Artist: Henri Matisse
Painting: “Open Window Amalfi Coast Lemon Tree”
Canvas Art, Impasto Italian Seaside Town, Positano
Bright, vivid colors splash the Amalfi Coast
of a summer day in Positano, Italy.
Beneath the warm Italian sun, brushstrokes
capture the charm of both mountains and shore
dominated by the splashes of bright, golden fruit
that hangs from the fertile lemon tree.
Vision leads to a cluster of village homes
topped with terracotta roofs, contrasting
the pristine white siding, all nestled on the hill.
Heavy, textured strokes wake the sparkling sea-
the Mediterranean, dotted with sailboats
reflecting upon shimmering blues and greens.
And past a cobblestone path, which reflects
the vivid splashes of beaming, sunny colors,
boldly capture, with the Impasto technique,
suggested reflections on the water, pathway,
and building, bringing forth a feeling of reality
amid a dreamlike atmosphere of artistry.
Thin veil of raindrops,
splattering.
Liquefied pellets
falling to the ground.
Welcomed into the parched land
with open arms.
Raindrops dripping down from
eaves and rooftops above,
tap-dancing in the puddles,
waltzing on the corrugated metal roofs.
Sliding on the smooth green leaves
falling gracefully; like little ballerinas.
Bringing the color back
to the wan faces of the
drooping plants.
Giving the earth
a new coat of paint,
warm, vibrant colors surfacing.
Faces upturned,
tongues out-stretched.
Little children out to play in the rain.
Splashing in puddles,
setting little paper sailboats
off on expeditions to distant lands.
Farmers smiling
watching the rain
bring life back to their crops.
Relief etched on their faces,
they'll survive another year.
the fields are alive again.
Rain.
Hope from the heavens
falling gently onto the earth,
fueling our hopes and dreams;
watering our deadened hearts,
answering our prayers.
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter
hope rains down.
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter
No lovelier time,
than having summery memories of
vintage days in my early twenties,
with a youth’s passion in
seersucker fashion.
I drove out to the Hamptons and
deeply took in an art show.
Later on I dined alone in an
outdoor cafe.
I was so cosmopolitan,
sitting as the placid breeze blew
so gently to me.
I gazed as if in a soft dream,
at an artist painting sailboats on
the bluest water,
such a calm kind of July afternoon.
Sipping on a gin and tonic,
no lovelier time,
whiling away,
how I miss those summertide days. ~
It may have been written in the stars,
more likely it was written by Venus and Mars,
that ancient attraction between birds and bees,
shiny locks and shiny keys.
Secrets of space and time
wrap themselves into grace and rhyme~
stars strike the notes,
solar winds and sailboats…
Gravity writes the laws of attraction
resulting in celestial perfection.
Let's watch the snow melting
It's wonderful and very nice
The nightingales are back
The sun warms the day
The weather is great. It is mild
In the streets where kids are playing
Football and girls are jumping ropes
It's nice out. It's a glorious spring
Let's hum the songs of yesteryear
Together harmoniously.
The air is good and fresh this morning
After the breakfast of hot buttered
Petits pains and latte
We go to the platform on the quay
To skate, to see and witness
The comings and goings of the small sailboats. It's dark
At the bottom of the ocean where the fish intertwine
The weather is nice. It is springtime
Let's sing the chorus of the old days
Together melodiously.
Copyright © March 2021, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poems.
The water shimmered on the bay.
The sailboats all went out to play.
Mary let down her hair
by the water there -
all on a summer's day.
(A Thomas Kinkade painting)
Beauty captured
in artful strokes
where sandpipers dance
and sea lions sunbathe
as the sun sets
in the bright horizon
faraway
invoking dreams
mingling with destinies
floating sailboats
passengers watching
in a trance
the rustic romance
between the sea
and the sun
the ocean water
ignites
sparkles
waves reflect
the sky
set on fire
colourful clouds
move softly
above
the Golden Gate Bridge
standing tall
contrasting
the beauty
of nature
with the tenacity
of man-made structure
No glamour here in the South Bay
where function and industry reign
just an occasional seagull is seen
gliding over steel grid power lines.
Daily westerly winds whistle
swaying a small fleet of sailboats
buoys bob along a mariner’s course
as he navigates the currents.
Ships of all shapes and sizes
quietly line the edges of the bay
docked or moored in place
patiently waiting their turn at sea.
