L'Arte di Tim Cantor: Le Quattro Stagioni - la poesia
Such words; the do not come
My eyes press tight - My thoughts; they irksomely burn
Squares on the floor, stringent and stern, and I have not the words
Nevertheless, in the arcane of strain, I see the shine of a dress
A formidable pose
The lush of silk cloth like the cloak of a thrown
I see an innocent glaze in the guise of a bride
Or is she too young, too pure, a maiden implied?
I imagine for her to never know pain
To dance deft in her web, shedding the rain
I see two birds in black and a cat I still love
All three have gone, levied by time, now rendered thereof
Squares on the floor, stringent and stern
and I have not the words

So I am left in the fog, a colorless calm of an unkowable scene
A picture that brings memories of life, and what seems like a dream
Two gold canaries, one lived for years and sang in the sun
The other unnamed and died yet too young
A black cat I painted, time and again
Hypnotic she stays as in life she had been
The music, the strings, they chant like a ghost - cross liquid, cross bridges, in Venice with hope
My eyes press tight, my bones hark with love
Five violins. Three cellos that ring. One statue above
I see the  eyes of my Aunts asthey lay in their beds
I feel their eyes turn to me; in marble, in art, as children instead
The music consoles the dampening clocks
There is sadness in memories, in seasons, in time and love lost

Closed are my eyes
Memories and music within
Perception unfolds as the dust settles clear - The scene that I see brings something to me
Something much more
I see the lives I still love: The lives, the strings, the hearts of the past that dark Venice brings
My head falls forward, my feet scuff the stone, living in dreams and winter's return
I see the squares on the floor
Stringent and Stern
and I have not the words

The Four Seasons by Tim Cantor 

Tim Cantor's Art