dirt on the welcome mat

Tag Archives: painting

All the paintings in his house

Were of the walls themselves.

Replicating boundaries,

Untraveled seas,

And memories

With each framed

Canvas layer,

His own brush painted

Dust and cracks

Between the shelves.

He held perfection,

Crushed, then glued

It back together,

And hoped that she

Was doing the same.

Scribbles form flowers
Easily enough.
Trees and birds come alive
With watercolor stuff.

Stray pen marks  
Turn to effortless sunshine.
Just a few fingerprints
Make a picture mine.

Seated in a circle,
My classmates all knew
Art was what
We were meant to do.

Being an artist was easy,
But we were talented, of course,
Until the teacher told us
To each draw a horse.

One plastic red cup
Anchored down with water weight
Was our sun as we orbited
The splintered picnic table.

Dipping long paintbrushes
Into our pond water paint,
We like cavemen drew
Crude designs on rock canvases.

More smooth brown stones
In a basket of rusted wire
Waited to be turned miraculously
Into the object of our appetites

Some might say
Our soggy paintbrush strokes
Dragged across dirty stones
Vanished with the summer breeze,

But my fingertips absorbed each drop
Just before they blew away
And now, racing in streaks up my arms,
The droplets display their color.



Negative space,

The nothing place

In a work of art.

It’s the invisible net

Somewhere in the sky

That catches balloons.


Mountain music in his soul,

Skill in his hand,

He swam deep in the ocean,

Painted its beauty from land.


King of boggles and crosswords,

Western Electric retiree,

He worked mathematical puzzles,

Had no college degree.


Loved to argue opinions,

Had his share of life’s hurts,

He smoked Camel cigars

In his red flannel shirts.


Our shared bread and butter

Was Big Red and Root Beer.

We rocked in his hammock

And fished off his pier.