Here are some thoughts that came out, responding to a painting by Akiane Kramarik, called “The First.” At first, I thought it would come out as a traditional poem, but it turns out it’s more of a free verse poem/story… Hope you enjoy.

Touch- A response to “The First” by Akiane Kramarik

Cor felt alive as a blush rose to his bristly cheek,
His mind turning ever towards his blushing wife.
His mind returned to the path,
Thanks to the bumpy road, and wet mud bath,
Caused by his horse.
He felt the horse’s coarse mane,
And electricity shocked his system,
As he remembered her caress.

Chilly and cold as the morning was,
He was warmed by thoughts of her love,
As the idea of returning to her,
Spurred him on down the damp, dull road.
Creepy vines obscured the path,
And he hacked away at them with wrath.
What could keep him away from his love?
Could the crisp autumn air,
Or the dull, damp, creepy path?

The horse’s hooves were deadened,
By moss …
Which reminded him of a cuddly,
Downy, light blanket…
Feverishly he rode on,
As he forgot the dreary path,
And muddy grime.
His firm grip on the reins,
Never wavered.

A flabby, fumbling, flushed innkeeper,
On the flatlands by a flowing stream,
Called to him by a window,
While his furry German Shephard barked,
And begged him to stay in a fluffy, fuzzy, bed.
But he was not persuaded…
How he longed to fondle his love,
Even if just with his eyes…
He felt furious,
That anyone would try to stop him.

The gooey, grainy, gritty soil,
Made the going difficult,
So he jumped from his horse,
And grabbed the greasy bridle.
His boots were gummy with mud,
As he encouraged the hairy beast.
Handling the beast with care
He navigated through the muddiest part,
While his hard, athletic body,
Felt more exhaustion coming on.
He stamped the ground with his foot,
“ Garn! I will not be able to see her tonight!”

The humid rain continued,
But could not quench the hot fire within him,
Though the biting flies made him itch,
Thinking his skin a delicious delight.

The horse jumped,
As it saw the lifeless form of a rider,
And another horse,
By the side of the road.
Controlling the horse,
He recognized by lamplight,
That it was his old comrade, Rambo.
A lump rose in his throat,
As he saluted and buried his friend,
In the cold earth.

He would tell the family later…

Massaging his hands in the cold,
He turned his horses head,
And moistened his lips.
His heart felt a numb with grief,
But he knew his mission….
To return to his love.

His sword glistened in the rain,
As he looked for the traitors,
Who killed his friend.
The only thing he saw,
Were the oily remains of a fish,
And their encampment fire pit.
He patted his horse,
And continued on.

The ground was rough,
As he was coming in close,
To the end.
The scratchy, prickly, sharp shrubs,
Rubbed against him,
As the horse galloped on the spongy,
Springy and squishy ground.
Thorns and flowers pecked, pricked, and tickled,
His strong legs,
Leaving at times, powdery pollen,
As he pressed onward.

Petting his horse,
He encouraged, slapped and pushed him on,
And pinched him with his spurs.

Pulling uphill,
They finally reached the stables.
Rubbing his sweaty, wet horse down,
He shivered and shuddered with cold,
As sweat and mud stung his eyes.

Shoving the door to the house closed,
His silk-clad maidservant,
Called loudly:
“My lady!
My lady!
Cor has returned from the war!”

Cor removed his slimy, stiff, boots,
And ran barefoot,
Along the smooth passage,
Towards the soft, determined, footsteps,
Of his beautiful wife.

They embraced… suddenly.
Stroking his beard
She did not care that he was sweaty,
And exhausted.
He drew her closer,
For a passionate kiss.
Suddenly, he felt the temperature shift,
As he felt the texture of her hair,
Through his hard, weatherbeaten hands.
“Finally…” she breathed.

His breathing became quickened,
As her vocal chords vibrated his name…
He felt the warmth of her gaze,
And her body,
As they grew entwined in the wooly blankets.

Morning light hit the skies,
As Aravis awakened to her husbands’ caress.
She flushed and laughed.
What a thought!
A clean person like her,
With a dirty, rugged lover,
Who had not bothered to bathe?
“Let’s bathe, my love.”
His eyes laughed.


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