Monet Feast Poem by Diana van den Berg

Whisper colours swirl
and dance shadows into light,
causing eyes to melt
into Monet mists
of slow forgotten memories;
clambering into boats
carefully
so as not to spoil the paintwork
and feeling the sun warm on wooden seats,
dipping hands into cool waves,
fingering harsh beautiful rocks,
standing proud and tall,
and splashed with a furious beauty,
or smiling long sun-shadows,
of fence-posts golden on snow,
imbibing vibrant colour reflections
in quiet dappled waters,
watching as crowds move
on a pulsing city street
or lilies floating on a pond
with a bridge halo,
it is nobody’s wonder
that I am lost
in these paintings,
and am not coming out.

(7 April 2011)