I wonder if there was art
on the walls that burnt
was there any ownership
of those walls that burnt
who owned the images on the doors
that broke
on that day
In wanting to protest and
have their voice heard
to scream in that space
to compensate for voices silenced
in retribution
was their art in the charcoal
smouldering, rubble and mess
The burnt out tree trunk
stands proud in the landscape
artwork unsigned, common property
dark stain against red earth
making protest beautiful
decay is welcomed
as remains compost
the ground.
A theserespoto nse
I can't say how I ended up at writing my poem from reading your poem, but somehow, I did. - Kevin
ReplyDeleteSometimes,
silence is skin,
thin with ash
and burnt flame
rubbed in;
the ink of art
disappearing,
again
This is free improvisation. An asynchronous form of creative practice that we have engaged in for years. Thanks. Wendy.
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