What I Did For Art

You want to know its merits? 
Very well, then. Daylight slants 
deliciously across the boy's 
inclined, thoughtful face. 
His lace collar, crumpled, 
houses valleys of shadow. 
Or what about the Water Seller? 
Look at that poncho's warm 
woven woollen texture: 
and isn't the rip in the shoulder fun? 
And the dimples on the pot! 
They scream "potness" at us. 
Or the beads of water 
clinging to the larger vessel, 
whose horizontal striations 
practically smell 
of the potter's wheel. 
But oh, that drinking-glass! 
Does it seem possible to you 
that unctuous oils and minerals 
of earth, gouged from the soil, 
can render the ethereal soul of glass? 

It was a winter afternoon. 
I'd gone along to the gallery 
on the off-chance. 
Standing before this marvel, 
I found myself entranced. 
But even as I gazed, the sun 
(though never very confident in London) 
stepped out coyly from behind a cloud. 
Duck's-egg orange light, resplendent, 
now fell aslant the canvas. 
Surely this was harmful? 
Sunlight bleaches (does it not?) 
the colour out of things. 
Alarm bells should be ringing. 
I summoned a uniform attendant. 
He nodded sagely as I explained 
- but did nothing. 
Why should he care? 
Minimum wage is no great motivator. 
An hour from now, 
he'd be hanging up that peaked cap, 
and be a person until Monday. 
No point in bursting 
a blood-vessel 
over a silly painting. Later. 

But I couldn't leave it. 
If I stood just thus, 
my human frame was just enough 
to block the sun. 
One little skirmish could be won 
if I remained here 
until the sun’s trajectory was done, 
or the gallery closed, 
whichever came the sooner. 
So I did. On tip-toe, 
spine inclined, quiet, 
I crowded out the light of day 
for more than an hour. 
Pointless, you say. 
I can't deny it. 
The very next day, 
And each subsequent foray 
of Phoebus would 
merely recreate the problem. 
That's hardly the point. 
Finding myself there, 
I beat my ploughshare 
into a sword and, 
for that tiny slice of time, 
I made the sacrifice, 
bore the quizzical looks 
with equanimity, quirky,
standing like a turkey 
on tenterhooks 
and saved the painting.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

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February 15, 2017 at 12:28 AM
Aww, this is a WONDERFUL poem. You know? the best way to get comments from people, is indeed to do contests AND to comment on their poems, that way they can see you are here. There are so many poets here, you have to make yourself known. Good luck! And congratulations with your placement :)
Guzzi Avatar
February 14, 2017 at 5:44 PM
Awww no comments?? Well, that does happen when you first get here. I'm sure you will soon have many followers!!! Congrad's on this fine bit of verse coming in the TOP 10! Light & Love
Coy Avatar
February 14, 2017 at 5:55 PM
It's so nice of you, Debbie - I was beginning to wonder why nobody's leaving any messages. I'm very grateful to you ... and I'm thinking about your editing offer!
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