The Painter

The Painter

A Poem by Phil Smith

I was walking home from College in the week, and saw a painter sat on a church-yard wall...


Within one of the many furrows along the

Old stone wall, he sat

With his back arched, so that paint-soaked hands

slacked upon his knees.

After enduring yet another tiresome and impoverish

Day on the site, his

Clothes were crusted with a drab, dry medley

Of emulsion and under-arm varnish.

But behind the wall, the church stood; a rise against

a cloud-splattered sky.

Looking up brought the welcomed unease of artificial movement.

But his legs still felt the

Chill of the dry stone he sat on. Bare bottomed boots,

Stripped clean of a soul

Were relieved by this stop along the journey home, where

He could sit to watch the day, and tomorrow, go by.

© 2013 Phil Smith

Author's Note

Phil Smith
This is my first crack at the poem. Let me know what you think and give as many suggestions as you can. Thanks for reading.

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Nicely done

Posted 5 Years Ago

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Added on March 6, 2013
Last Updated on March 6, 2013
Tags: Painter, solemn, depression


Phil Smith
Phil Smith

Liverpool, United Kingdom

I write for a hobby, however hope to make a living out of it after I go to university to study English. more..

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