For the dverse prompt, an ekphrastic poem based on the painting by Franz Marc, killed at Verdun in 1916.
On days of wind
On days of wind, the washing blows
and billows in the shirts and sheets
flailing empty cotton arms.
So many lines across the land
with washing blowing in the wind,
the white and pink and palest blues,
a network of domestic peace.
I wonder who will bring it in,
when this dayโs done, wind died away.
I wonder will the last night fall
on cotton arms and billowed sheets,
that blow unheeded in the wind.
Jane Dougherty Writes 
So beautifully done, Jane. Those flailing cotton arms are ghostly. I’d forgotten he was killed at Verdun.
Thank you ๐
Yes, ghostly, I thought that too.
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I love this, like a sad song…. it made me think of “where have all the flowers gone”
Thank you. It’s all so unbearably sad.
This is absolutely stunning! I especially admire; “So many lines across the land with washing blowing in the wind, the white and pink and palest blues, a network of domestic peace.”๐๐
Thanks Sanaa. Drying washing is such a homely symbol.
Yes, there’s a beauty and a melancholy here you handle well. He was an artist I would’ve loved to see more work from. This piece is particularly haunting with its artifacts of life but no one inhabiting the picture.
He’s one of my favourite artists and sounds to have been a terribly humane and compassionate man. There are very few human beings in his paintings, and his animal paintings are tremendous.
You have made the simple task of hanging laundry outdoors to dry feel beautiful.
Thank you, Helen. It’s the simple gestures that create peace and calm.
All those breeze-filled sleeves, waving goodbye. Great work, Jane. Thanks.
Waving goodbye or come back. Who knows? Thanks Ron.
Haunting, even more so thinking of how Marc died.
Yes, anti-militarism, anti-German war machine, peaceful and humane. Another of our billions of avoidable tragedies.
They are like ghosts, aren’t they? (K)
I bet there are a lot of those ghosts blowing about in Ukraine today.
Yes.
Sobering close to this piece Jane, so much wistful wonder. Excellent my friend.
Thanks Rob xx
Luv the carefree unpredicatable mood of this poem
Much love…
Thanks Gillena xx
Admiring this line: a network of domestic peace. Yet there is sad and haunting voice in the lines.
Drying washing seems so normal and homely, but it will blow away in the first bomb blast.
The ‘domestic peace’ seems to be on the surface only. Beautifully crafted.
It’s certainly a fragile one.
It started off quite innocuous then became quite spooky by the end, Jane. I enjoyed reading this.
Thank you ๐
Wonderful work,vivid imagery…your questions leave me wondering as well ๐
Thank you. How many people are asking themselves when they’ll see their home again? If?
It’s a dark kind of wondering, but understandable…
…a network of domestic peace. This describes the feel of you poem. Well done, Jane.
Thank you Dwight. Though it’s a very uneasy peace.
You are welcome!
No-one to bring the washing in, that continues to flap in the wind, helpless, is enough to almost bring one to tears, if we were not shocked beyond tears now…maybe… emotionally wrenching piece…
Numb might be preferable to this state of permanent tears.
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And does the washing hang abandoned
In the Ukraine blooded and singed
Cowering not from the wind but from the bombs .
Is it tethered to a line, an invisible line
Everyone has forgotten and it stays abandoned in the cold wind and snow.๐บ๐ฆ๐ฌ๐ง๐
And not just the washing. The people must feel abandoned.
Yes and they are saying so daily it breaks my heart
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