Friday, July 22

A Poem For Friday....The Painter





The blue sky,
  
and a lazy gull,
                
and the shouting laughter
                   
 of young men playing football.

and high in the sky

the boys float and flutter

on warm thermals.

birch leaves whisper 

and turn themselves over

to show pure silver

-rising in price -

they say. 
.
Stelios gives me a fly past

on his way back from those triangular mountains.

and the wood pigeon

moans gently in the tall pine tree.

on the day

the painter died.

[The painter and the painting of course...Lucien Freud
and the boys are the screaming gang of swallows over the field].





5 comments:

  1. What a lovely tribute, gerry.

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  2. RIP LF. He made our lives so much better.

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  3. Lovely gentle poem. Wonderful painter although I have never understood why women fell over themselves for him - he was never an easy man. There is a good article in the Times magazine about him today by Jerry Hall.

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  4. A fine poem. First reading I wasn't sure about the boys on thermals, but I've warmed to it.

    Yes, he was a hard painter to appreciate in some ways, but he opened the eyes of many to certain unpleasant truths that were buried deep in human nature. A painter's painter, I suppose. (These days any painter is a painter to cheer. There aint many of 'em.)

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  5. nice and easy to understand

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