Off-white mist rising on the ridge
Hurrying into the emptiness between trees
Lost in a thick stroke of green curlicues
Then splattered by a sudden breeze
Like silver droplets scattered by a frisky dog
Shaking off unwanted cold rain
Glistening like playful carmine dots on a
Mantle of matted threads of emeralds
A sudden inspiration, a shimmer of yellow birds
Explodes like a roman candle in sparkling hues
Filling the cerulean sky with tiny glittering flakes
The scene, now in orderly chaos and panic
Strewing golden leaves and bronzen twigs
Blotting over an increasing spread
A canvas speckled with lusty colors
Of an artist’s special view of
A morning by the ridge
like Seurat himself paints these impressionistic words! gorgeous! keep writing!
'a morning by the ridge'...that would be my title to this write...good poetic portrait on a 'green' canvas...wonderful similes you use here to describe the misty morn by the ridge, Eddle...good poem...10
Good point Abraham, that was careless of me. Sometimes my enthusiasm overtakes me and keeps in what seemed nice at the time of the writing. Thanks
Thank you for asking, Ed. Your pointillist's point of view charms, endears and uplifts. I can't imagine a fresher morning than what you painted, albeit the wetness. It does, after all, reminds one of tears, ergo, being human. How else can one see nature's best other than through natural sight. Even better, a nature artist's eye. This piece recalls a former co-worker, Loy Llorente, whose pointillism launched one exhibit too many, which is what I hope for your poetry. One and only suggestion: I don't think 'bronzen' is acceptable, poetic 'lie sense' or not. Why not use 'bronzing' instead, to give 'strewing' an apt ally? Great job!
beautiful. loved the imagery. the were so vivid
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This painting should hang in the World Library of Poetry.