Challenge:Recreating The Greats

[vampiredust]

I know this has been done before but I thought it'd be fun to have another challenge like it.

All you have to do is write a poem based on the painting

The first one is Matisse's Seated Figure

 

[WickedEve]

She is unclad
impatience, hurrying my brush
for her rise. I send her away,
dip into rust, goldenrod,
flaws of memory, though less
than the imperfection of her seated--
she's roots in burnt lime.

 

[vampiredust]

She is unclad
impatience, hurrying my brush
for her rise. I send her away,
dip into rust, goldenrod,
flaws of memory--though less
than the imperfection of her, seated
like roots in burnt lime.

Excellent. loved this

 

[vampiredust]

The Seated Figure

I'd watch her
wrap stillness like a shawl
around her body, trying
to keep every movement
warm, whilst waiting not
for time to end this session
of ours but for me to drop
my brushes and paint her
from her lips to her navel.

 

[clutching_calliope]

The Seated Figure

.....

 

[Remec]

How long will this take?
My back hurts,
my wrist, arm, shoulder,
hell, even my
perky nipples displayed to
the world pulse with the ache
that comes with being viewed
but then left to sit and stew.
Don't we have a break
coming up?

 

[vampiredust]

If I could keep her in a box,
and her legs from itching,
perhaps her face would become glass,
her eyes a different lead, her breasts
not as a product of geometry,
but as the basis for the rule. If squares
on walls will influence the shape
of her sex, let me paint her
and put her in a box.

Brilliant poem, Calli

it

 

[Liar]

Damn, remec stole my idea.

 

[Liar]

Seated Figure

by the window she is paler
than by the door she loves to lean into
watching him blend gouache

she used to say
'you should throw that old chair out
it's worn and broken'

and he would smile
'well, so am I
but I have plans for both'

by the window she is paler
and he stirred in too much chalk
so by the window
he sat the plan in motion

he said
'don't smile, hold still'
but she slipped a smirk

he let it slip, wiped it off
the canvas instead
'just an hour, hold still and then
I'll throw it out, this time I will'

by the window she is paler still
than the liquid skin on his brush
but not by much

 

[Maria2394]

Calli!!! you done went and got my itchy leg idear, how could ya, how could ya?? now what will I write??





mmmmmm

If I could keep her in a box,
and her legs from itching,
perhaps her face would become glass,
her eyes a different lead, her breasts
not as a product of geometry,
but as the basis for the rule. If squares
on walls will influence the shape
of her sex, let me paint her
and put her in a box.

 

[Maria2394]

the artist instructs her

ignore the pain the scar inflicts

ignore the pain, she laments
resting only in her mind
she remembers the day
her husbands horse kicked her
the pain, the blood and now
the ache, oh the ache
from her shoulders where
she wears her wrap, down
to her ankles where tears
puddle when she weeps.
her first and last attempt
at escape and now she sits
incontent as the artist instructs her
to ignore the pain of that scar
but which scar? surely not
the one on her leg, how can he see
the scars in her soul?

 

[Maria2394]

should I be able to bring her to life
I would hold her, brush her hair
caress her thighs and pierce
her nipples, her navel, her ears
could I bring her to life, I would
erase those simple colors
from the palette that holds her
prisoner, and liven her life with green
and gold and blue, as much as her soul
could receive and hold., then set her
free, into the world that has no room
for people like me.

 

[The_Fool]

She ignored my discomfort
Addressing me in repose
A queen upon her throne
Gracious in granting an audience

I tried to hide my discomfort
As she wore her charms exposed
But neither my hands
Nor my face hid my desire

Her eyes answered my childish lust
With a world of sadness and grace
As she offered up her mother breasts
To man desiring his Madonna

 

[My Erotic Trail]

as soon as the clothes dry
hanging upon a line
where the crows often sit

as I sit here to ward them away
I await the suns work
to dry my fabrics so that I may dance

yes dance the night away
with a sore back from the perch
I sat upon and awaited

for my clothes to dry

 

[bluerains]

She drapes her drab
nature into colors
of his chamber
while sitting flawless
within enveloped eyes,
his burlesque substitute.

 

[vampiredust]

Another Painting

Time for the next painting. I've chosen Picasso's Les Demoiselles d'Avignon
I hope you all enjoy writing about it

 

[clutching_calliope]

Les Desmoiselles d'Avignon

.....

 

[BooMerengue]

Les Desmoiselles d'Avignon

Look! There in the mirror!
Why do you look so confused?
Why can't you see me?
I'm there waiting for you.
Ahhh, the glass is cracked, you say.
It's no matter - it is still me.
Waiting for you.
Don't be afraid. I'm not.

 

[vampiredust]

Les Desmoiselles d'Avignon

I watched them dance
in the corner of my palette
as I dabbed a little colour
from the corner of my eye;
hoping to make them move
a little more lifelike. But that
never happened and they died
in the world that I drew, never
waking from those dreams I gave
them.

 

[champagne1982]

Les Desmoiselles d'Avignon

A still life display
of softness turned
into arrows and knives
to pierce those wombs
of demonic expression.
They haunt me these faces

of abstract desire
the eyes gazing
out from a vagina
ignored in the hopes
that they will disappear

like the monster
that doesn't exist
as long as the child
won't let it.