An artist waved his brush and colours appeared
For with his hand and heart colours are revered.
Such is Morocco, poetry in motion
Touching the soul with deep felt emotion,
A land where the artist paints a work of art
Awakening all feelings from a sterile heart
Whence all lovers of culture flock
To view the colours of Marok.
Pale or deep,
all the colours sweep
Across the landscape vivid,
Vermillion, scarlet, and ruby livid.
Blown by winds in all directions,
Gentle gems, arousing all affections.
Here lies the rose of Morocco,
Colours continuing the mood of rococo.
Alizarin crimson, pinks and mauves,
The haunting colours of the Fauves.
Cadmium orange with hints of flesh
Forming the soul of Marrakech
Cerulean celestial, ultramarine, cobalt blue,
Violet, lavender and Prussian hue
The colours of the heavens lie
Within the hills high
North of Tetuan, such is Chefchaouen.
Echoed in mosaic and keeping spirits all at bay,
Where shrouded monks from far come to pray;
Translucent, pure, unadulterated pigment,
Excites the imagination far beyond mere figment.
Emeralds, turquoises, the jewels of the east,
Add another flavour to the feast.
Cladding the valleys of mystery and mist
Revealing secrets which no one could resist
With iris, crocus, and lilies rare
The confirmation of a prayer...
En route further north to the mountains of the Rif
The colours cling so strongly to the cliff.
Fields aquamarine and sapphire streams
Forests viridian and new shoots sap green.
The colours change with passion to a cooler clime
Encompassing the landscape with wild thyme
Essaouira is the pearl of the coast.
Where the gulls all encircle pillar and post.
The boats blue, yellow, and white, align
The harbour jetty with symmetrical line.
By the shimmering sea and sun baked walls,
Women display their kaleidoscopic shawls.
The theme of the town is the blue and the ochre
Such a contrast here is never mediocre.
The walls of the town are the purest white
With counteracting colours that bask in the light.
In Fez and Meknes a different tale is told,
Both ancient cities for the tourist to behold,
Where dyes of many colours hang out to dry
Tempting the traveller who would like to buy.
Woven rugs, silks or leather
Suspended high above, all together.
Colours so natural with nothing to waste,
All blended harmoniously with infinite taste.
Like so many other cities all hypnotic;
The tinctures capture the colourful exotic.
Travelling south to the sun and the heat,
Nothing here for the colour discreet.
As the shadows, purple and puce,
Silently enter an entangled truce.
Playing together in the dunes of the sand
Enjoying the sun seen at first hand.
Towards Agdiz and the Sahara desert
Where the gold and the yellow flirt
And the earth turns sienna, and umber,
In a haze where subtle tones slumber;
Mirages stray across the vast expanse
With the colours of a Moroccan romance.
Voyaging still to the high Atlas ridge
Which divides north from south as a fragile bridge
Stretched from east to the west by a silken thread
The mountains display their own tints ahead.
Sacred and savage, surreal and sublime.
Biblical and simple, unspoilt by time.
Here for the purist
Lies the home of the artist.
Where the seed has been raised
May colour be praised.
Jeanne-Marie Doyle.
Scarlet, purple, and with shades of pink,
Within the landscape they refuse to sink.
They ebb and flow like seas wine dark,
from nowhere to nowhere, tall and stark.
Their Glorious colour is never bled
beneath the fields of corn and meadows red.
Raging vivid in their ecstasy,
swayed and drowned with dulled immensity,
intoxicated with their own vivacious scent,
they drug the soil with ever deep intent.
Where a trail of devils blood is wrung,
these are the poppies of the sun.
Nourished with a sinister fame,
where day and night is but a game,
Careless of what may come or what has gone,
an enemy to reason so pure and strong.
Playing like a madman dangerous without end
they have eternal woe as their best friend.
Beware of such a beauty to behold,
of songs unsung and tales to be untold.
Their bewitching beauty capture up the heart
as slowly sense and sanity depart,
and sinking thus within a vacuity of time,
The poppies reign with pungency sublime.
The lovely villa in Céret where I paint is also to let , either during the summer months,or for long term lets during the winter months
Site created by webdesign-66.fra fellow artist painter
Jeanne Doyle, artist painter Céret France,poet, water colours,artiste peintre Céret, art illustrations, painting,peinture,drawing,dessin, painting,stillives,landscapes,stil lives land scapes , town scapes, watercolours,paintings, artist painter Céret, water colours, painting,stillives,landscapes,stil lives land scapes , town scapes, watercolours,paintings
