A Rear View Review

I wish to write an Ekphrastic poem about an art painting, which depicts a woman standing within a panorama of color, with tints of yellow, gray, blue, purple, green, white — and flesh.  Though “flesh” may not be an official color, it dominates the portrait space.  An unclad woman stands facing front, so the observer sees only her back side, discreetly covered in pastel paints to conceal certain features, while showing others.  Her hair is wrapped in a high updo on her head, and her arms appear folded across her body in the front, possibly with her hands covering her invisible breasts in a display of modesty.

After considering a number of possible approaches, some titillatingly inappropriate, I settled on writing through the eyes of a budding, playful art student, who arrived late for class, thus obtaining the last seat in the studio.  Lets read what the pretend artist had to say:  

Arriving late for class,
My stool choice reduced 
To the only one left — 
Ample but, a rear view. 

I surveyed the bare scene 
To set up my palette: 
Flesh colors, a dark brown,
Yellow for light, some blue. 

Where to begin depends 
On one’s point of view. 
A frontal peer may start
Higher than from the back. 

A quick outline of form 
Brings focus to the rump, 
Well balanced, some jiggle 
With an ad-libbed scratch. 

In the end, I opted 
To mute her derrière 
With various pastels 
To titillate senses, 

And Imagination 
Of opulent cleavage 
Not viewable from 
My rear end seat.  

A Crane in the Neck

I wrote my last post two months ago, but used some of the time to tot-up some future posts — and then the time got away from me.  You know the old saying: “Tempus Fugit.”

Before my eyes rests a photograph of two Sandhill cranes in a bucolic scene, remindful of nature at its best.  One  crane wades calmly in the shallow water of a lake, while  another crane swoops down for a soft landing: feet apart, beak open, and wings outstretched forwardly, simulating a hug in the making. A good subject for a poem.  What could I write about this scene?  

I will add some gender identity, assuming the wader is female, wading with food on her mind; and the flying crane is male, seeking a romantic encounter.  If cranes could talk, imagine with me the tenor of a one-way conversation.   

“Hello, Little Lady,
Mind if I wade along,
To possibly ignite
A spark of interest? 

What’s your name, my lady?
I’d like to call on you,
And wade webbed foot to foot
In a lake of beauty.

Please do not walk so fast,
Little lady, slow down.
Lets bide and talk awhile
About courting love’s whirl.

And if the urge excites,
We can bow, flap and dance 
The mating ritual 
To confirm our union.

We could be so happy,
You and me together,
Loving each other like
Bygone generations.

Please harken, dear lady.
Stop wading elsewhither.
Pause for a brief moment
To discuss life’s grand plan.

Oh well, no love today!
My prowl and stride
Unsuitable — for now.  
Love does not come easy.”