Best Monet Poems
pink marshmallow clouds
tinted by the setting sun
artist mixes oils
11/13/19
and if my heart is flawed ~
a muse-less manipulator,
it is because
it has known the murk
where nymphaea drift
through green grief
of algae blooms,
yet still m e l t s
in mauve muteness
to feel love’s rhythm
in merciful melancholy,
whilst the air
ripples like fractured light
on a liquid edge
dreaming,
drawing
somewhere
between silence and sacredness,
as mind mimics migrating birds
blissfully bruised
but never broken...
for I am the essence
of an aquatic-blossom ~
soft yet strong ~
patience my pulse
kindness my dignified design,
when coldness finds
its cruel coherence...
O beloved,
feel me
beyond the sighing pond-mists.
I am your mirror
in shallow reflections,
interpreting your
quivering quietness
into unbreakable
laces of light
that float and breathe
as mindfulness
frames the placid pixels
in oil pigments ~
an aura of an artist
can refine to redefine,
where lilies linger
and the water reminisces
its own sun's
luminous f l o w ...
A nail goes in the barren wall to bring the spring alive
I can almost hear a bird that begs a morning sun to rise
There's a garden now between my palms, and dew within my eyes
The fog lifts high and drifts away, and clouds that hover high
While butterflies, and bumble bees, bring color, oh, so grand
Addressing spring, caressing things, a rainbow in my hands.
I glimpse, as if through windowpanes, and fall in love anew
Enchanting me with roses, red, that bloom around my head
A cottage quaint, with paint of gold has cheered me from the blues
Such charm invites my soul to rest, in shades of Monet hues
From nature is a vast array, of color, by the best
I wish to hold the magic long, to frame, to keep, ... to last
__________________________________________________________________
Inspired by "Springtime By Monet" For Ekphrasis Contest Sponsored By Rick Parise
1/5/15
A lonesome magpie~
perching on a forlorn wooden stairs
on a snowcapped mountain side
spells serenity in the day light.
The barn house reflects
the pale lavender shadows~
a soft blend of chiaroscuro;
The thickened snow in impasto
reminds me of winter daydreams
of my love so far away.
The hanging frosty pearls
on dancing dainty twigs~
sparkling like chandeliers
in ancient sanctuaries;
Like the diamonds I keep
as a symbol of his promise
that one day soon~
he will come back to me.
3 February 2021
Notes: The Magpie (French: La Pie) is an oil-on-canvas landscape painting by the French Impressionist Claude Monet, created during the winter of 1868–1869 near the commune of Étretat in Normand.
(Photo and info credits to Wikipedia)
Paris Down Under
I heard the thunder
all the kangaroos hid
children screamed in fear
the witch, her brew asunder
I calmed the innocent
peace is within my sphere
I danced with a Wolfe
Birds took a glance at philosophy
A druid mumbles
give peace a chance
I swallowed a lemon
said are crazy Sheilas in sanity?
Life full of questions
answers fly in the wind
just remember these wise words
ignore the ugly echo's
of skeletons in the wind
One little sidestep off the beaten track,
Is a colorful garden of dazzling shades,
With blood red geraniums of scintillating hue
Interspersed by those of white and baby pink,
Where beauty sings mysteriously,
Reigning in every theme, a place of bliss
Where silence speaks for itself,
Where bees are the only intruders, I suppose.
A place to feast the eyes and relax,
Reminding one of the Garden of Eden!
At its center is someone, in blossoming beauty.
Not sure if she is sitting on the edge of a boulder,
Or simply crouching on the carpet of grass,
Or is it a statue set up amid the array of flowers?
An angelic form so intent on what she does,
Lost to the world, her face bent,
But eyes moving up and down,
In tandem with the sewing needle in hand.
Is she stitching a frock for her little girl,
Sitting close to her mother’s feet?
A starlet fallen from the night sky,
Or a cherubim dropped down from heaven’s height,
In flowing azure blue frock with golden hair.
She too, like her mother, is so absorbed,
Pouring her soul in to the open book in her lap.
May be a ploy employed by the mother,
Not to disturb her in her work.
