Duane E. Anderson
- Ena-Alese
- Aug 20
- 3 min read
As a writer, I've always been drawn to poetry's ability to convey complex emotions and ideas in a condensed, powerful way. With over 45 years of experience, poetry has been a constant source of inspiration and growth. I'm a published author in two anthologies, and I'm passionate about exploring the human experience through my writing.
" My souls clothes revised ".
As, I look up the works of Dickens, Austen, Shakespeare, and Tolstoy.
From the pages of each, my mind seeks solace.
A release from the meshed chaos humanity follows.
Every word my soul devours savoring it's worth and depth.
As, it asks for the melodies of times long ago, to be summoned again.
Needing to embrace symphonies, sonatas, and concertos the way only Beethoven could pen.
My soul is clothed in the threads of Poe, Atwood and Frost.
Its cloak folded by Michelangelo, Donatello and Degas.
Each interests painted by Picasso, Monet and van Goghs hand and brush.
Understanding when stone spoke brilliance taught.
Needing for my heart to meet the Romantic mind of Brahms.
I listen to his concertos, and choral works play on.
Speaking of loves complexities the way, only his mind could invent.
Gives my soul a settled joy, words can't express.
Feeling still a thirst for further refinement.
My ear turns to the Operatic works of Wagners designing.
Appreciating its range of scale and themetic depth.
That time has lost as evidence from todays released nonsense.
Journeying on, my essense ask to visit Broadways Best.
Seikilos epitaph the gate through I must pass.
To stand along side where Oklahoma, Carousel, The Sound of music, and The King and I rest.
Each, with its own tale of entanglement to share.
My eyes watch with every interests just as my ear listens to all their soul lies bare.
Yearning to immerse in classics anew,
To be lost in the echoes of Les Miserilles and Hamiltons view.
Seeking where true creativity has gone to die.
While variations of Hallelujah in new forms collide.
Has my essense asking to wander on,
To where the masters of sculptured tact
Speak through formed creations of Stone and Bronze.
Michelangelo speaking of each of his works physique, and pose.
Donatello whispering of every realistic expression his hands formed.
Degas mentioning how each of his creation of bronze.
Dances with an expressive grace that only laborious love can call upon.
Still my soul yearns for further fulfillment.
So, I look up the works of Picasso, Monet, and Van Gogh to soothe it.
Delighting in Monets Mastery of light and color displayed in his outdoor scenes.
Amazed at Van Goghs bold thick brush.
Conveying a sense of emotion and energy.
Inviting pause over Picassos faceted works.
Astonished by their Breadth, complexity and intellectual merit.
Now its thirst almost quenched, my essense quests on.
Reading Atwoods account of Genetic oppression and mis aligned sexist views that linger on.
Pondering over Poes shortstories of mystery and death.
Has my senses nearly sastaited.
Only a slight degree of need remains left.
So, to finally appease my need.
Frost portrayals of reality complete my journey.
My soul is clothed in the threads of Poe, Atwood and Frost.
Its cloak folded by Michelangelo, Donatello, and Degas.
Each interests painted by Picasso, Monet and van Goghs hand and brush.
Understanding when stone spoke brilliance taught.
Written by:
Duane E Anderson.
Link to poem below.
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