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Click hereI miss Bob Ross the painter
my Norman Rockwell of television.
I would watch on Sunday mornings
nursing Saturday night.
If the hangover was a killer
with all the flu like symptoms.
I'd want to stick his Afro in a can,
write my last will and testament.
Usually I watched in awe
restored to normalcy
by his manner and talent.
Never a master piece,
but then again....
I don't drink champagne.
I know he still shows up
in reruns. I know them all
by heart and color and tree.
How I loved the little trees
placed here and there and
with each one......
another brain cell saved.
I've seen a lady who paints
mailboxes, and vases, and cans.
So far she hasn't painted my soul.
Your poem is clever and a little bit sad, I loved it.
I miss Bob Ross, too. He was so awesome.
I didn't know he had died in '95.
I suppose you see someone in reruns so much that you don't think of them as ever dying.
Really nice lines:
I know them all
by heart and color and tree.
How I loved the little trees
placed here and there
tape the shows so I could paint those scenes... I liked to do waterfalls and he had a program with one I really enjoyed...funny how he always seemed to be on the telly when nothing was on to watch...nice reminder sand....blue
sort of the idiot box's equivalent of valium. He was such a sweet guy--and talented! He made it seem so easy, but I could never get the same effects, even though I'd try to do just what he said. Your poem brings back happy memories of Bob and his show. It made me smile. --------> :) See?
Reminds me my vacant days
Tuning in to PBS
Glassy eyed stare
Awaiting brain dead action
On another channel...