Describe this image in your best prose/verse

[Anonymous No.15066989]

Write a poem or piece of flash prose based on this painting (or some others which I post below). Also, feel free to post paintings as well, so that other people can have some more selection.

[Anonymous No.15066996]

[Anonymous No.15067011]

[Keynes No.15067035]

>>15066989
The devil sat on the immaculate woman as the darkness surrounded the scarlet room. The devil, in a position as in lost in deep thought, had taken control of the maiden-in-distress, now languished as in a mixture of terrible pain and ecstasy; her face, which displayed a semi-unconsciousness, would later recount this meeting she had with this greenish-fiend, who would haunt her in her nightmares for weeks on end.

[Keynes No.15067061]

>>15067035
Nah, too bland, let me redo it:

The shortish fiend sat onto the maiden's belly, as in lost in deep thought; the lady, dressed in a satin nighting-gown, was lost ina mixture of terror and ecstasy, as if her mind was as undecided into what to make of the situation as much as she was lost between waking life and unconsciousness. The darkness that revolved around her added into the atmosphere of horror in which she was inserted, and the scarlet draps around increased the feeling that she was put into a place of horror, the same color of blood.

What thoughts were going through that diminutive mind of hers? The terror was coupled with a sort of awakening fear, a fear that we feel as we are thrown into a life-or-death situation, which perhaps ironically made us feel more alive than ever; but she was caught in a state of terrible awaking nightmares, and the impression she had was that this terror would never end.

[Keynes No.15067081]

>>15066989
The devilish fiend was awake thinking
Atop the sleeping maiden in linen
What was he thinking? What was he
So lost in thought for? Did the fiend
Wish for something more? The maiden
Now lost in a mixture of anguish and horror
Was in a living nightmare, surprised in a moment
of waking terror! Oh, the horror!
She would recount in pain,
The fair maiden was sure,
as sure as the sun would come up
That the devil was real, and visited her
in the nights before, and the ones to come.

[Anonymous No.15067107]

>>15067035
OP here. I'll try and do yours in verse to mix it up. I like your prose by the way, simple but descriptive.

Warmth spills softly from the sky,
A dim array in slow decay.
Diminuendo lines escape
The mouth of Christ upon the creek,
Humming nature's Marche Fúnebre
A final time.

Jesus stroked the bear who watched
The sun set a final time on earth
Beside the Lord.

[Anonymous No.15067113]

>>15067107
Also, yes, I've just turned some hippie vagrant into Jesus. Poetic license, baby!

[Anonymous No.15067150]

>>15067081
OP again. I like your verse. However, maybe try and find a single voice and a single idea. It kind of felt like a sports commentator describing a rape, which made a farce which contrasted the actual tone a bit. I'll try yours quickly too - it's only fair.

"Behold, my son, you stand before
The land which soon will be your own.
When earth and I are one, you shall
Possess the land before -beyond- your eyes!
The oak which points above the lake,
The bird which bathes among her young,
The lake itself in all her might,
Will soon be yours by gentle son.
Now fear not the death of me,
For with my grave you shall erect
A newfound land upon this shore.
Behold, my dearest, gentle son,
The land which 50 years of life
Has granted you in youth."

Nice picture by the way

[Anonymous No.15067154]

>>15066996
The ground was a mat of ice and grass that shifted and flooded Ilya's boots with every step. Around him, young birch rose bearing the first leaves of early spring. The path had narrowed, and split, and narrowed and split to reach its present, thready state, newly hacked into the glade.

He marched on until it dissolved entirely into the mud. Somewhere ahead, a Zvon tolled, flushing birds from behind a hill. A gunshot interposed itself and one bird fell. Civilization, then, at last.

[Anonymous No.15067164]

Whose old wrinkly eyes stifle you at night?
When the world is reduced
to a single strand of strawberry blonde hair
bouncing in and out of sight.
The horns. Whose horns?
Those that probe tiny red holes
into your linen garlands.
On the bedding- drizzled sweat
from shameless glands.
Limbs stretched out like rope
awaiting sunset.
Whose evening celebration of regret,
rotates this scent of purple in the air?
A purple powder gently rains on your night,
and nightmares as old as Kemet arouse in you; pink despair.

[Keynes No.15067192]

>>15067107
>>15067150
I think yours are nice but I'd like to see prose; prose is what I always look for in novels, I rarely ever read verses and I just straight out skim dialogue.

