A Gallery of Nights, by Larry Oakner

Nighthawks, by Edward Hopper (USA) 1942

Nighthawks
            
                          More coffee, ma’am?
No thanks.
Why do you keep looking at that thing?
What do you care? It’s just something to remember it by.
Yeah, I’d like to forget about it.
              A little more water, please.
                            Sure thing, Mac.
Awfully damn quiet tonight.
‘Cept for your yakking.
Come on, Jimmy. You said we was going to have a nice night.
Well it’s after midnight, so the night’s over.
              (Cough.)
              Got an ashtray?
                            Let me wash one out for you.
So you think we’ll get into a war?
Gloria, Roosevelt says we gotta be prepared
and learn to live with lights off in case of attack.
I hope you don’t get drafted, Jimmy.
Me neither.

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Moonrise at Tokomuchi, by Shotei Takahashi (Japan) c.1922

Moonrise at Tokumochi

My master is late.
I am waiting for his return.
The lantern burns low.

A thousand stars decorate the night sky
as the moon peaks through the trees.
Inside the house
the low light beckons you home.
Hot tea and a bowl of rice
to welcome you.

The Boulevard Montmartre at Night, by Camille Pissarro (France) 1897

The Boulevard Montmartre at Night

Grand Hôtel de Russie
13 February 1897
    
Dear Lucien,

I have painted the boulevard in snow, 
rain, fog, mist and sunlight, 
in the morning, afternoon, and at sunset.
The other night, I wanted to capture
the new artificial street-lights reflected on wet pavement. 
I used clear Yellow for the old gaslights 
and in shop windows and the oil-burner lamps on cabs…
then Cool White for the new electric street-lamps
lighting carriages, buses and people and shops.
It’s tricky to capture the new lights, but these are a wonder,
illuminating and awaking Paris from its sleepy nights
alive with energy and life.
(Not unlike the noisy couple cavorting in the room next door!)

Papa

Fisherman at Sea, by J.M.W. Turner (England) 1796

​Fishermen at Sea    

Dylan! Haul in the nets, lad.
Bring the lamp closer so I can see what we’ve caught.
Cod or flounder?
Watch the rocks! It’s not called the Needles for naught.
Looks like a bit of both.
Thank the Lord we’ve got the meager moonlight to see some money tonight.
Pull with me, Connah! I canna bring in the net alone.
Ah, it’s a night for rollers it is.
That Mervyn’s boat afar?
I canna barely see you, Dylan, but it looks like his dory.
I’m sure he’s left some fish for us. He’s the laziest lembo in all of Wales.

The Sleeping Gypsy, by Henri Rousseau (France) 1897

The Sleeping Gypsy

The Lion

Smells like meat.
Asleep. Not dead.
Looks like stripes.
Watch for stick.
Tail up. Stay back.

The Gypsy

I am dreaming 
of walking across the sands
carrying a song in my mandolin
for my love who makes me smile
in the morning 
with all the colours of my djellaba.

Starry Night, by Vincent Van Gogh (Netherlands) 1889

Starry Night 
 
Whorls of stars and planets 
spin around in my head
lighting the sky
while the little town sleeps
the good doctor has let me out
in the field behind the asylum
to capture the panoply of the heaven
whooshing above me
and the one dead cypress
 
Larry Oakner

During the two years of the pandemic, he led a group of "Senior Poets" in a poetry Zoom, and self-published another chapbook entitled, Unwinding The Words last year. He has also had poems published in other online sites. Recent and upcoming publications include Blood & Bourbon, Burningwood Literary Journal, Nassau County Voice in Verse, Ghost City Review, and Red Wolf Press.
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