Featuring a New Poem
By: Richard Nurse
The Antique Poet
Impressions,
Inspired by the Impressionist
A
day filled with Renoir, Degas, and Monet.
A
day filled with colors, of every shade and hue.
Sometimes
vibrant, other times sublime, and subdued.
Dependent
on which painting, your eye is drawn to.
There
is one exception, for on a wall there are three
Where
not just the colors, shades and hues,
Emanating,
from these amazing three, Dances, by Renoir,
Together
again, as they once had been before, now on the wall before me.
My
senses are alive, not just that of the mere sight.
For
as my mind lingers over, all three, and then each,
Sounds
begin to emanate, from each before me
Joined
by the fragrances my mind expected there to be.
To
the right, two dancers, in a club in the city.
Smoke
lingers thick in the air, muddled with the fragrance of wine and beer
One
couple dances, while other couples cuddle or talk.
Her
cheeks flush with color, painted there by food, fun and drink.
To
the left, again two dancers, alive in the night.
Rough
wooden tables, tree limbs and leaves for a roof,
Resplendent
with bottles, some up, but most down,
Music
from a fiddle, that even boisterous laughter can’t drown.
Ah,
but in the center, such elegance and grace.
No
cloud of smoke, just perfectly clear, richly scented air.
No
distortion of the beauty, shimmering in silver; silk, satin and lace
With
an aura and fragrance, that once, only royalty bore.
The
“Ah!” moment for me, on a day brimming with so many.
Thank
you Mr. Barnes for your wonderful collection,
And
your vision to blend; form, shape and function.
Surely,
the perfect way, to start, an art museum day.
Followed
by a hand in hand stroll, down a tree canopied way,
Then
up ‘Rocky’s’ steps, not running, but
walking all the way.
To
the Impressionist Show, thank you, Paul Durand-Ruel
For
you never wavering love, of this oft rejected, new crazy art,
Now
so loved by the world, many, which personally touch my heart.
To
be able to sit and commune, not even noticing the others in the crowd.
In
another hall, waiting for my eyes to behold; ‘Lautrec, Rousseau, Surratt, and
more.
Yet
the three dance works, by Renoir, would grip my heart this day.
©August 28, 2015
Richard D. Nurse
The Antique Poet
