I’m hosting for Tuesday’s dVerse Poetics and am looking for poetry about feathers. Please join us with a poem of your own.
Photo: V. Ceretto
she would paint feathers, she told me,
would spend her days waiting
for feathers fluttering to earth
borne on gentle zephyrs
feathers fallen to the ground
those scattered by a bird of prey
the bodies of a sparrow or a wren
she chooses brushes carefully
(the finest sables) or a nib
she’d load with color or with ink
to focus on delicate detail
outlining veins and every plume
the clash of color line and shape
for feathers are what makes a bird a bird,
she says, and wonders why the jays glow blue
and orioles gold and how to capture iridescence
such glorious structures fractal-ly complex
her studio’s awash in brilliant quills
exotic colors luminous light
collected on the beach and desert floors
some in the mountain heights on trails
and in her garden bed beneath the trees
her work is like a prayer, she says,
a mystical mandala journey to within
she dips her pen into the very heart
of our creation’s source, and recreates
the energy that throbs beneath
the skin of every living being
Image: Public Domain
Image via Wikipedia
Were you to draw this life in black and white,
the lines would then be hard and not forgive—
no subtle shades to ease the journey’s plight.
With color’s tones and even tones of gray
the world assumes her nuances of grace—
the lights and shadows of our every day.
So you surrender paint and page and hand
unto the artful muse who lurks inside,
allowing her to guide your thought and pen.
You smear the brightest orange with yellow
taste the sweet scent of the fair Scotch Broom
and forge in black the loamy earth below.
Now play with texture to confuse one’s sense
and add perspective, draw the viewer in.
Create illusion to obscure pretense.
You will take risks when you engage in art,
allow your soul to bleed on canvas bare.
Be sure you understand this ere you start.
Submitted to Jingle’s Poetry Potluck where the theme for this week is ART! http://jinglepoetry.blogspot.com
Image by ~jjjohn~ via Flickr
A stretch of white.
You scrape a knife
through black, then indigo,
across the horizon.
Reach for a tube of
squeeze the contents
onto the lower half
Payne’s grey sky.
A slash of crimson,
a miniscule orb
Submitted to dVerse Poet’s Pub where, for the first prompt, we are asked to build something. Well, I’m not at all handy so I thought I’d build you a painting to hang behind the bar. It will be a bit abstract but if it seems a bit dark, I intend to infuse with a lot of hope!
Check out this exciting new poetry community at http://dversepoets.com/
Image via Wikipedia
I just finished reading a novel about Ernest Hemingway’s first wife–Hadley–entitled The Paris Wife. A part of the experience was that it allowed me to creep inside the author’s disturbed psyche and feel something of what he must have felt.
For this week’s writing prompt, I challenge you to select a well-known artist or literary figure and try to assume their persona. Read up a bit on their personal life and world view, if you need to, then write a poem or short fiction from their point of view and/or in their voice.
Take Hemingway, for example. You could write something that sounds like what he would write OR you could articulate an emotion that you might ascribe to him–perhaps his insecurity at the beginning of his career, the guilt he felt when he was unfaithful, the deep depression that preceded his suicide.
Choose someone you think you can understand or with whom you can identify. Or an author/artist whose work is familiar to you.
Hope this one is fun for you.
This poem is in response to this past week’s Monday Morning Writing Prompt. If you don’t know a lot about Vincent Van Gogh, I recommend Irving Stone‘s novel, “Lust for Life.” It is a beautiful novel about the artist and Irving Stone is known for his thorough research.
are those your boots?
They speak of pain,
of hard work and tears,
of fruitless labor,
of loss and darkness.
Or did they belong
to the miner who died?
The one you served
in your early days?
of loss and darkness.
why do you try?
Why do you see the world
in blue and orange
when all you know
is loss and darkness?
Did you wear those
boots the day you
died, the day you
tried to end the pain
and failed to find even then
the end of loss and darkness.
put them aside,
learn to dance, to sing,
to find the way to joy.
Your work speaks of beauty
and peace; it belies
a life of loss and darkness.
The world now knows
an artist who sought,
who longed to love
and be loved and who
gave of himself
in spite of loss and darkness.