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The Painter

I do so admire the ones who can render
The spirit of splendor in paint
The simple untouchable beauty so tender
So lovingly shown, with restraint

As I lazily lie in my rumpled old bed
The window’s all beaded with rain
And the thin thorny branches beside the old shed
Wildly dance in the wind’s mad refrain

From the dark House of Usher, or from Wuthering Heights
The scene seems to spring to my mind
A flight of pure fancy, but full of delights,
For the needfully searching to find.

Of Poe’s Midnight Dreary, this First of December,
I think, as my day dims to night
And, in snatches, those books I shall always remember
Each time that I turn out the light

Oh, I wish, how I wish, I could ever express
The wistfulness found in the thunder
and paint a great canvas, and leave them to guess
What nature of Spell I was under!




Lee Dunn View All

Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.

13 thoughts on “The Painter Leave a comment

  1. Beautiful. That’s how I get when I see a beautiful work of art too. Sometimes your head paints a beautiful picture and then when you aren’t able to translate that into art of any form, the frustration is killing!

    Liked by 1 person

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