Paul, your words feel like the shimmer of light just before sunset—a moment so fleeting and tender that it can only be captured by feeling, not by force. 🎨✨
As I read your piece, I could almost hear the soft pull of the tide and feel the brush of salt-laced air, the kind of atmosphere where both painter and poet are simply vessels for something larger, something sacred.
What touched me most was the gentle truth humming beneath your lines: that it's not the picture or the song themselves, but the love that breathes life into them—the love that becomes them.
Thank you for sharing this glimpse into a world where dreams have colors, and love speaks in brushstrokes and verses. You've not just captured a scene; you've captured a feeling many of us recognize but seldom have the words to describe.
I'm grateful to walk alongside your reflections, even from afar. 🌊🖋️
Thank you for your insightful comment, Jay. I like your idea that conceives of the painter and the writer as being vessels, perhaps ones who carry a sort of creative fire capable of expressing the deepest of human emotions, which I feel is where meaning really lays.
Oh, I’m here, just not always expressing. I have signed on to so many Substack posters that many days I feel overwhelmed. Muse was so refreshing and relaxing to read for my weary brain this morning.
thank you so much for your kind words — they feel like an echo across a quiet valley,
where meaning deepens because it is shared. 🌿 It’s a rare gift when different hearts find themselves moved by the same current, and rarer still when that recognition is spoken aloud. I’m grateful we could stand in that moment together, where art and feeling braided themselves into something larger than either of us alone.
Thank you, Patricia. I did some songwriting years ago but I really have no imagination when it comes to setting words to music. Some of my posts on Substack have been set to music, though, and I’m happy with the way they turned out.
Thank you, Trevor. It is difficult to keep the flow moving consistently, but once the painter verse was finished it did get easier—at least I knew where I wanted to go, which doesn’t always happen for me.
I only saw this poem today, Paul, and the first thought that came into my head as I read it was that some poets serve the Muse best when writing hymns to love. So I wonder if the painter in the poem is really you - painting in words a world that only lovers see?
So now, you paint well with words. It makes you wonder though about this idea of God giving people very specific gifts and talents. I remember being told as a kid never to waste what you are given. That's all fine in theory, but it's near impossible to pay the bills if poetry is the sole thing you're good at. Some soulless compromise is nearly always called for. If I remember rightly, T.S. Eliot was a banker, and Philip Larkin a librarian.
I spent the better part of 40 years in Southern California working for an insurance company where, among many other assignments, I was tasked with writing employee procedures manuals. Poetry was something in I wrote in my spare time as a creative outlet I guess.
I thought that, too, while I was writing it, but you know I have no musical imagination. I think it might have a kind of “Gentle on My Mind” vibe maybe?
Thank you, J.T. I was revisiting this piece while watching the Andrea Gibson documentary before posting it. I’d like to think some of the feeling of that film found its way into the poem.
That is indeed a song, Paul. It flows beautifully, captures the relationship wonderfully. I’ve been thinking a fair bit about the idea of muse recently.
Thank you, Charles. In the end, I suppose whatever inspires creativity is muse-like whether it’s a specific person or just an idea or an ideal. I have one that is never named. I don’t write every poem for them but they are in every poem I write.
Love the rhythmic cadence Paul, so satisfying to read :)
Good Saturday, Jonathan, and thank you!
Paul, your words feel like the shimmer of light just before sunset—a moment so fleeting and tender that it can only be captured by feeling, not by force. 🎨✨
As I read your piece, I could almost hear the soft pull of the tide and feel the brush of salt-laced air, the kind of atmosphere where both painter and poet are simply vessels for something larger, something sacred.
What touched me most was the gentle truth humming beneath your lines: that it's not the picture or the song themselves, but the love that breathes life into them—the love that becomes them.
Thank you for sharing this glimpse into a world where dreams have colors, and love speaks in brushstrokes and verses. You've not just captured a scene; you've captured a feeling many of us recognize but seldom have the words to describe.
I'm grateful to walk alongside your reflections, even from afar. 🌊🖋️
Thank you for your insightful comment, Jay. I like your idea that conceives of the painter and the writer as being vessels, perhaps ones who carry a sort of creative fire capable of expressing the deepest of human emotions, which I feel is where meaning really lays.
What a beautiful response. I couldn’t have expressed my thoughts better than you just did.
