Alan Bruce Thompson
The Picture Gallery
I've been in the frame a while now.
I'm taut and I'm very thin and covered in paint.
I'm more than the canvas. I'm also the painting.
During the day they stream past me and point.
Sometimes I follow with my eyes until some child notices.
The parents never listen to their children.
If they did I might need to put out my tongue.
Clever painter who allows me to change each day.
I do this while the custodian is away.
From old to young, woman with beard, man with mole,
I change at will, from equator to pole.
What most visitors to galleries do not know
Is that in the middle of the night it's always so!
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Comments about this poem (The Picture Gallery by Alan Bruce Thompson )
- MOTHER, Saheb Mohapatra
- POETRY, Saheb Mohapatra
- Sea, Land, Shadow, Kazuko Shiraishi
- Deafened Joy, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- I Have Never Been Anything Like Pink, Kazuko Shiraishi
- Unlocking Doors, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- Without Shame, Gamier Dalet Mwaikoma
- Water's Tears, FOEVERAMI JOHNSON
- The Man With Fire In His Eyes, Kazuko Shiraishi
- Thursday, Frank Avon
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