People in the Clouds

 

Abstrabicus

Abstrabicus

Painting, oil, acrylic, water, color to attract our eye
We may travel to exotic places, with no need to fly
Meet people from far away, in geography or in time
Marvel at their talent, yet you might not pay a dime

Pictorial storytellers from Lascaux to sprayed graffiti
People or rulers of old, even Al Capone or Frank Nitti
Cultural continuity, our history shown throughout time
Long before the written word, in either prose or rhyme

Think you don’t understand; I don’t think you’re right
Though shortened, commercialized, it is still in sight
Not its exclusive venue, we’re told it’s all that matters
Till Tut or Dresden’s Treasures our worldview shatters

So why then is art relegated to the fringes of our lives
Co-opted for the merchant’s bidding, in our burb-hives
If we are good worker bees, we may not notice much
Trudge in step, drink our beer, watch sports and such

Art, should triumph know, shadow-hid, must inveigle
Those who create it know to them and all it is integral
It is rooted deeply within the bones, within the blood
Conveying Earth’s life from mammoth hunt to flood

Moving pictures share this role, screen capture an era
Pertinent or sadly dated, changes forms like a chimera
Records our daily struggles, portrayed in bits and bytes
Instant people in the clouds, just add sound and lights

So why must artists struggle, starving artists a cliché
Laboring to find their truth, they should get better pay
Respect, at least, no more snide remarks or snickers
Laugh, you fools, you’re unfit to hold their knickers

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