David Hockney, Age 32 by Elizabeth Peyton

David Hockney, Age 32 by Elizabeth Peyton

David Hockney, Age 32
1997-98
Portraiture
Oil on board
Sadie Coles Gallery, London, UK

Peyton has created many portraits of David Hockney. ‘David Hockney, Age 32’ depicts Hockney looking out towards the viewer as if seeking approval. It is akin to a snapshot of a friend or family member in its innocence and candid nature.

Elizabeth Peyton 1965-

Elizabeth Peyton
Realism
Born: 1965, Connecticut, USA
Nationality: American

Peyton is a contemporary artist, painter, and printmaker. She is known for her depictions of figures from her life and those beyond it, including friends, historical personae, and contemporary icons such as artists, writers, actors, and musicians

Fate Decreed

A Garret Poet

Fate Decreed
Form: Fourteener

I don’t question emotions when I look into your eyes
For there I find the beauty of truth and love in our soul
And I pay no heed to the heat of wanton lust-fuelled sighs
Of physical desire that can never make me feel whole
The hot panting breath that is only evidence of lust
Leaves the body sated but the mind is filled with dismay
But that is not love when the heart cannot offer no trust
Looking in the eyes of love, I don’t want to look away
I knew my heart was always yours from the first tender kiss
Entwining us as one as one kiss followed another
The wonder of our love revealing our destiny’s bliss
A destiny of joy forever ours to discover
As we share a soul for all eternity, you and me
Together in Nirvana as Fate has decreed it be

©JezzieG2024

On Shakespear by John Milton

John Milton 1608-1674

On Shakespear
1630

What needs my Shakespear for his honour’d Bones,
The labour of an age in piled Stones,
Or that his hallow’d reliques should be hid
Under a Star-ypointing Pyramid?
Dear son of memory, great heir of Fame,
What need’st thou such weak witnes of thy name?
Thou in our wonder and astonishment
Hast built thy self a live-long Monument.
For whilst to th’sharne of slow-endeavouring art,
Thy easie numbers flow, and that each heart
Hath from the Leaves of thy unvalu’d Book,
Those Delphick lines with deep impression took,
Then thou our fancy of it self bereaving,
Dost make us Marble with too much conceaving;
And so Sepulcher’d in such pomp dost lie,
That Kings for such a Tomb would wish to die

John Milton
Born: 9 December 1608, London, England
Nationality: English
Died: 8 November 1674, London, England

Milton was a poet, polemicist, and civil servant. He is best known for the epic poem ‘Paradise Lost’ (1667), composed in blank verse over ten books and written at a time of religious flux and political upheaval. Milton served as a civil servant for the Commonwealth of England under its Council of State and later under Oliver Cromwell

Sleep (Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge)

Inspired by and written for the Weekly Prompts Weekend Challenge, my thanks to Sue and Gerry

Form: Decuain

The sun sinks slowly behind distant hills
As I drift in thought beneath purple skies
The passing day appears in random stills
Of memory; both the lows and the highs
Like echoes released on my sleepy sighs
As the darkness of night now comes to be
The silvery moon beckons close your eyes
So golden-hued dreams can chuckle with glee
As in my slumber, I let thoughts be free
So the journey of dreams is all I see

©JezzieG2024

Jumbo (Ragtag Daily Prompt)

Inspired by and written for the Ragtag Daily Prompt, my thanks to Sgeoil

Form: Decima

Monday is the town’s market day
Bargains laid on every stall
Fruit and veg you can get it all
Whilst walking round making your way
Hearing the sounds of music play
The butcher man shouting his ware
The price per pound of his fine fare
But up along the other side
Glamourous undies I confide
Oversize knicks are always there

©JezzieG2024