An unearthly silence lingers
around the salt flats that arise
staking their claim at the south shore
a monument to the “bitter end”.
It is peaceful here…without pretense
where the hum of traffic is heard
endlessly moving along an offramp
while the random seagull flies above.
cinnabar and cinnamon
strawberries and cherries
apricots and luscious mango
windchimes and crystals
hummingbirds and butterflies
sailboats and sunsets
summer nights and nuptials
AP: 3rd place 2025
We all have beginnings somewhere,
a place where the soul first took root
and drew its history, fixed a compass
point, a pin in a map to mark its home.
For me it was here
where the horizon began
in a haze of mangrove trees
and broad tidal flats
and boats bellied in mud
when the sea sucked back the river
leaving its gums grinning
under a warm sun. It was here
where my ancestors landed
more than a century and a half ago.
Now manicured to prime real estate,
the tides keep to an orderly flow
within grassy banks overseen
by multi million dollar views.
The mangrove forests have gone,
the swamps sanitised to lawn.
I look across the glistening reaches
of a man made lake to where
the slow drift of sailboats scrape
the bottom of an evening sky.
All seems out of place, not home
and yet I mull as to whether
there is any other beyond this one,
beyond the little sailing boats
and the barking dog nearby.
It's late, lo. I knew that the water I saw was mirage.
This is a world where, often, facts and fancies camouflage
Depths that seem unfathomable are shallow when measured.
Within wombs of tombs that seem empty, riches are treasured.
The structure that looked like a passage was, in truth, a wall.
Doesn’t my crammed glance make the earth resemble a ball?
How could crows dine guavas at night? Lo, they were mega-bats.
Waiting under guava trees, I didn't know, were black cats.
Peeping through the brick holes of Kutab Minar, I feel giddy.
While I could reach the top, are the stairs now playing kiddy?
Each move of being is filled with likes, dislikes, dreads, and fears.
Equally in joys and sadness, as though raindrops flow tears
Running shoes, highway lanes, sleepless sleep, and suppressing thoughts
Each act, as though steering sailboats, becomes threads full of knots.
Is this shop I find between this and this bush mere confusion?
Aren't facts of truth tested in hot furnaces of illusion?
Betwixt our deceptive connection
Lies told, to always end in
I’ll never have a profound perspective
As my skepticism results in your grin
When our paths crossed
Like two sailboats in a panoramic sea
I believed you were mannerly
Though, sprouted unexpectedly was your immorality
My standpoint was already set
My conception was that you’d abet
To all the curves, bumps, and facets of me
Though you’d never devote to me
You’d only break me to debris
Every word transmitted from your “soul”
Carried no true sentimental worth
Yet I believed you, over my mind you had control
Desiring for your concealed lies to rebirth
Lies and gas-lighting were brought upon me
Despite your affectionate expressions
I thought truth be told, that I was free
But I’m now trapped under your early impressions
Doubting and doubting your false affection
Perhaps you don’t know how to express emotion?
But deep inside, I know that’s untrue
That I’m just someone to be used, at least to you
Though acceptance is quite challenging for me
I’m unsure of why I still trust you
As you treat me like nobody
Though these lies will forever pursue.
A few scattered yellow wood cabins
a swimming pool surrounded by pines
a pier to fish from, a lake not to go in
‘cept for the stinkpots* and sailboats *i.e., motorboats
marshmallow roasts by the campfire at dusk
a ghost story or two to relate
along with the hotdogs and burgers that day
the ghosts evicted whatever we ate
sailboats glide on lake
catching sun's attention
reflecting off water
Birds twitter, birds croon to each other,
I watch life moving at a lulling slower pace,
Rose bushes leisurely sway, breeze converses
With the rustling leaves, clouds float languidly
In endless azure,
Sailboats sailing in emerald ocean,
Picturesque, perpetual, blissful!
Life is an endless stream,
A voyage to unknown,
Life is made up of impossible dreams...
I gaze at a dreamcatcher, unachieved goals
No longer make me feel bleakly miserable, or discontent,
My life is full with lilac aspirations, not failed achievements!
Does it matter in
The ultimate scheme of things, we are
All pawns in the chessboard of an
Unknown skilled magician, who smiles at our arrogance,
Blesses all his children..
Unaware of the profound truth of life ~
And Death!
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