I met Monet
in his princely demeanor,
among the manicured lawn
and the secret garden
grows its verdant sprigs
and tresses, wild and free
in the prairie. Butterfly
flutters paint palette
hovering bloom
after bloom. Solitude
drips in cadmium and ochre sun
sitting prominently,
potted and composed,
regal and undisturbed.
A gentle touch of the brush
that peaceful gaze,
horizonless strokes,
a sweet landscape.
I walk dreamily
drank with loveliness,
the wavy enthusiasm
of the blue sea.
Such is the welcoming
spirit of the flags
sashayed in the wind,
gliding together
with solitary birds
taking flight. Still
above the silver lake,
mirrored pools
of mountains in reverie.
I see reflections
of wooden boats
bobbing in a dance
with quiet clouds
rippling soft creating
small shivers
in its feathery face.
I remember the way
he ushered me in
like an esteemed guest.
Taking my eyes to see
his picture books
of seeming easiness,
that immortal silence
showing how
to live as human,
not quite heavy
as his tormented soul.
Solitude Amidst the Maddening Crowd
Hames 