The waves are restless in their testimony...
a Winslow Homer portrait of shifting shapes and size.
So utterly rhythmic and mighty in their ceremony
as they swallow the golden shore then form to rise.
The indigo-green waters emerge
into a song of pulsating rapture,
as the afternoon sun filtered through towering spires.
With each cascade of depth and shallow
I resolve to be beckoned and captured.
Break-away caps and peaks
tossed in mercurial motion-
flooding upon my thoughts that speak,
to purge my longings with hope and devotion.
I am transcribed within my aimless search,
a mariner in a rudderless raft of vagrant musings.
My compass has no north star to call its berth
to seek a place or find its shelter or mooring.
The sand shifts and pebbles roll
as to reinvent the changing tide of my emotions
with each movement of the shimmering foam.
Each grain of sand, each rock that exchanges places
atones my soul from its banishment in being alone.
Through this beauty the barriers of freedom open
as my exiled heart has found its home
Illustrator Winslow Homer
as a painter caused quite a stir
Depicting the force of nature
with sea studies so real&sure
Winslow Homer of seascape fame
paint ed scenes just of Mainet
The epitome self-reliant Yankee
in his day a household name you see
With temps and the humidity
No longer off the chart,
We made a visit to the Met*
Since we’ve been starved for art.
A Winslow Homer show would soon
Be packing up and so,
It seemed to be the perfect time
For us to up and go.
The hordes had not arrived yet,
Thus the galleries allowed
Us time for a relaxing look
Without a pushy crowd.
Before we left, we stopped to see
Our faves – Cezanne, Monet,
Van Gogh and several others,
Making it a lovely day.
Although the Covid variant
Is here and on the move,
It’s time for us, museum-wide,
To get back in the groove.
*Metropolitan Museum of Art
Oh hearken the struggle, life's gossamer threads,
The delicate sway of hope ...
Framed by churning white of Lord Neptune's might,
Faith dangles a slender rope.
Wan maiden, her savior, and a scarlet shawl,
Battered by surf and gale ...
Yet our faceless hero and his capable arms,
As sure as the damsel, frail.
Mostly monochromatic, all its tones of gray,
Save for the kerchief, red ...
While turbulent struggles around them rage on,
We center that shawl instead.
We see not the others who attend the line,
But imagine them nonetheless ...
The artist connects them with the lanyard, strong,
And so intimates their distress.
The distinctive edges and leaf-like waves
Are peculiar to Winslow's style ...
As are the rare stories his paintings tell,
That enamor us, and beguile.
While he traveled afar and painted it all,
And was a celebrated roamer ...
He loved my home state of Maine the best,
And so truly was a HOMER.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Celebration of Art Poetry Contest", Kim Rodrigues, Judge & Sponsor.
John Winslow Homer
Was known to be a roamer
After painting The Fox Hunt
He put down his brush
And moved to Oklahoma
Two boys in a field
Just passing the afternoon
Idle words spoken
Aware of the song of bees
The future only a dream
By Winslow Homer-American Artist
painted 1873
www.artdaily.org/index.asp?int_sec=2&int_new=39900
Boys in a Pasture
Barefoot pals on a sunny afternoon
Lazing in a field near home
Bathed in quiet color
The joy of doing nothing
Dreaming the dreams of youth
Watching the clouds drift by
Wondering, watching, being boys.
Original Oil on Canvas byAmerican Painter Winslow Homer
Lived 1836-1910, “Boys in a Pasture done in 1892.
Painted both in oil and watercolors ,known for his
pastoral scenes and depictions of Maine and its coastline.
http://www.winslow-homer.com/Boys-in-a-Pasture.html
For Brian's contest...
At
the end
of their watch-
squared up to the
storm
Ekphrasis Eight Bells by Winslow Homer
http://www.davidrumsey.com/AMICA/amico516449-56299.html
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