Sunday, 10 January 2016

Blasted For Bad Habits

“Buste de femme assise” (Bust of a Woman Sitting) by Pablo Picasso (1960)

Because I’ve never read a poem that opens with justification I thought I’d start one myself
The way Picasso portrays a woman’s breasts is far from the goal of consistency 
Or the desire that ensures 
The artisan
Is loaded in lab coats
To paint with silicone 
The clone of the perfect human form
Comes from
But a womb
A little swelling is a reasonable price
Picasso was among those to free the nipple first  

Let’s move on from Picasso 
Indeed discuss the patient’s fright that distresses
The skin
Rough like sun-dried canvas
Complexions of strokes from stress
A woman on canvas is immortalized
Makes god jealous
Those bridges that divide the human faces in halves
Were built to stop the sweat from sliding to the other side
There are exceptions to rules of greener grass
But yellow fields do make for better backdrops and art

Which is hard to debate
Is easier than poetry for no one harasses the painter more than they’re tempted to tax the poet
On demands of curiosity 
Confusion is the cousin of confrontation
For some reason it seems more rational to question the abstraction
Of poetic obstacle courses
Yet noble to accept the nature of ambiguous art
I bet you’ll be surprised to learn that Picasso also wrote poems
Will take offence if you dare to question his feelings
But not his paintings
Ultimately, however, preferably neither