Poems Inspired By Paintings

Two Letters of Thanks(Wheat Field with Crows: Van Gogh) Dear Wood, I want to thank you for saving my sanity That time when the balance tipped And the mind went humpty dumpty Your leaves soothed and sheltered me Your shifting shadows nourished my dry heart Not by books Not by words Not by acts Not by pills Not by tears and admonitions But by your power alone, And the wider fields around you You brought me back from the edge Of fathoms of fall Dear Corn, I want to thank you for lifting the veil From the howl of wolves and endless desolation Your grain as you shook in the wind With the sun dappling your stems And smell of the good brown earth Rising up from your legions Anchored me to life For better or worse, In sickness and in health May blessings drop like rain on your hallowed field Cancer Comes(Three Oncologists: Ken Currie) The housewife from Number four The lab technician from Crewe The florist who knew your mother Her neighbour and cousin too What did they do before, Cancer came to reside Eating away at the breast Or the lung on the distaff side? The dancer, the banker, the lord All come under the knife And after, the shedding hair Of somebody's sister or wife Cancer: an evil guest Uninvited. How long will it stay? Will it leave? Will its power be vanquished To the dark will it dance you away? Gypsies & Travellers (The Sleeping Gypsy: Henri Rousseau) Gypsies and travellers I have known All were generous with time and tales Never at rest, like dropped leaves blown Bearing the elements, storms and gales A cornucopia, each, of songs Merry they were but quick to rile Bagpipe, fiddle or mandolin Played with a tear or winsome smile I've crossed their palms as the credulous do (Stranger things have been done on earth) And some of the things they told were true And those that weren't were hardly worth The settled folk in their rooted homes Resent such cuckoos too near the nest The travellers give not a hoot for that They'll stop for a passing while to rest Then off, for the fever to flit is strong Off on the road with the kids and wife Gypsies and travellers don't belong To the stagnant house and the mortgaged life The Incubus (The Nightmare Henry Fuseli) I had a little Incubus, It sat upon a chair And in my sleep that incubus Would roll its eyes and stare It was a horrid looking thing With pointy ears and toes Its breath was rank as rotting flesh Of rats and embryos I had a little Incubus When I grew well, he left And strangely in a perverse way I almost felt bereft Sand(The Island of the Dead: Arnold Bocklin) I had a father. I loved him well Where he has gone no-one can tell He has slipped through my hands like sand, like sand He has slipped through my hands like sand I had a grandmother, cheerful, kind Stepped from her flesh, too far to find She has slipped through my hands like sand, like sand She has slipped through my hands like sand I had a son, went into the dark My guardian, my bold one, my singing lark He has slipped through my hands like sand, like sand He has slipped through my hands like sand Out on the tide, where the billows roar Sits the boat that will carry me to their shore I shall slip from the land like sand, like sand I shall slip from the land like sand The Hunt(The Hunt in the forest Paulo Uccello) A hunting we will go A hunting we will go We'll dog the fox with hound and gun His blood will freely flow A hunting we will go A hunting we will go We'll chase the hare till his heart bursts And give the fatal blow A hunting we will go A hunting we will go We'll bait the badgers all for sport And nobody will know A hunting we will go A hunting we will go Tis nature's way the hunters say To keep the vermin low Black Alchemy (Pieter Brueghel the Younger: The Alchemist) I have seen hate twisting lives with its warped witchery I have seen beggars, like fallen angels, hunched on the street I have seen clouds transformed into juggernauts cruising the sky I have seen minds lit up with knowledge, transmitting light I have seen a man changed by drink to a gibbering ape I have seen headstones in boneyards, where dead-eyed junkies slump I have seen a woman stalker with the eyes of a cruel fox I have seen a forest shimmer under rain,a glowing bride I have seen a man dog tired, having slogged for a loaf of bread I have seen cuts on a young girl's arm, like strange tattoos I have seen a wreath of laurel in the gutter I have seen a bluebottle crawl on a baby's