there was no deity in her toes

or mystical magic,

brazen eccentricity,

alcohol infused depravity

clung like smoke

that became exhausted on breath,

the morbid look of reality

as being human is to dance

bare splayed white thigh flesh

promise of midnight feast

fulgent in face

he wished to grasp her now

be away upon a tram

tearing worsted tights

patched with careful hand

lamplit ombres chinoises

concavity of upturned behind

receiving wild attention,

she has him as a pale

pierrot languishing on soft words

and gentle caress

having seen the kaleidoscope

and been within pink basket

away with shallow shadows

to find his way home,

naked on sheets tugged and messed


internal orchestra played on

stood upon her rug

once vibrant

and danced again

for herself this time,

watched only by flickering

wax candles

freeverse , poetry , poem

toulouse lautrec

magpie tales statue stamp 185

  1. Well, now that was something.

  2. Jinksy says:

    There’s certainly mystical magic in that painting…

  3. Trellissimo says:

    lamplit ombres chinoises

    Was a delightful description to find in a very long list of very small typeface words…

  4. Tess Kincaid says:

    Excellent as always…and wow! that opening line…

  5. Helen Dehner says:

    The painting also produced a similar gut-reaction in me! Your poem is sensuous, passionate, visceral and ~ wonderful!

  6. Berowne says:

    Curiously offbeat; well done.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s