Gauguin sniffed / a sponge cake’s desiccated / coconut and sighed

All downhill from here. Hobart Rivulet, Sandy Bay. January 2012.

At what point do the constant stream of birthday parties stop for the little 'uns?

LAST SUPPER, Graham Burchell

Botticelli grinned
with egg tempera congealed
at the hinge of his lips

Velasquez licked
shine from an aubergine blackened
in the shadows

Vermeer picked
pearls from a jar labelled
‘silverskin onions’

Turner stirred
through the steam mist risen
above Venetian chicken soup

Monet decorated
a blue plate with sliced
cucumber and radishes

Gauguin sniffed
a sponge cake’s desiccated
coconut and sighed

Van Gogh spat
a gristle morsel
at a swirl of Provençal sauce

Cézanne reached
for the fruit bowl but dithered
between apple and pear

Dali tweaked
moustache and swallowed
a sheep’s eye with relish

Bacon tore
at turkey leg
his neck twisted in hidden fury

Pollock drizzled
ranch dressing
about tossed Waldorf salad

while Freud spooned
one more pickled walnut
to an off-white napkin next

to the last painter unknown
a child still that sobbed
over eggy soldiers

Comments

Sue said…

T'is just the beginning...........

8 January 2012 at 15:32

Sue said…

This comment has been removed by the author.

8 January 2012 at 15:32

Sue said…

I accidentally posted the same thing twice (not sure how I managed that....???) so hence, the deleted post!

8 January 2012 at 15:34

Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it...

I still have the robot on the job. Here you can see the Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery . And here is a poem: Soliloquy for One Dead Bruce Dawe Ah, no, Joe, you never knew the whole of it, the whistling which is only the wind in the chimney's smoking belly, the footsteps on the muddy path that are always somebody else's. I think of your limbs down there, softly becoming mineral, the life of grasses, and the old love of you thrusts the tears up into my eyes, with the family aware and looking everywhere else. Sometimes when summer is over the land, when the heat quickens the deaf timbers, and birds are thick in the plumbs again, my heart sickens, Joe, calling for the water of your voice and the gone agony of your nearness. I try hard to forget, saying: If God wills, it must be so, because of His goodness, because- but the grasshopper memory leaps in the long thicket, knowing no ease. Ah, Joe, you never knew the whole of it... I like Bruce Dawe. He just my be my favourite Austral...

There was nothing left. No reason, no conscience, no understanding; even the most rudimentary sense of life or death, good or evil, right or wrong.

Here is a self portrait. I’m calling it Portrait of a lady in a dirty window . Shocking, isn’t it? However, it is apt! Samhain , Nos Galan Gaeaf , Hop-tu-Naa , All Saints , All Hallows , Hallowmas , Hallowe'en or HALLOWEEN . It’s Theme Thursday and we’re talking about the festivals traditionally held at the end of the harvest season. Huh? No wonder Australians have trouble with the concept of HALLOWEEN. For the record, in my thirty-two L O N G years on the planet, I can’t say I’ve ever seen ghosts ‘n goblins, trick ‘n treaters or Michael Myers stalking Tasmania’s streets at the end of October. [That said, I did once see a woman as pale as a ghost turning tricks that looked like Michael Myers in late November one time.] Despite the best efforts of Hollywood, sitcoms, and innumerable companies; it seems Australians are impervious to the [ahem] charms of a corporatized variant of a celebration of the end of the "lighter half" of the year and beginning of the "darke...

In dreams begin responsibilities.

A life at sea, that's for me, only I just don't have the BREAD. That's right, Theme Thursday yet again and I post a photo of a yacht dicking about in Bass Strait just off Wynyard. The problem is, I am yet again stuck at work, slogging away, because I knead need the dough . My understanding is that it is the dough that makes the BREAD. And it is the BREAD that buys the yacht. On my salary though, I will be lucky to have enough dough or BREAD for a half dozen dinner rolls. Happy Theme Thursday people, sorry for the rush.

This will hurt me...

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