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The Painter

For my father

By Barb DukemanPublished 11 days ago 1 min read

With bold, unwavering strokes

Of tinted shades, carefully mixed,

Covering top to bottom

Smooth paint on rough walls

A hobby, a profession, our father –

He painted our lives.

Old brushes, lovingly wrapped in paper

Each brush with a purpose

Fine, broad, stain, finishing

Each imprinting its own design

A swirl, a sparkle, a careful touch-up

Each marked with every color ever used –

He painted our lives.

He protected the ground

Our foundation, our past

Canvases wide, speckled with splashes of color,

Spread over valued items of daily life,

Keeping the workspace clean

Prepping saving valuable time –

He painted our lives.

The finished result: three rooms,

Two blue, one pink –

Glossy, seamless, flowing;

Beautiful, detailed, unique

Pleasant places, spectacular color

Inviting showrooms for the world

This he was most proud of –

He painted our lives.

sad poetryheartbreak

About the Creator

Barb Dukeman

Ready for a new direction after 32 years of teaching high school English. I wrote my first poem about green socks in 1977; I hope I've improved since then.

Reader insights


Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!

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Comments (3)

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  • Real Poetic8 days ago

    Beautiful! 🩵

  • Gosh this made me so emotional. A very wonderful poem!

  • Dana Crandell11 days ago

    A touching tribute, well penned.

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