deepundergroundpoetry.com
whistlejacket
Published 7th Nov 2020
| Edited 10th Nov 2020
Author's Note
Whistlejacket by the British artist George Stubbs
maybe first painting I ever saw and remember. It had such a hold over the near community, lifesize also, the awe of it I remember well.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whistlejacket
maybe first painting I ever saw and remember. It had such a hold over the near community, lifesize also, the awe of it I remember well.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Whistlejacket
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7th Nov 2020 10:16pm
Justly to discover, to caress and cover warmly
The withers and crest with the shroud of an open sail
O my gosh Andrew... tears, this was so beautiful and perfect.
Love you
The withers and crest with the shroud of an open sail
O my gosh Andrew... tears, this was so beautiful and perfect.
Love you
8th Nov 2020 00:29am
8th Nov 2020 2:35am
This is such a beautiful piece. Wow!
You have a real gift, sincerely.
Thank you.
You have a real gift, sincerely.
Thank you.
8th Nov 2020 10:56am
Dear N,
I very much enjoyed the dreamscape this inspired for me. “Hung over a staircase under which we play-pretend” the vivid imagination created after seeing something as magnificent as a horse in motion. I can only imagine the awe seeing a life size painting such as this as a child. Beautiful write. H🌷
I very much enjoyed the dreamscape this inspired for me. “Hung over a staircase under which we play-pretend” the vivid imagination created after seeing something as magnificent as a horse in motion. I can only imagine the awe seeing a life size painting such as this as a child. Beautiful write. H🌷
8th Nov 2020 3:51pm
Thank you so much H. I am so glad that came across.
So appreciated and honored, thanks again.
So appreciated and honored, thanks again.
8th Nov 2020 9:52pm
The artwork captures the beauty and grace of horses...and your poem pays wonderful homage N.
🙏 Harry
🙏 Harry
Your poem, from it's opening images, haunts me, holds the fragility and wonder of childhood for me in a way that I seldom encounter, a very small door, long closed, opening into a vast, forgotten landscape.
When I was younger, before age and all the violence of living brought so much pain that troubles my sleep, I used to lucid dream. I would stand upon a roiling sea and pull lighting bolts from the sky, and each made the most exquisite celestial music. I would be pulled into the energetic orbit of a jovian gas giant, stretched thin by it's gravity well, or lurk amidst chunks of stone in the Kuiper belt as I beheld a sea of glittering ice crystals, surrounding a lonely blue pulsar, like a lighthouse in all that colour and darkness, searching the star ocean. I haven't dreamt like that in a long time, but your poem helps my heart to remember, what my mind recalls only in opaque dimensions. It is a treasure, to me.
The intimate details of this catch the breath. It is an honor to peruse you Andrew.
Always,
Filos Sou, O Drakos
When I was younger, before age and all the violence of living brought so much pain that troubles my sleep, I used to lucid dream. I would stand upon a roiling sea and pull lighting bolts from the sky, and each made the most exquisite celestial music. I would be pulled into the energetic orbit of a jovian gas giant, stretched thin by it's gravity well, or lurk amidst chunks of stone in the Kuiper belt as I beheld a sea of glittering ice crystals, surrounding a lonely blue pulsar, like a lighthouse in all that colour and darkness, searching the star ocean. I haven't dreamt like that in a long time, but your poem helps my heart to remember, what my mind recalls only in opaque dimensions. It is a treasure, to me.
The intimate details of this catch the breath. It is an honor to peruse you Andrew.
Always,
Filos Sou, O Drakos
9th Nov 2020 10:07pm
