A Call to ArtsmenA Poem by emipoemiYe raconteurs of literature, Ye shooting stars of scenery, Ye architects of portraiture, And masterminds of melody- Pray harken to what I’m to say: The darkness keeps us out of sight. Yet let’s not wallow in dismay, We all must make towards the light! For know how life without a sound Hath placed us lowest of the low. For many years we’ve roamed around With numbers that proceed to grow. ’Tis by such circumstances plain That we must rise and voices raise, For we’re among who entertain, And thus deserve a higher praise. To authors, poets, dramatists: Thy magic quills ne’er leave the page Unless there’s soreness in thy wrists, Or ev’ry written word is sage. Thy works would come to life when read, Then shortly would forgotten be, And leave ye all as good as dead In cold and dank obscurity. Just memories would then remain, Yet even that is not enough To overcome the horrid pain Of ever knowing life is rough. Stay strong and persevere, I pray, Ensure thy muses stay aboard. Remember always what they say- The pen is greater than the sword. To actors of the stage and screen, And dancers of the earth and air: Amusement blooms in ev’ry scene, Allure in ev’ry spark of flair. For actors, all thy voices ring With Shakespeare’s or another’s words, As well as with the songs ye sing Like choruses comprised of birds. For dancers with thy feathered feet Enhancing ev’ry glide and prance, Thy bodies guide ye through the beat, And ever keep a stately stance. For all thy deep emotions shown And all thy graceful movements stirred Have always to the world made known They’re greater than the spoken word. To all musicians sharp in tune, And singers lyrical in song: Ye rouse the sun and lull the moon, Ye steadily move life along. Thy music whistles in the breeze, And echoes from the hills and plains. It skips through waters, sweeps through trees, And raps on doors and windowpanes. Thy tones and metres let us skip Across the sea, across the air, Aboard a magic swirling ship, Without unease, without despair. Particularly brief in time, Profound and infinite in bounds, Thy music hath a mystic chime Compared to other daily sounds. And last, to painters bathed in tints, With canvas, paint, and brush arrays; Photographers with film and prints; And sculptors with woods, stones and clays: Thy hands so deft, thine eyes so keen, Ye always capture splendidly A pleasant or a murky scene, The abstract, or an entity. In colour or in black and white, Thy works without fail tell and teach Their woven tales and themes despite Their static states and lack of speech. Thy works forever gleam with pride Depicting flowers, stars, or birds, Their tales extending far and wide- A picture’s worth a thousand words. We are the Artsmen! Willed and strong! Our craftsmanship be weaponry With which to rise against the wrong The causes us such injury! For none can live upon their art, And such, alas, is sorely sad. We Artsmen strive to do our part, But end so starved and poorly clad. And we’re among who entertain! Thus where doth all our glory lie? Our souls are crushed, our hearts in pain, As though the Artsman’s end is nigh. ’Tis time to rise! With soul and heart! And to the world our cause convey! A better profit from our art, And that would make the Artsmen’s day! -EDP © 2018 emipoemiReviews
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