I have not written any posts for awhile, just catching up on other matters.  To continue the theme of Ekphrastic poems, I refer to a photograph depicting a window covering — a sheer curtain billowing inwardly from the sea breeze over a covered bed, with indistinct images appearing through the window frame.  It brings a thoughtful, relaxing  moment, as if one is laying in a swaying hammock on a lazy summer day.   

A Sheer Curtain 

A sheer curtain billows
With the ocean breeze
To and fro,
Rise and fall,
Like a swaying hammock.

A beach comber at rest 
On an inviting bed,
Breathing in,
Breathing out,
Like the pulse of the tide. 

Unclear images peer
Through the transition piece,
Back and forth,
Up and down,
Like the yaw of a ship.

A pleasant summer day
Spent in soft ambiance.
Now and then
Here and gone
Like a mid-winter dream.

Have you ever been shown an art painting, which falls between “What is it?” and “Oh, my word.”  Before me rests a picture of an abstract painting featuring bright colors: Yellow, blue and green, with a few dabs of white dangling unattached near the center.  The bright blue images appear to resemble flowers, with pedals haphazardly arranged among fuzzy green, leaves of a sort, on an intense yellow background, emphasized in places with some strong brush strokes. My initial reaction:  “Wow!  this painting would brighten up a room,” but describing it presents a challenge.  First of all, what does one write about when unsure of the subject?  Lets give it a try:   

A Curio Piece

To a blank canvas,
Add earthly colors,
Yellow, blue, and green,
With a touch of white.

Yielding abstract art,
With obscure meaning.
A flower of sorts,
In a sunlit place?

An urge to imbue
Oneself in the piece
But where to focus?
Yellow, blue or green.

Yellow, for bright sun?
Blue, for rare roses?
Green, blending the two;
White, a diversion?

Blue roses ponder 
Opposites: true love,
Or unrequited
Love —a subtle trap. 

“How do you like it?”
A pause, to reflect,
On prudent response:
“How Interesting!”

When hung on a wall,
A curio piece,
Adds bold ambiance
To brighten decor.

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.  

The subject for an ekphrastic poem, shows a bizarre painting, resembling a human head in an obvious state of mental or electrical shock, with multi-colored outlines, and staccato geometric figures inside and outside the skull.  The poor guy is abuzz with apparent noise, electrical shock or stressful thoughts.  The eyes are wide, the mouth is open, the ear encircled with erratic lines and colors.  What is the viewer to think?  

The picture appears as disturbing to the observer, as it must be to the subject.  It reminds me of someone who just experienced a jangling noise, like standing too close to a giant gong when struck, or an electric shock, like coursing electric current through one’s veins — frazzled, agitated, unhinged.

In my poem below, I related the image as someone who is overwrought with the omnipresent, constant smart phone dings, pings and rings, longing for an escape to an unreachable place.

Ding, Ping, Ring!

My head is awhirl in
Pinging sounds, sights and vibes,
Before my eyes
Between my ears
Inside my head
Unceasing messaging,
Likes, shares and emojis,
Expecting immediate response
And photos in real time,
Stored forever online.

My eyes ever bloodshot,
My ears clogged with noise,
My brain fried with squiggly lines,
Making a monster out of me.

Oh!  How I wish for an 
Ecclesiastes moment:
A time to think
A time to chill
A time to talk
When TV aired in black and white,
To loll in shades of gray,
Before cell phones, Internet, 3D copy machines
To reflect in quietude
Without dings, rings or pings.

I long for the courage
To shut down everything,
To engage unplugged friends,
And enjoy life in the slow lane.

In an ekphrastic poem submission, I had written a poem stimulated by a sculpture, or a painting of a sculpture, depicting an old man with a chiseled face sporting a aquiline nose and a scowl — a most unhappy guy appearing to have the weight of the world on his brow.  The painting contained no background information regarding who it represented or the era in which he lived.  So, I had to imagine the identity of the subject, and the meaning the artist intended — using my imagination.  

After spending some time seeking to identify the subject, without success, I imagined the sculpture image to be a troubled Roman emperor near the end of his reign, and the artist’s attempt to portray the Emperor in a favorable light — lest he be dispatched to the Roman Coliseum for the sport of feeding the lions.  The poor sculptor or painter had to be worried.  Hence, he engaged the grumpy emperor to smile, a little.  

An Emperor’s Smile

The artist studied his subject:
Sitting still, mind elsewhere.
“Emperor, try to look 
Happy and smile, a little.”

“I can’t smile, life is hard,
Full of pain and sorrow.
Enemies plot my death
My subjects think me cruel.”

The artist painted true
Leaving the eyes and mouth
Last, pleading once more:
“Please, just a little smile.”

“Paint me as I appear!
I have no cause to smile.
No one cares or loves me,
My final days are near.”   

”But reflect on your youth,
When young love brought joy.”
A fleeting, wistful grin —
Vanished, his scowl returned.

Of course, I do not know how the session ended, but I suspect the artist survived the unveiling of the art work.