MONET, Poetry by Caroline Clemens

Genre: Friendship, Relationship

MONET by Caroline Clemens

Another time another place,
I’d gather in the garden.

We’d speak of letters written.
How time is short, our thoughts numerous.

He’d sip. I’d sip. We’d share despair.
Our obsessions by the yard, on and on,
A solitaire, mindful existence, intriguing.

Realism … defined, perception expressed,
Monet the artist, romanticism and freedom.

We’d share the wine; I’d ask the??
He’d tell me about independence, his struggle,
To be himself, absorbed in context.

Camille and many femmes …
Paint me, paint me, to see what you see,
That would brighten and open my eyes.

We would sit for a bit, touch glass
Toasting art in the garden, relaxed.

Then we’d take the train, 1877,
And jump right into the station.

And go to the sea, where I would see,
The colors and expressions in his impressions.

But I shall never forget the time
My note card exposed, the magpie,
My endearment for my artistic angel.
Lovingly bestowed upon my lovely,
Naturally like art.

Then we would walk along the Seine
Puffs of his smoke I might catch,
As he would talk of finer points and prisms.

We’d cross the bridge and he’d tell of,
The water lilies, a motif or flower aquarium.

I’d want to know how he kept going,
Amidst an exhaustive, endless piece?

Painting is what I do. I do this with peace.
As war ignites, I paint early and long,
I give for France, as my contribution.

We walk the bridge over a vast lily pond,
And end at a cafe where his friends join in,
I hear some wide eyed stories
Never told and I am enlightened.

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