She left one day, her Kiowa village
And stood proudly in the sun
Beneath the Tabletop Mountains
And walked among the golden sea
Of waving grass, fearless and alone
Waiting, with keen ears and sacred breath
For the setting sun to call her name
So that her spirit could cross the great divide
No more would she walk
Across my night or my day...
Except on the wind that touches my face
Or the laughter from a child
Or perhaps in the song a meadow lark sings
And surely in the pleasure of my dreams
And in slumber I can rest, knowing full well
That her spirit has entered the land of green pastures.
Inspired by t.c.cannon and his wonderful artwork
In London fog, the river stills.
In silver sleep, it cools and fills
with cobalt mist as dawn unfolds;
above the Thames, the sun bleeds gold.
Into the haze, it pours and pools
like melting opal, liquid jewels
until the brume of morning fades
to prune the sky with unseen blades
that slice the flaming clouds in two
to frame a glimpse of Waterloo.
*Inspired by Monet's painting, "Waterloo Bridge: Sun in a Fog"
Vincent Van Gogh~Starry Night
a precarious world of indecision
a dark pallet of light
this brilliant depiction , it does scream , it cries out
blues and yellows swirl in a maze of defeat
a crescent moon suspended in a blissful evening , hangs lone in agony
I rest within this small town of hope
my eyes are saddened , my mind relentless in delight
You are mine , my asylum , my starry night
a dimension of light under this wrenching canopy of demise
Awomancarries a lamp through the window
to illuminate theendlesschaos
Lot of lost souls
run one into the other
How to distinguish one from the other?
Only pain and agony
and irremediably, inevitably, cowardly
Over the horse’s head
One light bulb singles its sorrow
there is a skull in its nose
Is it a light bulb?
or a shining sun?
or a watching eye?
Another woman look at it blank minded
without time to pray
There is a dove in shadows
like a symbol
like a witness
One flower grows next to
a soldier's arm
can't drop the sword
A bull, a horse, and a woman screaming knives
In her arms there is a dead child
a dead child, a dead child, a dead child
Somebody raises his arms on fire
fire from above and below
Dead or dying
people and animals
with eyes and mouths open
in horror, in pain
crying and suffering
Pablo thought that it happened in Guernica
but it was Vietnam, Korea, Lebanon, Bosnia, Iraq, Gaza, Pakistan, Afghanistan...
Insistent starkness claims a leafless day
Where morning breaks with silent calm and dread
The slope of field is framed, behind the glass
reveals a fallen tree, with jagged edge
and grassy hills now laced with autumn rust
Inside we find a plain and cheerless room
The table sparce, an empty chair
A plate, a knife, a saucer, without spoon
One empty cup, will wait for no one there...
Ambiance of what has been,
...still lingers in the air,
as amber glows, with threats of snow,
are just a hint, instead
Lonely hours, and lonely days, and lonely shadows blend
The endless songs of yesterday, slip in from window's ledge
A meager meal will spread upon a table set for one
Where breaking bread alone without a friend
is companioned by a solitary end
The angled sun, casts shadows deep and long
A somber mood, reflects this quiet calm
Upon the walls, where gardens grew, are faded memories
where yellow blooms of yesterday, are just a step away
Where, once were two, who loved and knew their sun would rise again
There now is one who sits alone ...at the table set for one
Where hope has gone, when morning comes...
to sing a lonely song
Based on the Painting by Andrew Wyeth ... "Groundhog Day"
Golden gleams of rays lend a refreshing glow
to leaves that wink and glimmer green
Breeze and shade cool fruit pickers' brows...
a laid back afternoon
for sun-kissed mangoes and Filipina beauties
**inspired by Fernando Amorsolo's
"Fruit Pickers Under a Mango Tree"
-- he is known to be the painter of Philippine Sunlight
Wise to emulate
“The Greatest Generation”
Hard times faced with dignity
Heroes rose from common men
*Entry for Brian’s Ekphrasis contest. Based on the book “The Greatest Generation”
by Tom Brokaw, a truly inspiring account of how people met the financial challenges
of The Great Depression.
C R O
a a n
p p l
t t y
v I S
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h d C
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Inspired by Brian Strands' Imagine contest and Edward Hoppers' "Automat"
Sinuous wheat stalks swelter and writhe in Auvers' July-dry heat:
a too-bright arid glittering, a delirious rippling of sizzling citrine.
Doom-dark crows convene to swoop and scavenge on turmoil's tempest
under indigo storm-swirled skies. A dead-end decision on a nowhere road;
his last-stand canvas smashed aside; a last stride into the smouldering gold.
*Vincent Van Gogh's 'Wheatfield With Crows' is believed to be his last painting
I never dreamt I’d be standing in the same room with you today, Norman
It was purely a last minute mother and daughter date
It turned out to be one of the most nostalgic afternoons of my life
Here you were in little Dayton
Your artwork had completely redecorated the walls of my hometown
You showed us an era when innocence was golden
It had value
A reward was a piece of chocolate pie and a smile
Fun was a picnic lunch, going fishing, or swimming at the water hole
Disappointment was sneaking through father’s bureau drawers
and discovering he was Santa Claus
What about the policeman chatting with the little boy at the ice cream parlor
Or the class writing Happy Birthday to Miss Jones in chalk
You were my favorite artist, illustrator, poet, and friend, Norman…
Those were the days
Where has the innocence gone?
By Gwendolen Rix
Written for Tracie Indigo Dreamweaver’s Contest ~Where in the World?~
and Brian Strand's "Up to 16 Lines" Contest
Dedicated with delight to my youngest daughter, Mika. What a great day we had!