A Profusion of Marigolds

This poem was inspired by all the artists, novice and veteran, who share their paintings with us across various public forums. Please know, your art lingers, therapeutically.

When the news is bad,
when the mist is heavy as night,
when all around you windows are mirrors,
when Time-is-up approaches your front gate
and carrying on feels like a transgression,
come to my house and I will paint for you.
I have learned a particular set of brush strokes.
Double loads of orange and green, yellow and indigo,
layered, blended, swirled while wet, like sadness,
like pain and pleasure, like love’s broken hope
looked at under a rising dripping sun
slowly drying the sorrow glossing your cheek.
And standing at this angle you’ll think of daffodils
in cliff-wind and the sound of hummingbirds.
Here’s one that might be headlights
sweeping back and forth up Groat Road,
leaving you wet-faced and waving from the bridge.
Here’s a painting of a prairie barn,
can you smell the horses?
and this slough
with red-winged blackbird
is the gentle hand of your grandfather,
his sweater, the colour and feel of cattails.
I will keep on painting
but it’s important that you continue to rise from your couch,
leave your house
and walk down the street to catch the No. 7.
The motion is good for you. As well,
it will take you more than one visit to see
what I’m sure will turn out to be
a profusion of marigolds.

The following is just a sampling of paintings, gleaned primarily from Facebook: