|
Details |
Jeanette Jones Poem
TIME FLIES by Jeanette Jones
based on PORTRAIT NO 9
Morning at the Quay in Venice by Helen Allingham
TIME FLIES
Early still, I rise again.
For the quails came calling.
Dragging my feet, I stumbled
across the room, to get a glimpse
before they get to far away.
The kettle’s on, brewing the tea,
to place in my flask.
Milk too for little Emily as we stroll along.
At the edge of the bay, our four feet dangle,
little Emily hums away; a nice beat to my
dream.
Small canoes, large boats with sails,
carry me away across the water.
Traveling up into the lighthouse,
I look over bay, watching the workmen,
out for the day.
Hours pass as I gather up to leave.
Little Emily and I, hand in hand,
we’ve just gotten here, must we go?
Good night Mr. Workman.
Good afternoon Ma’dam.
Copyright © Jeanette Jones | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Jeanette Jones Poem
HIDDEN AMONG THE ROSES
by Jeanette Jones based on Portrait No 10,
Thistle in a Field, by Fidelia Bridges 1875
HIDDEN AMONG THE ROSES
This field full of roses,
what a vision.
Rows of primary and secondary
colors, streaming, at least a mile.
Among them the solitary thistle.
Beauty is the rose,
its spikes as the thistle,
that bows to hands that caress
it with love, along the way.
In this field of thorny ones,
though never chosen,
it receives a lot of love.
Charming in contentment
is the thistle among the roses.
Copyright © Jeanette Jones | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Jeanette Jones Poem
MICE AND ME by Jeanette Jones (01.11.2016)
based on PORTRAIT NO 8
L'Enfant au Tablier Rouge, 1886 by Berthe Morisot
MICE AND ME
Inside my lonely room, I dream.
Old man winter’s stamped his mark
across the fields and mountain tops.
The faint breeze through my window,
allows a brush of his presence on my face,
this makes everything ok.
Scuffling across the floor, tiny mice
whimper in the same sultry air;
an old soul, mom calls me,
for allowing them here,
to dream in my space and share my air.
To reach the sill,
I allow them to climb my red ribbon,
if they can catch it in the wind.
Copyright © Jeanette Jones | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Jeanette Jones Poem
THE A CAPELLA PIRATE by Jeanette Jones
based on Portrait No 6, Theater by Mary Cassate 1879
THE A CAPELLA PIRATE
Be it Pirates of Penzance or H.M.S Pinafore,
it never really matters.
His bombastic swaying of her in
his arms, always convinces
his crowd of his charismatic charms.
His licentious embrace and his
liquescent voice envelopes all.
The ruffles on his blouse, I image them,
the ruffles on my face.
It is only the ruffles from the fan
in my gloved hand.
As the orchestra peaks at Sullivan’s
instructions, his audience leaps
to their feet.
Not me.
I’m waiting for the music to cease.
I sit patiently within the darkness;
our eyes finally meet.
Pandemonium treachery is evaded as
the music ceases;
he serenades me
a cappella.
Copyright © Jeanette Jones | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Jeanette Jones Poem
Based on Portrait No. 1, Blue and Green Music by Georgia O'Keeffe 1921
THE WATER, THE WAVE AND THE FLAME (Edited by Debbie Guzzi)
Against the wave, the flames,
I rise high. I run deep.
My amplitude expresses me;
I clash against the rocks.
Strong and powerful, I am,
Just because, because, I am equation.
I am tall. I am firm.
My mortar expresses me.
I support the sky.
Strong and powerful, I am.
Just because, because, I am foundation.
I soar wide. I am profound.
My glow expresses me;
I flash against the wind.
Strong and powerful, I am.
Just because, because, I am radiant.
As one, we are strong, together stronger:
the water, the wall, and the flame.
Copyright © Jeanette Jones | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Jeanette Jones Poem
TRUST-IN ME by Jeanette Jones based on
Portrait No Twilight Confidences by Cecilia Beaux 1888
Confidently, she speaks, sure of her worthiness.
Explaining how now, she gets it.
All I need is faith, even the size of a mustard seed.
A blissful sight we were, the two of us.
Still sure of herself, she quietly explains.
He said, receive it. I did.
He said, believe it. I did.
He said, declare it. I did.
Never in the deepest valley, or over the highest mountain, will I ever have to travel for
something I can’t see.
Alone in this darkness, we shall never be afraid, for daylight comes in the morning, because he cover us.
The small space between these two hands
is all space that I need, as long as I believe in
the mustard seed.
Shall you, just agree?
Her fingers speak silently, yet the words so loud and clear. Authority speaks to her. She translates His instructions. Silence between her hands. I too get it.
Trust-in me.
Copyright © Jeanette Jones | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Jeanette Jones Poem
FROZEN by Jeanette Jones based on Portrait No. 4 Lake by Georgia Engelhard
This became my calming place,
this deep, deep, blue lake
frozen into time
whether day or night,
my serenity.
I lose sense of time,
caressing it,
deep in my mind.
I love this place.
This lake’s frozen
clouds above, reflections.
night time
or day.
Frozen.
Copyright © Jeanette Jones | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Jeanette Jones Poem
NATURE based on the Portrait No. 2 of Carol Nye Rhoades (Robinson) by Kathrine Nash Rhoades (1915) – (Edited by Debbi Guzzi
My feet, my feet chilled to the bone,
as I sit, sitting here alone.
Sharpening itself, the wind embraced,
Slicing a piece of me, starting at my face,
Think not of cold, only hot, I say.
Now, I can’t move, can’t move, can’t you see,
the coldness of the wind’s gotten the best of me.
The frameless skies at my back,
embraces me for more of to come
as Winter will turn to Spring.
My feet, my feet aching to the bone
as I sit, sitting here alone.
THIS ENDING WAS INADVERTENTLY OMITTED WHEN SUBMITTED (NOT EDITED)
Sharpening itself, the storm embraced,
Slicing a piece of me, starting at my face,
Think not of wet, only dry.
Now I can’t move, can’t move, can’t you see,
The influence of the storm’s gotten the best of me;
A new season calls once again, Winter to Spring, then Summer to Fall, everlasting love on my face bares it all.
Copyright © Jeanette Jones | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Jeanette Jones Poem
NATURE by Jeanette Jones based on the Portrait No. 2 of Carol Nye Rhoades (Robinson) by Kathrine Nash Rhoades (1915)
NATURE
My feet, my feet chilled to the bone,
as I sit, sitting here alone.
Sharpening itself, the wind embraced;
slicing a piece of me, starting at my face.
Think not of cold, only hot, I say.
Now, I can’t move, can’t move, can’t you see;
the coldness of the wind’s gotten the best of me.
The ambiances of skies at my back
cautions me for more is to come
as Winter will turn to Spring.
My feet, my feet aching to the bone
as I sit, sitting here alone.
Sharpening itself, the storm embraced;
Slicing a piece of me, starting at my face.
Think not of wet, only dry.
Now I can’t move, can’t move, can’t you see;
the influence of the storm’s gotten the best of me;
A new season calls once again, Winter to Spring,
then Summer to Fall; everlasting love,
my face bares it all.
Copyright © Jeanette Jones | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Jeanette Jones Poem
Autumn in France by Emily Carr 1911
PORTRAIT NO. 5
AUTUMN
by Jeanette Jones
Homes across the countryside,
sits amidst of Autumn.
Whispers of wind play rapidly in the dark,
as leaves await for daylight to hit the ground.
Morning float into play, as the moon gives in, to the sun.
Admiration of lovers passing by
capture birds in flight.
Smiles on the faces, they brace for the breeze
of Autumn.
Copyright © Jeanette Jones | Year Posted 2016
|
|