Tuesday, March 29, 2016

Painting the Modern Garden

The blushing pink on petals close to white
of climbing roses entwined among the trees
the play of light and shade and form
I think I sense the faint smell of decay
from leaves heaped up and rotting on the soil
I lift my head and swear I taste the breeze
and hear the distant notes of a piano

Such is the power of paintings
of gardens full of vast flowerbeds
rioting colour and subtle change of tone
the shapes of leaves and petals
the fruits of long physical labour
with spade and soil or brush and pigment

canvas fixed on walls like windows
where we spy the artists’ friends, lovers,
children and dogs among the plants
or sometimes absent, as the place speaks
its own language, draws us in a while
to a world which feels more real than ours


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