deepundergroundpoetry.com
Sprawled in Summertime Oils
The beautiful regret of white
Shallow snow of summer falls, still
Breeze tastes the warmth between her thighs
Liminal lovers will come to her tonight, perhaps
Sweltering loneliness blisters anonymous face
Teeth of the sun chatter secrets into her mouth, red
Gripping pastel priapism opens dark invitations
To spread of billowing shadow against flesh, waiting
An urban concrete contemplation of minds travelling
Heaps city blocks upon streets of emptiness, fleeting
Her eye-harbours are pearled
By sight of artillery fire, distanced
Beyond nucleus canvas
The artist inhales stifled air of his life
His wife’s fragrance permeates the palette
The internal / eternal traces,
Knowing we will transform
The woman's gaze into ours
Shallow snow of summer falls, still
Breeze tastes the warmth between her thighs
Liminal lovers will come to her tonight, perhaps
Sweltering loneliness blisters anonymous face
Teeth of the sun chatter secrets into her mouth, red
Gripping pastel priapism opens dark invitations
To spread of billowing shadow against flesh, waiting
An urban concrete contemplation of minds travelling
Heaps city blocks upon streets of emptiness, fleeting
Her eye-harbours are pearled
By sight of artillery fire, distanced
Beyond nucleus canvas
The artist inhales stifled air of his life
His wife’s fragrance permeates the palette
The internal / eternal traces,
Knowing we will transform
The woman's gaze into ours
Published 16th Nov 2022
Author's Note
ERULGCT 160. Ekphrastic. Edward Hopper, Summertime, 1943, Oil on canvas
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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The author encourages honest critique.
16th Nov 2022 6:15pm
The last verse is a really good riff on the idea of the male gaze. I like poetry responding to art pieces. This poem feels like a loose collection of impressions rather than a solid whole, but that’s justified by the nature of it as a response to a painting.
16th Nov 2022 7:29pm
Diolch mate. My scribbles never seem to flow anyhows. Had (or thought I did) few of these in the tin, but cyber-space seems to have painted them out of existence.
16th Nov 2022 7:24pm
Famous Hopper painting
One of my favorite artists of all time ...
BIG LIKE POEM
One of my favorite artists of all time ...
BIG LIKE POEM
16th Nov 2022 7:31pm
Many thanks PS and I'm really stoked this resonated with you. I can't even complete a painting-by-numbers and my horses always seemed to resemble a pile of stones.
Anonymous
- Edited 12th Aug 2024 3:45am
16th Nov 2022 8:10pm
<< post removed >>
16th Nov 2022 11:19pm
Many thanks for kind words Ted. Can only echo my sentiments to PS above.
IMHO there are fair few good writers in these portals (most definitely many who are no longer here). Just find scribbling enjoyable and relaxing. Don't get many comments, but I genuinely value and respect the art of those who leave words on my efforts. Rob
IMHO there are fair few good writers in these portals (most definitely many who are no longer here). Just find scribbling enjoyable and relaxing. Don't get many comments, but I genuinely value and respect the art of those who leave words on my efforts. Rob
Anonymous
- Edited 12th Aug 2024 3:45am
16th Nov 2022 11:43pm
<< post removed >>
18th Nov 2022 9:23pm
Really nice painting to inspire.
Sprawled in Summertime Oils pulled me in right away.
I love the idea of a shallow snow in summer, in the literal sense.
But I can see the snow as a metaphor regret, among other things, as well.
And the breeze tasting the warmth between my thighs, oh I love that...
Very sexy thought. Liminal, now you are just showing off again.
I love that word, thinking of it in sense of occupying both edges of a boundry.
Sweltering loneliness has a way of seeking companions, even if still lonely.
Perhaps not as much so for a short time anyway.
Teeth of the sun chattering secrets into her mouth, red... brilliant line.
It's easy to find someone in this anonymous sense and cause priapism,
for quite some time together. Two shadows sharing flesh in the night.
The city can be such a lonely place sometimes even with millions of people.
Okay now you definitely transitioned my mind to World War II.
Considering the date of the painting that makes so much sense.
In regards to the loneliness both suffer.
I feel like he is maybe on the front lines longing to paint her...
She is back home not knowing if he will ever return.
So many traces internal and external.
You have captured so much about loneliness, desire, war, art, women, men...
This is magnificent Rob. You are an amazing writer.
Sprawled in Summertime Oils pulled me in right away.
I love the idea of a shallow snow in summer, in the literal sense.
But I can see the snow as a metaphor regret, among other things, as well.
And the breeze tasting the warmth between my thighs, oh I love that...
Very sexy thought. Liminal, now you are just showing off again.
I love that word, thinking of it in sense of occupying both edges of a boundry.
Sweltering loneliness has a way of seeking companions, even if still lonely.
Perhaps not as much so for a short time anyway.
Teeth of the sun chattering secrets into her mouth, red... brilliant line.
It's easy to find someone in this anonymous sense and cause priapism,
for quite some time together. Two shadows sharing flesh in the night.
The city can be such a lonely place sometimes even with millions of people.
Okay now you definitely transitioned my mind to World War II.
Considering the date of the painting that makes so much sense.
In regards to the loneliness both suffer.
I feel like he is maybe on the front lines longing to paint her...
She is back home not knowing if he will ever return.
So many traces internal and external.
You have captured so much about loneliness, desire, war, art, women, men...
This is magnificent Rob. You are an amazing writer.
18th Nov 2022 11:07pm
The time & effort you place into all your comments are DU’s treasure. The reading of Hopper’s painting is acute & captures the essence of what I was trying to convey. I’m just a working class Welsh lad who enjoys scribbling. Class is a still huge thing in the UK and it’s one of the things which drives my spirit & passion. Triple Diolch o galon.
