My House is an Art Gallery

My House is an Art Gallery

My house is a special art gallery,

Flowers and portraits are everywhere,

Waiting for visitors to arrive and share,

Watercolors with true stories to tell,

Eagerly anticipating the doorbell,

Portraits expectantly watch the door,

They’re silent now, for I am easy to ignore,

They’re always there, but wanting more,

At the sight of the first painting my heart leaps,

A girl with dark eyes, above my mantel weeps,

Her teddy bear is tightly clutched in her hands,

“Where are my friends? I don’t understand!”

No one visits her, I shrug and continue on my way,

I don’t have an answer, perhaps another day,

Nearby a tiger protects her cub from intruding force,

Cautiously I tiptoe past and silently leave,

There is no need to challenge her of course,

Ben, a young boy from India, wearing a scarf of red,

Watches intently a few steps up the stair,

“My family has never seen me,” he complains,

“Do they know I’m here? Perhaps they’re not aware.”

A portrait of a gray cat beside the door,

Stares with a proud and haughty air,

She wishes her tail as if she doesn’t care,

But she stays quiet and does not respond,

In the dining room awaiting my inspection,

 A single rose waves to the white amaryllis,

Where ladybugs search the flowers and drink the dew,

They clamor for their share of attention too,

The rose ignores a bright-eyed squirrel that’s ready to play,

 So he chatters at me, “How are you today?”

I retreat into my study and seize my phone,

But a portrait behind me reminds me I’m not alone,

With blood on her fingertips and blood on her lips,

A stern-faced girl admonishes, “Never forget,”

“He came to kill us, he left much to regret,”

“Be ever on guard, always stay alert,”

Within her eyes I can see an eternity of hurt,

Her warning heeded, I leave with a scowl,

In the room above, a wolf surrounded by daisies,

Lifts his head to howl,

In all the commotion I detect some surprise,

In a nearby room reside girls with bright eyes,

“A visitor,” one whispers, “who’s come to see,

 Me, just me, and only me,”

 But another smiles, “I don’t agree,”

In the hall, aware of their conceit,

A boy smiles, but he’s very discrete,

Downstairs in the basement a girl with dreds,

Dominates a wall, unconcerned with all,

That is unfolding before her,

A mischievous clown blows a kiss,

And grins at a sweet young miss,

Sitting pretty upon a bench,

A smile frozen on her face,

She asks, “Do visitors come to this place?”

Her question is reasonable,

But no answer she receives,

I’ve asked myself that question and often I grieve,

But who loves watercolors, beauty, and art?

Oft I’ve invited, I’ve done my part,

So the portraits wait patiently and stare into space,

Ignored and lonely, it’s such a disgrace,

Just me in this house with seventy and more,

Waiting and pacing, treading the floor,

Perhaps you’re ready to come this way,

I’ll check with them to see what they say,

They’ll not object to find you here,

But I want you to know they might stare,

They’re eager to please those who stop by,

They’re lonely without people and I know why,

If no one comes and sees them like this,

I’ll wrap them all up with a goodbye kiss,

I’m tired of being in this house all alone,

I’ll wrap up my treasures and then I’ll be gone

The pictures will be stacked in the dark somewhere,

Away from the crowds and dusty air,

Away from the music they hear all day,

Back to the boxes and tucked away.


16 thoughts on “My House is an Art Gallery

    • It is a very special place, full of paintings and music, books and computers. But too much for one person.

      May the sun be on your face and the wind at your back as the Lord blesses you throughout the day. Carpe diem!

    • Wish I could show them to you. I guess if ou don’t come to KC I could post a few. You’re missing out.

      May the sun be on your face and the wind at your back as the Lord blesses you throughout the day. Carpe diem!

  1. A special place, Dan, an awesome place I feel, and yes, they must feel lonely without lots of human eyes to gaze and enjoy their beauty. With no hearts to respond to their being fashioned…I felt so sad at the end, confined to boxes, as If I could hear their pleas for daylight and viewing.. Maybe my imagination is too vivid… xPenx

    • If you could see them in person you would enjoy them and they would be drawn to your compassion. I love your imagination. I feel you standing beside me as I share their stories.

      May the sun be on your face and the wind at your back as the Lord blesses you throughout the day. Carpe diem!

  2. How wonderful to have so many lovely works of art, but how sad not to have anyone with whom to share them. Our stage of life. The poem is very good, Dan. Thanks for posting it. I hope you don’t wrap up the paintings and put them in a dark place. I do hope you will share some on your blog. Maybe you could do them one at a time with a poem attached. That might be great fun for you and certainly would be good fun for us.

    Blessings … Happy Rally days. Poem on …

  3. I agree with Jamie.. those paintings need sharing, perhaps you can write a poem for each and share the beauty with us here along with a photo of the painting 🙂

  4. What a lovely poem about art waiting to be seen, Dan. Did you paint them or collect them or both? Your poem is close to my heart and made even more so with the mention of watercolors. I also collect art, painted locally, and more times than not purchase a portrait, which many collectors do not. I see what you see in them. Sadly, I am nowhere near KC so your tour, via poetry, has been a fascinating gallery walk for me. I don’t look at my wall art as sad because it is not frequently viewed by others but quite the reverse and am joyful that I saw something in each and every one of them. I am saddened when I walk into a home where there is no art and bare walls greet me. There are many more of those than homes like ours! Lovely, lovely poem. 🙂

  5. Pingback: Ben | My Blog

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