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Sepia Love and The Coy Artist

by tusker 

Posted: 09 December 2010
Word Count: 143
Summary: For Bill's challenge. The 2 came to me so I wrote them.

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Sepia Love (photo of my grandparents)

There are decades of love ahead of them
as they stroll down the promenade
side by side, her sepia smile
turning to him, speaks of love
while his jaunty hat set upon a dark head,
casts a shadow over a face that hides
past unspoken anguish.
But his guiding hand has an eternal hold
upon her arm that has steered them both
through sixty plus years, past war,
hard work and retirement
till death sliced through her

A Mother's Secret Art.

Pink white blossoms bend
over a lane that leads to a
cottage of thatch from where
smoke curls up into an
ocean blue sky.
Sunlight shines
upon verdant hills
speckled with sheep but
when her brush dries,
she returns to another place
where bleak crofts cling onto
rough terrain that cowers
beneath dark jagged

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Comments by other Members

Nella at 19:38 on 09 December 2010
I love that first one, Jennifer. So beautifully touching. The second is very evocative, too. I can see that landscape.
A tiny typo in the second, fifth line from the bottom: "she's" should be "she".

joanie at 20:43 on 09 December 2010
Jennifer, these are just beautiful. The sepia photograph brought tears to my eyes! I just love the final line of each one - the single word....


tusker at 06:41 on 10 December 2010
Thanks Robin and Joanie.

The first one, the photo, is in my lounge. The painting in second poem was painted by my mother and is also in my lounge.

I found this and other paintings tucked away in a wardrobe of her spare bedroom after she'd died. They're now on display. She'd cringe, I know, but they're very good.


Nella at 15:43 on 10 December 2010
How interesting, Jennifer, to find out that your mother had a secret talent. Sad, of course, too, because you probably would have liked to know it while she was alive.

V`yonne at 18:17 on 10 December 2010
Both really nicely done, Jennifer. In the second I'd make one change
goes to another place
returns instead of goes and also use
A Motherís Secret Art
as the actual title as it makes it clearer what the poem is about.

tusker at 06:52 on 11 December 2010
I knew she dabbled but didn't realise how much, Robin.

She like many other women of their generation did not flaunt their artistic talents. They were housewives first and last. She made tapestries too. (I have a 2) but that was regarded as okay, I suppose.


tusker at 06:53 on 11 December 2010
Thanks Oonah.

I will do that.



I've altered it. Thanks for the suggestion. Looks better.

V`yonne at 14:42 on 11 December 2010

Desormais at 14:54 on 11 December 2010
They're both really lovely Jennifer. I especially liked the second one. It must be strange to find out that your mother painted, and that you had no idea about her abilities.
Well done.

crowspark at 09:05 on 12 December 2010
Loved both of them!
The second was my favourite. The contrast of what is painted (wished for perhaps) and the starker beauty of

where bleak crofts cling onto
rough terrain that cowers
beneath dark jagged

The sublime and the beautiful combined in one poem.

I am not at all surprised by motherly modesty. Our walls had plenty of my dad's paintings, house and garden had his sculpture and he played musical instruments. But I knew that my mother could play the piano and was a wonderful potter but she insisted on modesty above all else.


tusker at 09:13 on 12 December 2010
Thanks Bill.
It was a man's world, back then.

Wives should be seen but should not display.


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