cheek I have seen a ruined cathedral, holding a lone white feather I have seen a woman, her brain scooped out like an egg I have seen a dying fish, like a warrior coddling his wounds I have seen an earwig drop like a tear from a marigold's face Black alchemy, changing from better or worse Don't Start (Second Story Sunlight: Edward Hopper) Don't start mother I've got a figure and I'm going to show it You've got your mouth on again All pursed up like a sow's backside Don't start mother Stop with the running commentary Nothing I do is right My kids are lippy My house is frowsy Worse than a mouse on a wheel I'm not your little girl anymore Respect my boundaries If you're going to go on I'm out of here, right now Did you know that Celia's mother Has paid off her mortgage? Now there's an example of love for you Just saying… Truth to TellRene Magritte: The Therapist I told it to the birds- the birds didn't listen I told it to a book- the book didn't question I don't have a confessor- couldn't make an admission I told it to the therapist All that was occurring I had to tell the therapist My boundaries were blurring I went and told the therapist My thoughts were wildly whirring The therapist revealed to me My mind was built on sand I'd sealed up ancient happenings Should take them by the hand And led them from past's mine-field So I could understand That cycles can be broken Too late, to make it true I had to tell the therapist Well said, sir, and adieu Rain(The Umbrellas, Renoir) Rain comes cleansing, cooling, piddling, spilling Trillions of dropsarriving uninvited Rain comes drenching, drizzling, dripping, swilling Down children's bonnets, coats, umbrellas, faces With wetness ignited It's the percussion element, Tinkling like tiny bells, rolling like drumbeats, faster Clattering over the cobbles, like horses without a master Wheeeeee it skates off rooftops Whooooosh it scours the gutters, makes boats of leaves Hup! It is ushering people into cafes and shops Whooooooop it is puddle-wonderful for wellies to splash up knees In picnics, sandwiches sog, rain turns a meadow to a morass Ping! The worms rise up to the swampy surface ofgrass Now everyone's sheltering The rain comes heltering skeltering Skittishly squirting from spouts Pouring down window panes like a waterfall Showering like grain on a drum Rain, ricocheting like bullets off every wall Over the Town(Over the Town: Marc Chagall) I would fly as a bat, as a bat Over the spire and the steeple When the moon is high in the sky And the streets are thin of people I would fly as an owl, as an owl When the fox pads through the wood Where the mouse in its shelter quakes And the badger tends her brood I would fly as a lark, as a lark To the sun on a windy day When the breeze shakes the heads of corn Like a child's rattle at play I would fly as a wren, a wren Hidden by secret mist When the evening dews come down And the lake is by moonlight kissed Global &LocalThe Fall of Icarus: Pieter Brueghelthe Elder Chernobyl's melt down poisoned Russian air With half a million hurt, their homes, no-go In Oshawa, a family hired a lodge, To hunt and fish by Lake Ontario The Indian Ocean's murderous tsunami Rose up one hundred feet into the sky A quarter of a million lives it took A lost ice cream in Troon made a child cry Vesuvius buried Pompeii with its lava A city frozen in its pumice pall Marcus Vorenus broke a sandal strap While marching to subdue the tribes of Gaul Hurricane Katrina laid to waste Acres across America's rich land The McPhee family in Dunfermline Watched TV, hired a take-away as planned An Gorta Mór, great hunger, Ireland's scourge A million died, a million left that shore In Essex a fat English county squire Dined on a dish of pigeon and wild boar A plane falls from the sky, a man, a bird It's not our problem, happening elsewhere Assaulted on all sides from pleas for help We grow inured to it, and cease to care Cheers (Hogarth's Gin Lane) Gesondheid! Santé! Prohst! Sláinte! Cin cin! Salud! Skål! Actor & footballer, reality TV Falling out of clubs and bars At half past three Fisticuffs& face-offs Sexual harassment Girls falling pregnant When it wasn't their intent Toddler in the buggy Grizzling unheard Parents sowsed with Buckfast Haven't caught a word Woman wears a black eye Every second day Too cowed to up and leave him Is love brutality? Child in the corner Kicked around by dad Any little something Gets him riled and mad Cheers! It's