Harriet Slaughter 
Painter
Poet
​photographer
​
  • About Me
  • Gallery
    • Abstract
    • Ciityscapes
    • Still Life
    • Collage
    • Encaustic
    • Portrait, Figure Painting
    • Plein Air
  • Poetry
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                                              Poems


NEW YORK WOMAN

​
I am a New York woman
,
gritty as the asphalt springing from the gaping potholes

I’ve learned to leap in a single bound,

blazing as the circuitry burning

megawatts of energy along Times Square.

 
Yes, I am a New York woman,

adaptive to the cosmopolitan density,

the New York propensity for churning the talented

and spitting them out if they don’t meet the taste test.

 
Yes, New York, you can’t spurn those

who flood your avenues,

scale your escalating high rises
,
endure your endless musical cacophonies

of horns, rivets and sirens.


 
I am a New York woman, confident as the Chrysler Building.

This city helped build my steely backbone
,
taught me UN diplomacy, fluency in subtlety,

schooled me in the university of life,

created a woman that might never have been.

I am a New York woman.

I have survived!



​
​PARIS SUNDAY MORN
​
 
The tolling of the ancient bells resonate in morning light.

Cobblestone streets intertwine with modern tree-lined avenues,

Tracing steps of yesteryear.

Nun’s voices echo during mass; Crowds gather in the street in stunned silence.

The statues of Kings and Emperors can be found,
 
Marking the time Napoleon was around, witness his tomb so grand.
​
France has seen it all:  the guillotine, the sword, the blade, the daggers, the swagger,

centuries of war, shouts for liberte, terrorism.

Yet it remains with Eiffel tall, Invalides with golden dome, Notre Dame along the

Seine---

All sit in grandeur with St. Sulpice erect on Montmartre,

Militia men, guns intact patrol Parisian monuments,

Framing Paris skyline against the horrors of random jihadist slayings of the innocent

who only loved life, not reviled it.

Paris, the city of light flickers in the afterglow of carnage, then summons the human

spirit to spark a flame to shine brighter than ever. 
 

​MONET'S GARDENS


 
Where iris bloom

The poppies burst in orange and red

Across from them a bed of tulips

Mingled colors of yellow, blue

With forget-me-nots


 
Where iris bloom

Wisteria weeps like purple lace

Azaleas show their happy face

And creeping vines intertwine

With forget-me-nots


 
Where iris bloom

An arching bridge was built

Bamboo stalks stand high as stilts

Lily pads glide among the frogs

With forget-me-nots


 
Where iris bloom

Monet created beauty there

A riot of color everywhere

A painter’s paradise filled
​
With forget-me-nots

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  • About Me
  • Gallery
    • Abstract
    • Ciityscapes
    • Still Life
    • Collage
    • Encaustic
    • Portrait, Figure Painting
    • Plein Air
  • Poetry
    • Poems
  • Photography
  • Contact