Winslow Homer Sky
She paints where Winslow Homer sat,
looking out to cyan sea's green pelagic vastiness,
through mullions deftly drawn upon a net
of highlight cedars, and glass panes
filled with carandache soul;
dreams the waking dreams of watercolor
and wonders where her brush has gone...
where could she have put it?
Her daughter will soon be wed...
where could she have put it?
The outboard motor's chug is heard
looking out to cyan sea's green pelagic vastiness,
through mullions deftly drawn upon a net
of highlight cedars, and glass panes
filled with carandache soul;
dreams the waking dreams of watercolor
and wonders where her brush has gone...
where could she have put it?
Her daughter will soon be wed...
where could she have put it?
The outboard motor's chug is heard
as the punt swings into view,
blinding sun, shooting flowers
on plates of translucent chlorophyll;
her husband returning home,
clothed in sunshine harlequin and clown,
and she dreams of oil paints, layering
thick coats of patina
over umbral background
as he slips into the sea.
blinding sun, shooting flowers
on plates of translucent chlorophyll;
her husband returning home,
clothed in sunshine harlequin and clown,
and she dreams of oil paints, layering
thick coats of patina
over umbral background
as he slips into the sea.
*
*
notes:
I was early with this, and I meant to save it, but Blogger had different ideas, and I just did not want to waste time editing, so there it is - one week early.
I wrote the poem yesterday for my wife's birthday.
The persons in the poem could be Penelope and Odysseus, or Georgia O'Keefe and Ansel Adams, or unknown wonders of life.
carandache - Russian word for pencil, also a brand name of crayon: caran d'ache.
1 comment:
What is it about the sea that conjures searching, wandering, wondering? Where is it, we ask? Where is it? and we look out to sea, even if the only one nearby is in the mind.
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