On Walls

One.  I've discovered a new phobia. I have the fear of bare walls.
Two.  I have a new hobby too.  Taking pictures in my basement.
Three.  I wrote this poem at a writers camp.  The challenge was to observe something generally considered ordinary and mundane and see if you can discover some kind of unexpected beauty, then write a poem about it.
This poem is dedicated to my basement.  It's good to be back.  Writing in a blog titled 'A Blue Box in the Basement and a Cup of Coffee' didn't feel right writing from anywhere else.

Room Kind of Love

You enter in

My hollow heart.
Where have you been?
Where did you start?

You sit inside me,

Against my wall.

You cry for help,
As though I'm not here at all.

I breathe on you
From my vent above,

Cooling your tears.

A room kind of love.

Wall Painting

I'm not the only one. 
You can vent too.

You can talk to me, 
Like I talk to you.

Your plug to the left,
My outlet to the right,
Though these walls are mute,
Take my input tonight.

I know all you hear
Are my hissing lights,
The electric hum,
My creaking pipes.

But you look sad,

And I don't know why.
But I'll lock you in,
While you cry.

Ceiling painting by Dr. Elemis Pott and the Pizza Angel

Wallace 

The giant blob fish portrait by Grace Wyka that sits proud and resolute on my wall.

View from the window

Another View 

Wall paintings and wooden sword 

Wall painting