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Monet Waterloo Bridge

A Stray

J.L. Littlejohn
Nov 10, 2018 · 4 min read

…certain dark things are to be loved
in secret between the shadow and the soul.”
Pablo Neruda

He sighs….
concedes a close to night
as serene and soggy haze
escorts the butter and blue
blooming on the quiet of a dawn
glistens ㅤthat painterly view
of a dozing cityscape
on too early a Sunday’s morn.
The serene will cease
and quiet meander
into a scamper of the waking
… as he finds hisself
in an ascending want
beyond the corporeal
ㅤunsated….
pangs of his connoisseur’s
obsession
ㅤ yet
…. somehow wistful
for those gone-days
before ㅤHer.

This nouveau phenom
a phantom painter,
eclipsed by the dingy harbors
in her canvases
of alleywalls and sidewalks,
shuns the sun
beyond
those darkened corridors.
A knowing stray
…she stays
her distance
to the come and go again
of the breaking day.
A feral corsair
of the backstreets
serendipitous night
under inky skies
avoiding…..
as cautious creature
s l i n k s
to fade as shadow would
betwixt the Crescent’s
dart & pry
a cursorial-hunting
of her anonymity
- she navigates
the cold of concrete maze
strewn
an abundance
of artist’s wraiths
left shadowy debris
in casualty
and namelessness.

An artful dodger
without a Fagin,
in gauzy glimpse
thrice now
by him ㅤas she fled,
has purloined this nite
as his idée fixe
gave taunt again…
on faltered step
to her pantomime.
As critic documents each
of her masterful works
ㅤ in startled glance
of her traipse between
the parceling
of a moon’s blanching light
into slivered rays
he caught sight –
to beauty ㅤstrange
ㅤ…alluring
but unsettling.
Profound radiance
of her porcelain white
a delicate flesh
ㅤ luminous …
donned a villainess’ shroud
of modern habiliments
….. black hoodie
and jeans.

Her svelte androgyny
a sapling’s trunk ㅤ
perhaps, 19.
Beneath that hood
a cloche of hair rippled
a bevy in swan’s down.
Her flutter of lashes
ㅤwispy ghosts
ㅤof gypsy moths
across a lunar face ㅤ …pale
as frosted breath
upon a windowpane.
Eyebrows swept
a flight of gander’s wings
ㅤhovering
above a lost-in-the-forest gaze
as eyes wide in low spark
ㅤ glint ㅤa galaxy
two suspended planets
color of an autumnal sky
their watery light blue-grey
…..liken those waves
on her sometimes
furious ocean.

As her art has…
her preternatural talons
now curve and clench
his captured heart
duality’s intrigue
- intangible hail from blackness
and lambent
hark of moonbeams.

Claude Monet Water Lilies Sunset

Unwise, ㅤhis perception
as he follows
into those arteries
of her shadow world…
a fallacy in her fragility
seduction -a scrim
of mystery
to tenebrous silhouette.
..…as hidden
a glint of steel blade
gives her otherworldliness
a hyphened reality
dangerous
…. and her agitated gaze
could cut you
even deeper.
A mute ㅤnear silent
in an always anxious
her nettle ㅤa restless prattle
a voice
of tempestuous mistress.
Hiss in dour and low drone
her interior assailant
poised
like a fitful jackdaw
up a hanging tree
…incapable
of complacent.

Until …
that brush lay
as mystic fitted to her hand
then all on winds or whispers
in and around her
grew quieted.
Savant…
in rare tranquility
her turbulent waters
parted
as guileless heart flowed…
profusion spilled graceful
her brushstrokes
a melody
ㅤlayered arpeggios
beautiful movement
of body and soul
gripped in it’s piety
to creation.

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Agapanthus, Monet

…he stood entranced
by sylph’s elegant dance.
A gentle frolic … in paint
perfervid motion
abandonment
of white and naked wisp
— uncaged heart ㅤa gaiety
never seen in her before.
In pas jetes…..
artist stepped a poetic prance
fingers as brushes
raw
ㅤas they kissed the brick
a ballet of pigment.
From nose to toes
that ghostly wan of her flesh
dripped ㅤdripped
the soft tones ㅤa sheathㅤ
poolingㅤ thin then thick
in the sleek
of tender young curves
and crevices.
….delicious hues
a palette
of a languid
yet vibrant twilight.

Below a pastel sky
that swept him easily
into its gentle undulations
nine foot blossoms rose
then exploded
between the even taller
tousled heads
of her beloved agapanthus
blushed their immodest violet
… each in glorious
irreverent stance amid
a surge of whirlpools
their urgent tides
roiled azure blue and turquoise
….all capable
of having left
even Monet
in an envious stutter.

…. he lurked transfixed
until…
she caught
that whiff of him……

….. the lunge so swift
he never felt it
shock ㅤcame before a notice
of the ribbons in blood did.
As a lengthy sliver of blade
ripped his side
and angled thru the vitals
….her furious eyes
met his enamored gaze
as it staggered into the abysm
of his mortally stunned.
Her throat swelled
with horror’s attempt at utterance
throes in grave realization
of mistake
came on the sour torrents
of a mute’s
eldritch screech…
the haunting muffled wails
that grasped her direful darkness
trembling all terrors loose
as he fell …. limp pile
of smartly dressed rags
white-knuckled into the grit
of betrayal’s agony
at her knees.
Her eyes intensely locked
into his dulling plea
a fading of irises
dwindling gray from green
as death’s rattle escapes
on a last regret,
whispering, Sign it…

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never pet a stray

©jef littlejohn 2018

Lit Up

Welcome to Lit Up -The Land of Little Tales.

J.L. Littlejohn

Written by

Poet/Storyteller ~A Conflict of Words in Tussle With a Pen For a Life of Rhyme. Poetry for The Lit Up, The Junction, PS I Love You, Resistance Poetry

Lit Up

Lit Up

Welcome to Lit Up -The Land of Little Tales. Here you can read and submit short stories, flash fiction, poetry - in brief, your own legend. We're starting little. But that's how all big stories begin.

J.L. Littlejohn

Written by

Poet/Storyteller ~A Conflict of Words in Tussle With a Pen For a Life of Rhyme. Poetry for The Lit Up, The Junction, PS I Love You, Resistance Poetry

Lit Up

Lit Up

Welcome to Lit Up -The Land of Little Tales. Here you can read and submit short stories, flash fiction, poetry - in brief, your own legend. We're starting little. But that's how all big stories begin.

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