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.
Echoes of the Old on the New Battlefields
Warrior chiefs of the GAA were early on the field to prepare:
Posts and cones positioned to mark territories
Very young novices came later by parents’ chariots
clad and shod for the ensuing battles
Firstly, paced for speed, resilience and flexibility,
then marked off into opposing teams
Each warrior chief led a young squad of hopefuls
in further exercises to bring them to fit levels
There followed a huddle, an exhortation rant,
responded with clamour of intent and enthusiasm
Skirmishes began, speed across the field, hunt for the ball,
to be delivered as the goal, or to be prevented at all costs
Warrior chiefs egged on, instructed, altered the field of play
the young ’uns complied with fighting spirit
For every fall and hurt spells were cast on the side line
till fitness returned and they were entered back into play
Scores mounted, roars enhanced, casualties grew,
novices flagged and regrouped across the fields
Between bouts came the talks of encouragement
Stay back, pass, pass, pass, keep the pace.
Old hands passing skill onto new palms with dedication,
a gift of generous wisdom gladly given
Peter Clarke
20th April 2024