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EULOGY FOR THE ELDON GALLERY, WATERLOO

Cyndi MacMillan Avatar Cyndi MacMillan - Premium MemberPremium Member Send Soup Mail Go to Poets Blog Block poet from commenting on your poetry

Below is the poem entitled EULOGY FOR THE ELDON GALLERY, WATERLOO which was written by poet Cyndi MacMillan. Please feel free to comment on this poem. However, please remember, PoetrySoup is a place of encouragement and growth.

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EULOGY FOR THE ELDON GALLERY, WATERLOO


Once a place that sold cultivated pigment, the shop has become a catacomb,
Windows entombed by cardboard boxes, deprived of the merest hint of life and
I wonder if the gallery owner had intended a display of irony or focused rage. 

Gone, the watercolour weeping chartreuse, its soft backdrop of midnight blue,
And the oil on wood with knife strokes applied so thickly, it almost moved, 
Charcoal sketches of thunderstorms hitting the shores of Port Elgin, greys loud. 

Dark now the halls that had sheltered dreamscapes, art of all disciplines and sizes,
Squeezing themselves into corners and elbowing each other for my attention.
I ache for that one perfect dove that called to me from an azure sky, the one who 

knew my name, but I did not have the funds to take him home to my little cage.
He deserved a rectory or a view that would at least provide a kind of sanctuary.
Oh, how his wings had beat against pulse points and one of his feathers tickled

out a memory of a robin that had flown towards a cloudless sky, but instead had 
collided with a picture window; the contact point marred by a red, sickle shaped 
smear, and my grandmother had carefully wrapped the corpse in yesterday’s news.

I had trudged out to the garbage can, unseen, found the poor thing in its shroud, 
Snuck out to the garden and buried it amongst tall phlox and florid snap dragons,
I’d succumbed to tears, wrenched by a world where beauty is fragile and disposable.

Today people walk along the street, wearing blinders, holding devices that fail to
signal that something living and real slowly starved to death, atrophied, and I watch
a happy child point to a puddle, but her mother fails to see the large coin it holds.

I recall a portrait that had enraptured like a sun shower, reminiscent of light and rain, 
A girl traipsing waves, almost overtaken, her footsteps disappearing under foam…
And I silently apologize to those artists unmet, the ones who continue to meet panes. 







*Please click on the About my Poem link to see a picture of what inspired this poem... It has been closed for a while, but today, I walked past it and remembered the lovely art that I had once appreciated, yet was never able to afford. 

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  1. Date: 2/21/2012 12:31:00 PM
    It is so sad to see art shops like this one close, Cyndi. People DO seem to be walking with "blinders" today, all caught up in the material world. Attention to the arts has suffered so much as a result of this. You're an amazing writer! Love, Carolyn

  1. Date: 2/20/2012 8:40:00 AM
    Dear Cyndi -- You are some writer. Your piece if filled with reality and allegory, mourning and regret. The bird is a magic touch and oh that puddle. Thank you for the pleasure of reading this today. love, Kathy

  1. Date: 2/20/2012 7:44:00 AM
    I will be an old forgetful Papa someday telling his great grand kids, "I told Cyndi that she would be famous someday" and my grand kids will tell Nana, "He says that every time we're here"! The owner's rage, loud grays, personification of elbowing paintings, your room as a cage too small. You own those paintings in that magnificent mind of yours. I posted you to my favorite poet list...but you were there already!

  1. Date: 2/19/2012 3:33:00 PM
    Just read this with my Dad who is visiting this weekend. WOW again WOW at your talent. Please keep 'm comin' and that line "wrenched by a world where beauty is fragile and disposable" really got me. Namaste of course !N

  1. Date: 2/18/2012 9:07:00 PM
    Wow, Cyndi! I feel like I'm the one walking past the window of the gallery. Amazing write! Blessings, Rhonda