been raining Any old excuse To drink yourself insensible Or stoned on monkey juice Rum or gin or whiskey Vodka doesn't smell Cirrhosis, blackouts, memory loss The merry road to hell Pets, Weird and Wonderful(Albrecht Durer's Hare) William Cowper took three hares to own As pets, although the eldest liked to bite They healed him when his nervous state broke down Along Parisienne paths: a stunning sight Gérard de Nerval, on a blue silk lead Walked his pet lobster, by the pansies bright Lucius Crassius, a strange man indeed Favoured a Moray eel, fed it on slaves For human dainties were its daily feed Lord Byron like to stir up social waves With his amigo, a great lumbering bear For this is how a mad, bad, bard behaves Salvador Dali walked with his ant eater Shahad al-Jaber, kisses her pet cheetah Michael Jackson housed a chimpanzee While Nero's favourite was the tigress, Phoebe Anne Boleyn kept a lapdog on her knee (today, designer pets are bought on e-bay) An orang-utan lived with Josephine Napoleon's wife, she served it on a tray John Quincy Adams caused his guests to scream For in the bath he homed an alligator And you can picture, if you will, the scene When a guest left-or did she- did he eat her? King Elvis Presley's pet, a kangaroo Played nicely as an act in the theatre A pet to play with, love, or reverence Fin, feather, fur: say, what's your preference? La Pelegrina (Girl with Pearl Earring: Vermeer) La Pelegrina, pearl to delight the eyes Found by a slave in the gulf of Panama Don Pedro, governor, then freed The man for bringing to him such a prize Philip of Spain became its royal owner Gifted to Tudor Mary, a love token She wore it as a pendant to a brooch Bloody Mary, by martyr burnings broken In Vedic texts, all pearls on earth are born Out of the water and by moonlight's power Some say that pearls are tears shed by the gods Eve's eyes dropped pearls when she left her bower Napoleon's brother, owned the gem as booty The Duke of Abercorn, acquired her, too Till Burton, with the money from his movies Bought her to woo Liz Taylor, Hollywood Royalty Cartier setting the pearl with diamonds, rubies. In Asia a pearl necklace aids fertility In Polynesian lore, the pearl is black The Chinese love gold pearls: they bring prosperity In many Eastern cultures, pearls are souls And mourners placed them in the dead man's mouth At Christie's in New York, La Pelegrina Fetched ten million dollars. Such great wealth! So, does the pearl really own the owner? What should a glossy stone be really worth? The Small Dream (Caspar Friedrich, Wanderer Among the Sea of Clouds) I am only a little dream A small one, quiet and hurting Frozen under the ice Sometimes I claw at the lid above my head I whine, mouth imprecations I live in perpetual winter Staring up at astonished sky My world is faceless and stark I am only a little dream A vanished hope, a memory I am only a little dream A small one, quiet and hurting Frozen under the ice Drowned(Ophelia, Sir John Everett Millais) Water, water, soft and slow Flowers float where corpses go To the reeds that thread the hair That fishes nibble in their lair Water, water, rock them kind The drowned, who step out from the mind To forget, to flee, to lose. Happenins they did not choose Water, water, dark and deep Wrap them in your winding sheet Close the eyes and stop the heart Those transfixed by Sorrow's dart Under the Skin(The Death of Marat:Jacques-Louis David) Maratlies dead in a bath of oameal His head swathed in a turban soaked in vinegar There is no trace of the victim's imperfections, Moral or physical. He is painted as a martyr No sign of the open sores, the burning blisters The marks of syphilis/scrofula/scabies/leprosy Atopic eczema /dermatitis or psoriasis. His weeping skin is canonized, mythologised He is made pure by the artist's skill, Propaganda of the paint, the airbrushing eye In Britain, laws are passed To limit the refugee crisis Will the fleeing French bring anarchy? Will their blood lust overturn the status quo? Pull up the drawbridge Block the loopholes Terror gets under the skin The Scream (The Scream: Munch) It isn't the scream that's awful It's the whisper, encounter with bleakness That moment alone in the city The split carapace of coping shows its weakness I am the lady of night Grief is my lean handmaiden My sorrow is made to measure Six foot down, with black clods laden My mouth is full of flies My scream's where my womb's flesh lies ,