Oh, vagrant winds, come not close,
To disturb the tranquility of the two
Wholly sinking into what they are doing.
Kindly veer in another direction
And don’t interrupt their solitude!
April.22. 2023
A Brian Strand Premiere . No1210 Poetry Contest
This is based on Claude Monet's famous painting- Madame- Monet-and-child, where he has pictured his wife Camille and child in his garden.
Lovely maid, in solitaire
With parasol and silken hair
With hope she dreams, for love she waits
For lover's kiss at garden's gate
Pastel dreams, of vast array
Blending hues of wild bouquet
Gardens green, and pallets blue
Fields of floral, faded view
Blurry image, soft and fair
Sense of romance harbors there
From soaring wings, soft brush imparts
Love's impression fills the heart
ah, yes, Monet
delicate brush
subtle pastels
repetition
trying to get it right
trees, lily pads, meadows, flowers,
redoing and redoing,
the same scene many times over
trying to perfect his craft
he did not realize that he already had
I feared to reach for the ambrosial drift
of ambergris floating
through turquoise tides
beneath the rising sun ~
reluctant to relish the resilience
of nascent nova,
as if every ray
of light held
blackness of uncertainties,
yet I’ve learned to
heal beneath the searing
heat of hypocrisy ~
I glow on, no longer obscured
by their oblivious observation
of my orbit,
for I am a morning star
unceasingly sparkling
across dusky horizons,
loving, living ~ breathing,
dreaming,
in love
with the calm
of crystal-clear currents,
and the crescendo
of poetic collisions,
for this heart unlocks gateways
to the abyss of sea-salt silence,
allowing dawn to caress
the corners of my suppressed fears ~
as the eclipsed cannot
dim the pulse of painted patience
with butterfly strokes…
I am a windward wanderer
stirring among
life’s whimsical waves,
as the sky spills
caramel clusters
over celestial cerulean,
and my soul unfurls
like an odyssey
kissed by the divine flame,
scripting
deep warm hues of blue ~
colors of fate,
only you and I can reveal,
for we are both
brushed with oil,
lost in the
serene palette of siren secrets…
and life ~
O soul feeler,
this existence is a sail
we voyage through
sighing stillness
and soaring sapphires
cradling simple blessings
that nature gifts us
wrapped in unwavering faith ~
Her heart was a watercolor foyer.
Drifting about eddies-beneath fatal falls.
Wishing away the violets,
morning roses and midnight glories.
Fading mist-stained beating.
Her loves inheriting the aromas
percolating from her water garden mind.
Those who thought they knew her,
stood high upon crystal-browed shores.
Slinging burning stones and bits of bone.
Summing up her life in bold font quips...
She was that-she was this.
Green viper bitten -black moon kissed...
As her final palette faded,
blackbirds escaped her brilliant veins.
Time greedily sweeps the gold to gray...
The thrashers scattering her starry soul.
Into the misty orbit of Monet.
No greater love than in my heart
for this I always knew from the very start
no mountain too tall to climb
knowing one day you would be mine
my version of Monet skies
the pride of my two turquoise eyes
lying down upon blades of grass
gently sir, caress my breast
my heart has held you forever in its grasp
please love me with passion as I bestow romance
this love I know puts me deep within a trance
I pray Dear Lord for love to last
O darkening skies
Enduring
Nights dead finale of gloom
Swirls thrashing
Squalls gales aground
Canvassing
A stormy petrel
AWaits a calm
Pastels gray and blues abound
Harmoniously blend
A tapestry unfolding
Awaiting the sun ships
Fruitful bounty rainbows glee
Streams
A tropical isle
In full bloom
From autum to
May
All rights reserved
A.Camacho jr.
1996-2015
Pinpoints of lightened tones blush in grace
with impressionistic smudges…
ornate yet mellow like hues
glistening fine textures
on Monet’s lattice,
breathing alive
as I soak
in his
oil !
………….
Brian Strand's Contest No 219, Max 14 lines
Painting: Pathways in Monet's Garden
In Giverny 1902
Claude Monet
all those lilies that got in his way
traversing those pads
it's now understood was just one of his fads.
the veiled movement of leaves ,water and trees