Incandescent Muse



Incandescent Muse

 

Incandescent Light She wears.

Her reflection blazes

With brilliant hues

Gold and vermillion

The gallant draping’s of Minerva and Nike aglow

Within her limbal ring’s darkness’ silhouette

Her filament is made of the ocean’s vapor,

Requiring no electric charge

Except for the measured, silky pigment she loves

The pungent smell of oils.

It creates vivacity inside, while the matter’s force sustains her.

Crying onto canvas, her tears of joy and wretched sorrows meander and morph into the oil’s depths. The brush becomes graceful, penciled in her hand

She warns the color

It will become her life.

The patterns and shapes are caressed with her fiery spine, and yields of her mind’s design

Pictures within pictures... significances behind meaning.

Decades of pleasure

Repeating again.

Widened eyes host a dance of delight.

A finished canvas…what a glorious sight.

Her light becomes music and to the notes her brush sings, with each stroke, it now lives.

The canvas is the center-stage for her masterful pieces.

A quiet, quivering, lingering note…the vibrato of a star soprano.

The color with which she paints keeps her in this world, and on mine.

The colors are what saved her when time had been unkind.

With her colorful portfolio, she unleashes, connects and intertwines worlds within worlds, so we can all see.

Much obliged…to be invited into such company.

Incandescent light is less efficient, they say.

The new world demands high-intensity discharge lamps, and light emitting diodes.

Yet, Incandescent light is what she wears.

She radiates even more so beneath the synthetic, beaming, white fluorescence of this new day.

They are naught, but props for her ageless center stage….

Ignorantly challenging and provoking the fervent charm of a lioness.

With or without light, there will always be her light.

Time cannot poison, purge, or confuse the talents she has created…though fire can be enough.

Until the stars in the heavens disappoint us, and the Grecian sun and moon forget to set and raise…the sun can swallow the Aegean and all that is left to consume.

Even when nothing remains…there is still color.  It may not be incandescent, but it will be the light of God, which is love.

Her salvaged wrists, her practiced fingers, her dexterous hands do not dare or consider to rival with the hands of God, but relishes in the gifts in which he has given her.

She has used them for quelling deliverance of great vexation and calamity…from the world’s harm and from her own transgressions.

Sister of Athena,

Distant daughter of Zeus

She has reclaimed, and reinvented the mythical wasteland in which our minds exist.

Through color, she breathes the life of art into our souls.

Life survives by color.

Incandescently.  




BY: S. DEPTA

 

 

About this poem

This poem is about my elderly neighbor, Stella Larson who had passed away years ago. She was quite a lady...on some days. Most days; she was on fire, painting on canvas with her artist husband (Read Larson) who passed before her. I pay my respects to Stella here, as she wished for this poem to be read at her funeral. Instead, her daughters denied her that right -So I submit it here in honor of Stella and the magical soul of a friend she was. This poem is about her, and the art she loved so dearly. Thank you for giving me this opportunity to pay tribute to Stella and the love I had for her. She was one of those people who smiled with their eyes and put the stars in the heavens to shame. 

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Written on May 04, 2023

Submitted by sldepta on May 05, 2023

2:42 min read
62

Quick analysis:

Scheme A X X X B C D X X X D X D X E X D F F X X B E X G G H X A H X A F X X X D X X X X X D C
Closest metre Iambic octameter
Characters 2,837
Words 540
Stanzas 44
Stanza Lengths 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1, 1

S. L. DEPTA

I'm a quiet introvert who spends most of my days looking out of a window -hoping for rain- while wondering how I can transform everything that is beautiful and not so beautiful into words. I've kept a diary since I was 4. However, none of them exist as I have my own reasons. Something happened to me where I was afraid to write again...instead, I'd write inside of my head with invisible ink. Now, I am vulnerably inviting you to read my art because it's the most beautiful thing I own; the pen is my heart. Here is my heart that bled onto paper. Please allow Stella to have her dying wish for everyone to hear this poem! Thank you for your time and consideration. more…

All S. L. DEPTA poems | S. L. DEPTA Books

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2 Comments
  • Váli
    Honestly thought your poem was beautiful, and was a hard choice between yours and the one I ended up voting for. I hope to see more good poems from you and I hope that despite not winning, that you continue to write and create magnificence with your words! 
    LikeReply1 year ago
  • aneway2freedom
    A creative Piece of art, I love the way you have painted this poem. Beautiful.
    LikeReply1 year ago

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"Incandescent Muse" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 18 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/161106/incandescent-muse>.

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