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Every now and then
I get this ridiculous notion
That I could be some kind of
Artistic genius, papering the walls
Of our home with my mastery.

So I put pen to paper
Or brush to canvas
Swirling colours of preference
Which are always blue
(I seem to neglect all other colours on the spectrum)
Until an inventoriable
Mess is created, looking more
Like a toddler’s markings
Than that of a middle aged woman.
I stare at my design, unable to fathom
How it is that a masterpiece
Of abstract is so difficult
To create
Until I realise, with some regret,
That I was never meant to be
An artist.

2 thoughts on “masterpiece 

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