ART IS POETRY; POETRY IS A PAINTING
Mr Eddie bearing pressure on her shoulder
She feels his soul; it’s getting colder
“Your brush strokes need to get bolder!”
That is what he told her.
She stares down at her Art folder
“Painting Guru!!” is what they all called her
In order to fight fire, does she need to get colder?
Art is Poetry. Too much pressure got her fainting.
Art is what she adored as she grew older
She knew art was going to mould her
Into a vast mountain-like boulder.
Even though art is the moulder,
Red Art is the acknowledged to be older.
Reincarnation, Rebirth, Revolution; in that order.
Truth is we all live to die; no need to ponder,
Art is Poetry. Do you see what I am painting?
King Kel is Red Art now
Aint no one else to be found
Inspectors have searched around and around,
While the hour hand runs round and round
Like an old squeaky merry-go-round.
Please, sit down and make no sound
Red Art is bound to get you space bound.
Foes will come at me like a ravenous hound
But I tell you this with a jolly sound;
Art is poetry, and King Kel has a pound.
Red Art by Kelvin Mark Mwangi.
