The Painting

I see the image in my mind's eye.
And put it onto the clean canvas.
My pencil strokes mark the outlines,
Keep the perspective true.
The portrait is for my friend.
She is naked in her vulnerability .
I place her chicken arms into a boxer's pose.
Her skinny leg is placed on the head of her assailant.
Her gaze penetrating and her hair crazy-free.
In contrast my friends self-portrait is dark.
Her cyclops eye is staring in disbelief,
Her body compartmentalised into broken pieces.
This is how she is now.
My portrait,
Is how I want her to be.

Instinct

Today I execute a watercolour.
I don't know how,
Or what Devine intervention,
Causes my brush to mix and choose just the right colours.
Stroke rapidly onto the card with just the right shades and forms.
It is like magic.
How fluidly the process progresses.
I feel free and uninhibited by any potential failure.
My eye captures the form in my mind.
My hand replicates it well enough on my paper.
I love this feeling.
Creating something beautiful.
Perhaps it is a form of arrogance,
This assuredness that all will go well.
Who cares?
I relax and enjoy the journey.