork, a release, a moment of enrapture.

Trapped.

Entombed behind glass, the animal soul dies, skinned alive

Stripped and resized

In tacky gift bagged jewellery, the colours restricted in reprints

Little of Joan survives.