The past six months have passed in the blink of an eye. The first and second terms in Manchester have finished and the first assignment has been submitted. Now, I wait with bated breath for the result. The learning about writing poetry has been immense. Appreciation for the work of my classmates is huge. We have been a great bunch together. In the second term, we had a three-day workshop on Writing about Relationships which was very enlightening. One of the sessions was held in the Manchester Art Gallery. It reminded me of my frequent visits to Dublin art galleries over the past years to write. Most recently, I was in the National Gallery and came across three paintings side by side which struck me, so I wrote this poem. As usual, read, enjoy, share and send me some feedback.
Three Nudes
O’Connor, Orpen, Bonnard,
three painters, three nudes –
red-hued, turquoise, green –
a common softness of form:
gentle buttock curves,
light shadows of indentation,
rounded torsos, small breasts,
deeply sensual, they capture
their warm-blooded beings.
Eyes dilate, cheeks warm,
torso rises draws a deep sigh,
three painters, three nudes.
Peter Clarke
April 2019
Clíodhna
27.05.2019 12:35
I like that you convey so much with so few words.
Rosy Wilson
26.05.2019 21:14
Lovely colourful sensuous poem in few short lines
Marguerite Colgan
26.05.2019 21:00
Loved it at Bealtaine and love the sensuous roundness again. Ta for sharing
Latest comments
25.11 | 22:15
Grief is experience through the mundane. Simple but powerful. The accompanying image really compliments the poem.
07.11 | 11:14
Hi Peter,
A great observation! Social media can be a scary place... I also need to reduce my time there
Hugs,
John.x
06.11 | 16:24
A great one, Peter, in the context you describe. I don't read social media myself, I doubt my equilibrium could stand it. 'The balance of his mind disturbed' yes, I think it would be.
06.11 | 15:59
Yes, gossip is a weapon of mass destruction.
In my business as well as personal life I have zero tolerance.
And What About . . .
I have neglected this for far too long, and now it is time again. But what to write about, what poem to share? The world is packed with catastrophic possibilities. Such choices: dementia/genocide colluder or extreme narcissism in the White House; a hung parliament in the UK; the reunification of the USSR with a tyrannical megalomaniac at its head; the eradication of a race by a genocidal government in Gaza; the African continent reduced to bankruptcy and regression to male tribalism; in Ireland, even with an appalling electoral turnout the routing of the far right and Sinn Féin may offer some comfort except we face another FF/FG fiasco. Mother Nature rumbles on its rampage, raging against the human species’ abject destruction of the planet’s habitat. What the . . .
Being facetious right now is my only defence against absolute despair. So read, comment, pass it on, and send feedback.
City Walking and Cycling take 680,000
cars per day off the road
Irish Time Heading
More and more folk, cycling and walking, may
keep gases from greenhouses further at bay
This newspaper heading illustrates vividly
thousands of cyclists and walkers assiduously
stopping some cars on their journey
pushing them aside - making drivers quite surly
Mountains of metal - like scrapyards of sculpture
keep bicycle lanes quite safe - at this juncture
The new revolution is well underway
don’t get behind wheels - hear what they say:
Cars and their fumes play a very big part
the smell is quite phew don’t mention cow farts
Wear out your shoe leather walking
greet travellers with smiles while you’re talking
Force councils to make better spaces
to go out and about roaming those places
where vitamin D, and oxygen from trees
fill our lungs and our brains so we see
how to save us and this magical planet
except for some vicious old tyrants goddammit
Peter Clarke, 18th March 2024