I marked / These reds / On this canvas / In a place and time / Now forgotten by all save / A few dry scholars. But these / Reds are proof of my living hand, / Colors as alive as the taste of warm / Wine in your mouth.
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Peter Galen Massey 
The beauty of art is always discerning.
Massey Grade: B-
Massey Comment: A standard operating procedure for poets who need to feed the beast is to take a single good line, place it at the end of the poem, and fill out the material before with pedestrian stuff. This works well to a maximum length of 8 to 10 lines, at which point, you need to throw the reader the glimmer of a second piece of inspiration, no matter how faint. With Matisse here, I’m just under the count of 10, so one piece of inspiration will do. This poem isn’t so bad, but we’ve all read the “art as bid for immortality” thing before, and if the conclusion were not as sensuously evocative as it is — I find it so anyhow — this piece would be very dull indeed and not worth posting.