Written (after the fact) for the GloPoWriMo Day 4 prompt: write your own poem about living with a piece of art.
Now, I have no art on my walls, nothing at which to stare and contemplate its meaning;
All the flashy screens beg attention diverting my thoughts, more mundane;
In simpler times, a painting was all.
Yet, over there, a student’s picture – I requested her to paint my cats;
And glued to the wall, another friend’s attempt at writing a comic about Chinese rock music.
Band stickers adorn the cupboards and my favourite 30-year-old poster hangs tattily above the rows and rows of CDs, themselves, providing a wall of colourful design.
So, I guess there is art on my walls, scattershot and thoughtless, each little piece contributing to the library of my life;
1994ever 