Widows’ weeds is what we wear
Stiflingly hot in midday air
Houses usurped by eldest sons
Post-husbands, post-menopause, we
Convene daily, really to see
That we still live, it’s hardly fun
But beneath each blackened shell
Bright colours of our glory days
Belie this ghastly latter phase
We dream of Heaven, live in Hell
Gossip our only consolation
The fauve follies of the young
Who’s deserving, who should be hung
Judgment brings but scant elation…
Over at dVerse Poets Pub, Melissa Lemay in Poetics, invites us to write an ekphrastic poem inspired by a selection of paintings by Georgia O’Keeffe…
Melissa also gave us a selection of art terms to incorporate into our poem and I chose just one fauve, the French word for “wild animal” that gave it’s name to the Fauvists who painted in very bright colours…