This poem by Peter Sheppard is dedicated to all budding artists looking forward to the future in search of inspiration.
When is a space not space, I’ve posed this question many times before,
Is it above or below a line, like between a ceiling and a floor.
Or, is it empty, or is it full,
or does consist of nothing at all
What does it weigh and what colour is it,
Is it yellow or is it blue — or green,
Or a pastel hue or an earth shade or
The colour of a birds wing, taking on a beautiful sheen
It’s transparent or opaque. Is it still or does it quake,,
Does it move like an echo around a hill.
Does it take you along on a very long river,
Like an eddy, a ripple or rill.
Does it sway from side to side, does it slip or does it slide
What if its narrow and fast or a mile wide, or does it go up a hill.
When it hits a solid barrier going faster than a harrier,
Does it stop, or go straight through, like porcupine quill.
Does it weigh more than an ounce.
Does it weigh heavy or nothing at all
Is it something off which your ideas can bounce?,
Can it lie flat, or is it something to stand up against the wall.
It seems to me that it is anything of these,
And in the places in between,
Solidity has it all its own way, it knows what it is and where it’s been,
Not like me sitting here, but regally as a queen.
My mind is going bonkers as I sit here in this place,
Heading like an Astronaut, vertically, and about to go into space
I’m retired now and I’m 68, I’d better take my pills,
With my pencils, brushes, paper and paint, I’m off to get my thrills.