An impression must be momentary,
If I see a static 'impressionist'
Its purpose is defeated.
A bather sleeping on a beach
Cannot be on my list,
For, if the sleeper's motionless,
That's not 'impressionist'.
Monet caught a brief second
As this old steam-train drew in;
We can hear the hissing steam
And the raucous station din.
The colours are so subtle
On this, clearly, rainy day,
And Monet seems to capture
A million shades of grey.
Monet saw something we'll never see,
He looked and it was gone,
Yet, because of his great artistry,
This second lingers on.
With other painters it's rising mist,
Or clouds wind-tossed and white,
Or else there's a movement of a dress,
Captured, however slight.
Maybe the term 'Impressionist'
Means more to the expert eye,
But, to me, it just means capturing
'Beauty that's passing-by'.
THE JOURNEY OF A THOUGHT
Gerald is no longer with us;
Gerald died not long ago.
I only met him out in Blogland,
But I always admired him so.
One day Gerald thought of 'Devon',
Held the picture in his mind;
Played with it and mixed his vision
Till it was thoroughly defined.
Then he used his favourite medium
To save the picture from his brain;
Maybe altered it and tinkered
Time and time and time again.
When it was finished he drew pleasure
From the picture he could see;
The 'Devon' in his mind was transferred
To the brains of you and me.
And now I see it and think 'Devon'.
His thought, my brain, the journey's done.
Your life, dear Gerald, may have ended,
But immortality's begun.