A Thing Of Worth

A Thing Of Worth


As a painter dabs this colour or that

From a palette arrayed with vibrant choice,

Conjuring unknown greens for grass,

And forming unknown blues for sky,

A startling vermilion for poppy-red,

A yellow unseen for blazing sun,


This is what I strive to do.

I would paint canvases with words

Splashed random across a page’s face.

Pen for brush and words of subtle shade,

A vocabulary mixed from many voices

And tuned to many ears

Creating a thing of worth.


But what I have are

Match-stick men for Reuben’s nudes,

Crude scratches that ape da Vinci’s strokes.

Rough carvings for Michelangelo’s David,

Myopic blurs of Monet’s impressions,

Unworthy servant at the master’s feet.

Only, if only I could aspire to such a thing

I would give near all I have

And more.


Such heights escape my meagre reach

Those lofty goals, a madman’s dream.

I must content myself with doggerel

And targets that exceed my reach.


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