In honor of my mother’s continued quest of the arts and her newfound love of painting, I have decided to revise an old poem I had written about art and life through a parent/child dialogue.
(I’m really excited she’s painting! Everything she does is amazing! Seriously. 😀 She’s like Bob Ross, but her hair is a tad bit different.
Anyways, if you don’t remember the original version of this poem, it’s probably for the best. Sorry about the stanza spacing–I’m not really sure why it’s doing that.
I’m a poet not a technician jeez.
Smeared Hand Print on the Wall
Your world lacks color, is lackluster.
isn’t much left to do. All you can do:
paint it yourself.
what happens if i run out of paint?
if i never had any to begin with?
Like water into wine—
into lemons into lemonade—
into smoke into fire—
You must find it make it yourself.
what happens if my hands smear the colors?
touch something that wasn’t mine to paint?
The world is canvas—belonging to you,
that much is true, but whoever said that you
were the only one that will paint that canvas?
what happens if the colors mix & everything turns murky?
back to square one—all my colors gone grey?
Everything needs a fresh coat of paint on occasion.
Child, you worry so much about painting your life wrong
That you never once touched your brush.
Anyhoo, I really appreciate you reading this poem!!! More good stuff to come in the future! I have more poems that I want to write than I have poems that I want to revise, but each project will come in its own time. 🙂