August-September 2025
At the Ball
By Berthe Morisot
I have seen her before by the flowers
With her fan she decimated the dance
And deemed each tenth tragedy
That marble floor won’t stop her
For she looks far beneath trampling feet
To where they buried truth in the boiler room
Many men have said they think on her fringe
And fancy her forehead should be smooth to lips
But we know what her hairline harbours
Her conversation buries flattery
She is not known to waltz idly
Priorities beat back three years
I have seen her before in her garden
Tending buds to summer fruition
Walking with their waterer in the cool
Written 2/06/2025
Rue Lafayette
By Edvard Munch
In clear air
The world is flickable
And all therein disregarded
And all therein flickable
The immediate five feet
Might be made some stronger stuff
But across the street is entirely flickable
Written 29/01/2025
Fèlix Fènèon
By Paul Signac
A man must greet the granular
Before he beholds the great
And when a stem he knows in full
He knows the constellations too
A man his doubts must know first
Then he can know his own faith
A blind man must know his lids
Ere he seed all he once missed
All are born with no shirt
Must learn to mourn the shame
Then be robed in brilliant gold
That by the stem’s dresser is sewn
Written 29/03/2025
Kensington Gardens, afternoon haze
By Vincent van Gogh
Thoughts thicken air
‘Til I don’t see your face
The way that you’re turning
Could be countless different ways
Unspoken things tread the ground
Between your feet and mine
And I can’t say what you’re seeing
From yourself to yonder fence line
You’re deeper in the garden
And my sight begins to harden
So I might beg your pardon
To step out of this garden
See them further on
In the trees, in their shade
Would you care to join me there
Or should I let this haze fade?
Written 16/02/2025
The Beach at Biarritz
By Joaquín Sorolla
Sand flesh stretches wide
Sunset bruises blush and plump
Before waves’ raised knife
Written 5/04/2025
The Red Buoy
By Paul Signac
Drifts and bobs
In no different style
To the drifting and bobbing sea
With its drifting and bobbing boats
Docking at bobbing cities
The red is rusting death’s details
Of a calm bay and tempest’s breast
That age and decay on the
Flakes of red
And drained flotation
A white boat stows near,
Her shining hull
The work of rougher seas
And Summer deliverance
She alone sees the buoy
She tells him tales of
Death and joy and
A still harbour of a good port
Maybe just a sail away
The buoy is given sails
Written 1/05/2025
Path in Monet’s Garden in Ginervy
By Claude Monet
Laze on in the birdsong dream
Drift with the swaying molten breeze
They’ll carry you down the purple low rows
To the warm red pillars in Monet’s home
Recline forever on a pigment-fleck petal
Sing to the scent of Spring’s eased nestle
Dance in the shadow of soft footfalls
And retire with a tulip to the woven canopy
Written 11/12/2024