The smell is the thing That catches your ‘eye’ It lives up your nose Refusing to die It’s tacky and gooey And sticks in strange places Even occasionally On unknowing faces
If the wind’s from the south Or the clouds start to cry Persnickety varnish Refuses to dry Too hot or too cold It matters so much My just-painted varnish Stays tacky to touch
But the thing about varnish That most comes to mind When I think of the hours And hours of time Is the odd satisfaction From that off-hand remark That passers-by sometimes make When we’re about to embark
“Ooooh, who does your brightwork?” …I smile knowingly…
(my thanks to my sister for suggesting varnish deserved at poem…and my apologies to those of you who follow both my blogs, since this entry will be appearing in both places)
When the world is full of splashes and smudges That wander and blur A kaleidoscope of joy and life Why, I wonder, Should I limit myself To being so one-dimensional So linear By simply ‘coloring inside the lines’?
Too beautiful to contain Yet it is waiting for my notice Uncaring of my applause Yet willing to pull my mind Into a higher reality That acknowledges something beyond humanity And much closer to the divine