paintingher
one cheek yellow oxidized, burnished down from her right handing eye. the other, red, a late falling dusk afternoon wildflower remembering, a trace of legs striding through long limbered stalks. a scent of water bent, a river moved, more pervasive than. here’s what drew the bees into step danced story regard for her. one last taste of flame, then sleep.
one eye, a reasoned logic fair, sympathetic, a sail’s salt thirst eager to be spent. you’d give your breath for a glance. even just one. the other, beneath an arching sliver of greenish cheese fragrant moon, then just here, right aside where your fingers blush a yearning touch, begins from afar laying across a field of snow. one star at the apex of unvarnished sight.
a nose that is the scent of earth and skin just after rain’s first fall.
lips, two rubies embedded over blacknight beneath wind sheared sheets. hear how they render meaning into whispered words like a kiss. please, once more!, takes flight more swift than thought. no fence will sway depart, in other words. we follow as a canyon does your voice.
hair as windswept nest to crowning thorns that all summits are. then stir the sky, holding blind day and stalking night into a single radiance.
at root a jill-in-the-box, a song’s refrain is how she breathes and how we know her name. our voices a circle of tone. here’s the painted proof, pudding done right, the sails gone tight, a tillered hand. a brush that fingers hold, no ordinary face, her gaze that answers snowy doubt.
vision gathers experience.
she, a perfect wife.
neil reid © november 2012
comments:
An abstract view of an abstract portrait. Answer to the question, what is it? A draft. (because I’m sick, and focus don’t wanna come out and play) Also and unexpectedly, a response to the prompt, write a love poem without using the word “love”. Didn’t think this poem was “that”, but realized in writing it, that it was. My attraction to the abstract I realized is more than simply a matter of taste, but expresses how I feel in relationship with the experience of being here.
Written for the We Write Poems prompt #131, Unexpectedly, love. Read the prompt for more detail if you wish.
bearly audible 
I like it very much. It’s a tight little bundle of love, in my opinion.
Thank you Misky. Yes, “tight little bundle”, that phrasing amuses me – but yes, what I meant for this poem to be. Been reading of late some prose that is just amazingly dense with image and nuisance – so wanted to play with doing that myself.
Your poem is a multi-faceted, many colored experience. Exactly what love needs to be and is.
Elizabeth
http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/2012/11/14/swept-away/
Thanks Elizabeth. It actually surprised me some. I’m comfortable with abstract, and it is easy for me to appreciate and respond to – however I saw something more in how it most accurately expresses my personal sensibility. And yea, about love, all that it is – I think is even enough, like meaning unstoppable (when we think it has stopped, it is only because we’ve closed our eyes). Thank you.
Reading through the process of painting was fascinating in and of itself. Experiencing the adoration he has for her was an added bonus.
http://www.kimnelsonwrites.com/2012/11/08/to-tgh/
Painting, poetry, yes a difference of language, but the roots are the same, then further multiplied by how we observe (participate). And yes of course, therein the real sweetness is.
Thank you for reading.
I am impressed by how you express to the same kind of fondness, ardor, and admiration that classical poets such as Shakespeare and Byron voice in their poems…using new language to convey timeless emotion. What I am also enamored with is the idea of the speaker falling in love through constructing her image…not constructing her literally like Pygmalion but channeling her beauty into paint instead.
-Nicole
Your comment itself is beautifully phrased and written Nicole. Thank you for your thoughtfulness and willing ear. Part of all reality is in how we choose to see and allow it within ourselves. I think it is one aspect of relationship, how two may interact. Thank you again.
It is beautiful, Neil. I think your best writing (meaning poems) reads like this. Meaning, abstract art is beautiful.
What, what to say Irene, except much much my thanks. Thanks!
While you may have written this about a person, perhaps because of the abstract rendering I though it too about the revolution of the day – perfect in all seasons, colors, one eye of the sun the other of the moon…
I’m here:
http://julesgemsandstuff.blogspot.com/2012/11/we-write-poems-131-excuses.html
Thank you Jules. Yes, that is exactly a strong part of my taste for abstract, that no one single way is either right or wrong – thus one small single space can be multiply occupied.
Maybe another prompt idea within what your thought begins. Thanks.