Cobweb

Cobwebs are tenuous, silken threads that shimmer in the light;

shining, lucent and glimmering;

barely perceptible, like imaginary fairy dust on flowers;

appearing as strands of light, traces of illumination, vestal as teardrops.

Fragility

At your shattering words, I trembled like a leaf and fell…

You crushed me in your hand, brittle with fear and shame.

I was broken and bereft, desecrated…

but

my tears will shine like droplets of vestal light when the sun illuminates them.

Moment

Every moment is precious, like a ray of light from the sun; a drop of hope from Elysium; a note of song from an angel, touching  the soul.

I see eternity captured in a moment…

luminous and lucid, a vision of light.

Eternity is an infinite moment.

Watermark

Like a watermark on paper; a trace or tint of paint; a kiss falling on my skin,  becoming a vestigial but indelible memory; fuchsia dye staining lily white tissue paper; a drop of blood on vestal snow; an infinite moment revived again and again, perseverating and revenant; a butterfly fluttering eternally in my heart; a haunting melody – your touch I will always remember, a watermark impressed on my skin and my soul.

Winter Morning

The sky is white, opaque with mist.  The dew is on the ground. Winter has come, revenant as an apparition.

Bird calls break the silence and stillness; revoke my pensive solitude.

Walking in the Rain

Walking in the light rain, I feel water droplets fall on my eyelids, silently as a kiss.

I see white egrets alight in the field beyond, graceful as swans.

I feel the breeze on my face, like a caress.

The earth beneath my feet is soft and moist, the grass no longer brittle; but mostly pale as ash.

The air is fresh as squeezed lemon; the sky, ashen.

The Scent of Rain

The rain falls like a mist, quietly…

It is so white that it looks like snow in the air; and almost silent, ethereal.

I hear the hymn of crickets as they sing their praise to the rain, a resonant hum.

A butterfly flutters in the rain; almost intangible, an aerial, fey spirit.

The rain is heavier now, and makes a rushing sound, like a waterfall, as it lands on the leaves of the trees.

A spider’s web, covered in water droplets, becomes manifest in the rain, shining like diamond jewellery.  Elements of my childhood are recaptured; pictures in my imagination, realised in this imagery; apparitions from the past.  Emotions are revenant as ghosts… the innocent wonder and insouciance of youth.

Winter Mornings

The white light falls on the
tissue thin and translucent
bougainvillea flowers in a
pot on the patio, the petals
faded to a tincture; as my
mother and I sit together
sipping rose tea or some other
delicate tisane.

She touches my hand and we
embrace and I feel her soft,
diaphanous hair, like gossamer,
filmy and floating, an aureole
around her face.

I am reminded that, though
life can fade in the winter
years, beauty never dissipates.
It becomes softer like winter
light, fragile like gossamer.

Red Paper Roses – a Vignette

A girl meanders through the field,
her arms filled with red paper roses.
Her flowing skirt sweeps the ground
as she walks, and strands stray
from her upswept hair.

As she wanders, a few buds fall
to the ground. She gathers them up
again in her arms, and as she does so
her hair is freed, falling
over her shoulders.

A blush suffuses her face
when she realises she is observed.

MEMORY

The day is steeped in the scent of
roses, as I drift through the redolent
garden of my memory, gathering
blossoms.

Your memory evokes the sweetest
scent.

I am lost to the efflorescing
colours as I follow the fragrant
path of remembrance to
discover my heart, my inner
sanctum.

CRIMSON PAPER ROSES

The paper roses were stained a vivid
crimson, but now they fade, their dye
seeping away in the sunlight…

Fragile as tissue, blanched in hue; they
fill a basket sitting on the grand piano;
fading to a tincture, their colour softened
like a whisper, to barely a tint of crimson.

THE SCENT OF ROSES

Bold and voluptuous or
fragile and
delicately nuanced;
warm and sweet,
tender and sensual,
soft and powdery,
vibrant or shy;
an effusion of lingering
aromatic resonance;

the scent of roses evokes
longing – a crimson
evanescence, an
intangible desire.

SPRING

Tiny buds open as
Spring unfurls her
fragile ephemerality,
like a shy blossom
awakening.

Winter’s vestige still
lingers, as vernal
beauty effloresces.
Plants and trees are
bedewed with flowers,
enveloped in a foliage of
floral colour and scent.

Spring’s vestal touch
alights, like birds and
butterflies; a rhapsody of
harmonious choral
voices, a fluttering of
ephemeral wings, a joyful
rebirth.

WATER LILIES IN THE SUNLIGHT

The light is evanescent,
flickering like flame,
dying and an instant later
reborn somewhere else and
with a different hue and
intensity – ephemeral
transient light and colour
on the surface of the water,
and deeper down,
darkness and quiet.

Light and colour – serene and
wistful, bright and pretty and
subtle. Sunrise and sunset,
direct sunlight and overcast
skies all imbue the lilies and
water with a different mood and
tone – the vicissitudes of
capricious nature.

The light flirts with the
water and flowers, dallies
and disappears – bright and
sombre, moody and
vivacious. The lilies dance
in the sunlight and hide in
the shade, shy and yet
audacious.

Colour is mutable and
expressive. The exquisite
lilies display their raiment
in the sunshine, and quiver
in the rain and wind.

MONET’S JOY

Monet’s garden was his opus and
his inspiration.

Flowers were the vibrant colour
painted on the canvas of the
soil.

He blended the flowers in his
garden as brush strokes blend
the paint on a canvas, to create
a harmonious rapture.

Light was his paintbrush. Transient
light impressions could be observed
in his garden at the passing of the
day.

Recurring motifs and themes appeared
in his garden. Nature was his guide.
The garden was sometimes rampant,
sometimes ordered, and viewed through
the filter of transient light – a
profusion of colour.

Monet captured light and colour, moment
by moment; colour seen through diffused
light, bright light or shadow.

He captured the fleeting impressions of
a “floating world”. Each ephemeral
moment was stilled in his paintings.
These were his memories, the garden
portrayed through his eyes.

The varying transitions of light
and colour in his garden were not
lost but preserved in his prolific
paintings; recorded by his eye’s
subjective camera.

His paintings and garden were
infused with colour and passion – his
magnum opus of intense joy, for
Monet painted what he felt.

MONET’S WATER LILIES

Monet’s water lilies were his muse. In his paintings,
they are lustrous and pellucid, reflecting the hues and
textures of his beautiful, translucent soul, like a
stained glass window, a colourful and emotive mosaic of
sensuality.

They elevate the voyeur to a sanctified state of
profuse bliss and elation; but also evoke serenity
and peace, creating a sanctum.

They capture the transience and intangibility of
the play of water, light and colour; an empyreal
luminosity.

The artist’s effusion of joy, in the moment of
creation, is translated to the voyeur’s
pleasure.

SERENITY

I see Monet’s water lily paintings and
drift, serene; a leaf on water, swirled in
an eddy.

My spirit floats, euphoric, into the ether,
lost in a reverie, a phantasy, my soul
wandering in a fugue.

I hear Philomel’s mellifluous, joyful
hymn, and dive into the cool depths and
am submerged beneath the tranquil surface;
blissfully unknowing, being, feeling
– serene; my essence liberated, emancipated.
I become a water nymph, a naiad, my soul
secreted beneath the tranquil surface.

I dream. I drift. I am spiritual, fey,
aerial. I am
free.