In Lava Lane were artists Who swung the chalk with glee. The pool proclaimed with circle, The down-stroke was the tree. On canvas of the caverns With fundamental mirth They outlawed Eva's girdle, Drew Adam as at birth. No background jammed a vision, No border awed a soul, They overran the pushpins To draw the fishing pole. They posed the lava bubbles, The baby's unborn tooth, Diameters were goaded Until the chalk was truth. The tints of wild contentment Were ever in their sighs, They fled not from the orgies When mothers shut their eyes. Those galleries no longer Connive against the blue, An angel mined the dugouts Because they were too true. And yet some sultry morning May show where art still bides -- An urchin at a billboard And chalking up both sides. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THADDEUS STEVENS by PHOEBE CARY VENUS OF THE LOUVRE by EMMA LAZARUS BUCK O' KINGWATTER by ROBERT ANDERSON OF CARLISLE THE HAPPY DAYS WHEN I WER YOUNG by WILLIAM BARNES A SUNRISE IN MARCH by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE THEME AND THE PUPPET by LETA GRACE BORLAND TO MR. SYME WITH A DOZEN OF PORTER by ROBERT BURNS |