Thsnk you for reading and commenting, Sharon. Nice to see you here again!
Oh, I’m here, just not always expressing. I have signed on to so many Substack posters that many days I feel overwhelmed. Muse was so refreshing and relaxing to read for my weary brain this morning.
Thanks, Sharon. It’s alway good to see you here and to know that you’ve found Substack to be a worthwhile platform.
Sharon,
thank you so much for your kind words — they feel like an echo across a quiet valley,
where meaning deepens because it is shared. 🌿 It’s a rare gift when different hearts find themselves moved by the same current, and rarer still when that recognition is spoken aloud. I’m grateful we could stand in that moment together, where art and feeling braided themselves into something larger than either of us alone.
I mean what I said in this note: https://substack.com/@jaygermany/note/c-108661398
Thanks to @Pamela Leavey for this restack!
My pleasure Paul! Loved Muse.
Thanks to @Ross Ion Coyle for this restack
You're very welcome!
This should be set to music. Love the rythm!
Thank you, Patricia. I did some songwriting years ago but I really have no imagination when it comes to setting words to music. Some of my posts on Substack have been set to music, though, and I’m happy with the way they turned out.
sometimes I’m just speechless after reading your writing…
Your "Muse" is like a real beautiful painting.
Thank you, Larisa. I tried to keep the brushstrokes to a minimum.
Poetry is a lot like painting and music. They all have color, emotion and a message, and interpretation is individual. I like this composition!
You are absolutely right, Csrole. Thank you for reading and commenting.
This must have been a challenge to construct. It flows so nicely and is on point with the message. Love it!
Thank you, Trevor. It is difficult to keep the flow moving consistently, but once the painter verse was finished it did get easier—at least I knew where I wanted to go, which doesn’t always happen for me.
I know the feeling.
I only saw this poem today, Paul, and the first thought that came into my head as I read it was that some poets serve the Muse best when writing hymns to love. So I wonder if the painter in the poem is really you - painting in words a world that only lovers see?
"And his brushstrokes on the canvas
are the colors of his dreams as they
paint a world that only lovers see."
I was a different person when I wrote this poem, Martin, but I still couldn’t paint anything.
So now, you paint well with words. It makes you wonder though about this idea of God giving people very specific gifts and talents. I remember being told as a kid never to waste what you are given. That's all fine in theory, but it's near impossible to pay the bills if poetry is the sole thing you're good at. Some soulless compromise is nearly always called for. If I remember rightly, T.S. Eliot was a banker, and Philip Larkin a librarian.
I spent the better part of 40 years in Southern California working for an insurance company where, among many other assignments, I was tasked with writing employee procedures manuals. Poetry was something in I wrote in my spare time as a creative outlet I guess.
Seamus Heaney once wrote: "I dabbled in words, then words became my life."
I think I’m still dabbling, Martin!
But quite a dappled dabbler, as Hopkins might say.
What a mesmerizing poem. You can feel the love imminently from each verse. ✨✨✨
Thank you for reading and commenting, Yolanda.
My pleasure!
One of my favorite. So far.
Glad you like it, Jenn!
Really good Paul
Thank you, Paul. I appreciate your comment and your continued support.
Another poem written in colors with sable tipped brushes that looks and feels like a song! Wonderful!
I thought that, too, while I was writing it, but you know I have no musical imagination. I think it might have a kind of “Gentle on My Mind” vibe maybe?
For someone who claims to have no musical imagination, you have great taste! Gentle on my Mind is a touchstone for lots of musicians I know.
I love it for the way the lines move, Joshua—it’s what I mean by flow!
Paul wonderful poem-I had a thought that maybe your eyes misted up which made the pine pattern swim a bit. Mine did.
Thank you, J.T. I was revisiting this piece while watching the Andrea Gibson documentary before posting it. I’d like to think some of the feeling of that film found its way into the poem.
That is indeed a song, Paul. It flows beautifully, captures the relationship wonderfully. I’ve been thinking a fair bit about the idea of muse recently.
Thank you, Charles. In the end, I suppose whatever inspires creativity is muse-like whether it’s a specific person or just an idea or an ideal. I have one that is never named. I don’t write every poem for them but they are in every poem I write.
Like wise. What is special is when the specific is universal.
Exactly!