The Painter

The Painter


The paint is dripping from my ear.

The apple, nestled in the grass

that might as well be slender hands,

appears to be a sun until

a splash of yellow cries, "Too near!

Discordant!" Place a figure with

a female form - but turn her sideways

like a worm - beneath a cataract 

of stars like owl eyes. This character's

a prize for any ample sovereignty 

to tear apart like some disguise.


I’ll blend a cordial donkey into trees

behind the scene to maybe interrupt

or else confuse a lusty heart’s

abusive glance. A misbegotten,

apprehensive cloud; a touch of gray

or dalliance of red to make it peal

with thunder in the viewer’s head

tonight in bed. An altogether

helpless face on top of it: a screen

or traces of a mask; a ghost or

the confessor’s grille; a portrait

some will think I painted over like

a failed attempt at love – let’s

put the sun behind a meteoric dab. 
Jake Sheff
Jake Sheff is a major and pediatrician in the US Air Force, married with a daughter and three pets. Currently home is the Mojave Desert. Poems of Jake’s are in Marathon Literary Review, Jet Fuel Review, The Cossack Review and elsewhere. His chapbook is “Looting Versailles” (Alabaster Leaves Publishing). He considers life an impossible sit-up, but plausible

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