Today's poem is by Barry Sternlieb

Dry Brush Painting of Winter Crows

Fed by hunger,
greatness comes down
to a few sudden strokes
of the brush.

In no time, five birds
crack the frozen sky,
vagrant notes
on a scale of space.

At eighty, doing
justice to the way
nature works,
he works like nature,

without a doubt,
holding the line
against illusion
so black and white

ring true as always.
Too simple for words
this flock of crows
gusting past.

Chinese ink, rice paper:
such a small painting
practically empty,
that makes what waits

in the wings
somehow soar
toward the unseen peaks
of our lives.

Copyright © 2004 Barry Sternlieb All rights reserved
from The Southern Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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