The Goddess Taking Shape

It’s not my own, nor my fate.

Home alone in the closet I sit,

Admiring my displaced worldly possessions,

Like my life, my chattels lie deranged.

Paints from every mastered art,

Echoing the stirs of my heart,

And head, and soul.

Acrylic, Watercolor and Oil.

Former Love, past profession, previous life.

My favorite, acrylic red, purple, bright blue,

pink and orange (sometimes green.)

Mostly blue, Cobalt Blue these days.

Thick like toothpaste but I wouldn’t employ it the same.

He was my life, but now he is angry scarlet hues,

That meddle with my brilliant blue.

Used every week, in most every way,

Gently smeared, sometimes violently splattered.

Like the bond and how it died one day.

I like my watercolors too – but still have less control.

The medium taunts me with its tiny tubes,

Not much of a challenge, just not my groove.

Brilliant colors waiting to be liquefied;

Teaching and taught has me tied.

Washed, scrubbed, dappled and blotted.

Planned future partially plotted.

I worship my oil paints just the same,

As my misguided watercolors,

As my erroneous days.

Except, I know how to use them.

Yet, there they sit alone in dust.

Like me, unaided in a closet.

Begging to glaze an empty canvas,

Yearning for an existence, composite.

Oh! Don’t forget my brushes,

And spatulas and strings.

And don’t forget my pens, pencils,

Pastels and things.

Don’t forget me, I’m here too!

All tools, all lessons, waiting to rule!

Canvas with delayed finish here,

It started in anger and ended with fear,

Half a blue Goddess taking shape.

I like her best, she feels like tape.

And a canvas waiting for its beginning there,

A peacock with funky feathers in a strange land.

Or a gorgeous girl with her face in her hands.

Paper in every size and shape and weight.

I believe it’s high time to clean this closet.

But I imagine I’m going to paint.

~Mme. Pamela McCreight 2010~