There are many who have the proclivity
To claim art has no real objectivity
And it’s true, but it seems rather trivial
To condemn as not-real the convivial
Tag: Arts
The Creative Impulse
It is better to make poor beauty than great ugliness
When you love the arts, you love people who love the arts
Color and symmetry are food and drink for the human soul
A pen can do almost anything in the hands of a good worker
Making a piece of paper better than it was is worth doing
People who support the arts locally make all arts possible
Creativity can make many things, including refuge
To share is human:
A Tapestry of Lives and Tales
A tapestry of lives and tales
A melody too few have heard
The lover and the warrior
The wisdom of the ancient bird
The horns of orange buffalo
That I cannot, will not forget —
A tapestry of lives and tales
That can enrich us
Yet
Photo credit : © Richie Lomba | Dreamstime.com – Native American Art
To share is human:
Classroom Art
I love the arts that have no name,
Like teacher’s decorations:
Their creativity and joy
And all the endless patience
That goes into the worlds they make
Within their classroom walls —
The color and the order, and
The winters, springs, and falls
That come into crepe paper life
To reach out to young hearts.
For teaching can be drudgery
At least at times, in parts,
But still, there is much art in this.
With number, and with letter,
Comes love of colors, learning, and
Of making kids’ lives
Better
To share is human:
a dancer by the sea
he walked a lonely concrete stair
surrounded by barbed wire;
the things he thought he knew were gone,
and joy had gotten shyer
he felt despair, and anger, and
a soreness in one knee,
when, breathless, at the top, he found
a dancer by the sea
the music, and her moves, bespoke
the truth behind the veil,
of joy and sadness, love and hope,
that beauty can avail —
her movements were the ocean, in
totality – and parts –
salvation there in abstract form,
a rescue by the arts —
and when at last he did descend,
a new life had found birth:
and consolation’s many forms
had given his life worth
for there is ugliness, it’s true,
but reasons, yet, to be:
in music, and in stories, and
in dancers by
the sea
