I mark the burn of a summer
day in the twisted necks
of the morning glories,
the garden's trumpeting blooms
loosing a rocket of stars
from deep inside
their creamy-white throats.
By the time the sky empties
itself of its azure hues,
the boys have come in,
as boys do, mouths puckered
in the red of raspberry
kisses, hands grass-greened
and inked in blackberries
popped by the fists-full.
© 2013, 2014 Maureen E. Doallas
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This ekphrastic poem was inspired by Mary Beth Kushner's painting Sunset, mixed media on canvas. (See Kushner's Building the Foundation series. The painting is the last on the top row, far right.)
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7 comments:
Luscious! I've said this before, but I love what you do with line-breaks: how they enrich the poem with hovering multiple meanings.
ha. ours was the black cherries from the tree....staining hands and clothes...and the green grass stains...summer...ah its just a memory right now...freezing rain out now...but you give warmth for just a bit...
I like how you steered us from the blue of the morning glories to the raspberry kisses of "the boys". The feelings were as vivid as the colors.
Very sensuous - and thanks for the introduction to the artist. Painting and words always inspire the other, I find.
Those last two stanzas are wonderful - so visual, yet touching on all the other senses.
I am so longing for summer and this beauty here adds a touch of nostalgia to the yearning. Just lovely, Maureen. Warms from the inside out.
Loved reading this; especially as the snow falls.
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