Give me some other image I can find inspiration from.

[Keynes No.15067196]

>>15067154
this some nice stuff.

[Anonymous No.15067216]

>>15067196
Thanks.

[Keynes No.15067222]

>>15067192
The incandescent lights shone on as the lonely man in black played the piano. The guests invited to this poignant gathering were full of melancholy, and the beautiful redhead at the center of the room, wearing the extravagantly exquisite scarlet dress, read from a sheet of paper something terribly important to what would become of her marriage. It was a letter in which her husband expressed his desire to divorce, and she was taken aback while pretending, as best as she could, to not act raptly shocked. The lonely Schubert, at her side, played on the song of melancholy as her and the guests felt lonelier than ever, even though they were close together; at that moment they realized that they were really alone at the end.

The candlelights shone on and illuminated some dark pieces of the room, but even then darkness prevailed both in the atmosphere and in their hearts; they detested this intense sadness which found its way into their minds, yet they still loved it and cherished it. The sadness mingled with a poignant sweetness made them enjoy this lonelier than ever meeting, and our heroine, after the ordeal was done, went to her chamber and cried herself to sleep, tearing up the letter that informed her of the privy divorce that was to come.

[Keynes No.15067253]

The drizzle in front of the markman's sights made it impossible to properly aim, but, as he got hold of what appeared to be a target moving through the far-away distance, he readied himself to shooting; however, at that very same moment, as the finger pushed into the trigger he had a raptuous, terribly horrendous vision. He felt gripped, from his back to his shoulder, the form of Death herself, in the same uniform in which he fought in. The skeletal fingers and morbid bones forebode him a stark warning of the suffering he inflicted without him, and just as much as he realized he was behind those whom he thoughtlessly murder, he would soon join them as friends in Death.

[Keynes No.15067267]

[Anonymous No.15067275]

>>15066989
Emerging from the curtains, she discovered that she had played the fool too well. Her vacant eyes and frazzled mane were enough to shatter the mirror at her desk that she spent her days admiring herself in. She then turned her attention to the lifeless husk a few inches ahead of her, her body. All gone, all wasted, all for less than nothing. Only the craftsmanship of the devil could warp her body into a heinous onyx simulacrum - she belonged to him now. The mare could only manically observe the ridicule of her former flesh by the devilish trickster as he sat upon her abdomen with disapproval and disinterest. She tried to move but found that her hooves were bound by an ethereal chain, not that it would have mattered now that she had the mobility of an infant once more. The demon, now amused by the horse frantically skidding in place, uttered a low chuckle.

“I do hope you enjoy your new tethers.” he boasted. He hopped off the body and, despite his goblinish stature, effortlessly lifted it above him with one hand like it was his bride. “She’ll be a fine collection.”

No sound came from her throat despite her best efforts, and the trickster took notice of this.

“Come on now.” He purred, slowly dragging a claw down the body’s drooping arm. “This thing won’t come into any harm with me. I’ll preserve her just nicely, and I’ll be back for you shortly.”

He wagged his claw and was a gone in a puff of smoke, her cadaver with him, lost forever.


guess you could say she was hoarse :^)

[Anonymous No.15067284]

>>15067275
Creative. I like it.

[Anonymous No.15068208]

>>15067267
Literally nobody on this board has the chops to take this on.

[Anonymous No.15068395]

>>15068208
the image is enough to tell the story

[Anonymous No.15068408]

>>15068395
That’s my point.

[Anonymous No.15068415]

>>15067035
>>15067061
less is more.

[Anonymous No.15068433]

William Blake saw some wierd stuff in his paintings.
It came almost as a completle suprise when he found out others saw the same.
I think the imp sitting on the woman is blake himself.
Is this title "nightmare"?
I wonder who was more terrified,
Blake, or the woman in the painting.

[Anonymous No.15068461]

>>15066996
I feel this painting took longer to make than the trek this guy was going on

>>15067011
Classical gas
was often used to get high, or mix pigments to propel creativity forward. What does this say about us who seem to look upon the painting of auld with more awe than any sort of art coming out now?

[Anonymous No.15068470]

>>15066989
What lays upon that beauty who sleeps? Behind that inquisitive goblin, what foul creature curses her with it's eyes of ebony? Does she sleep at all? No. The Name-less king of riches has gained another soul. The demons claim their spoils like vultures unto decaying animals they have not killed.

[Anonymous No.15068502]

>>15067267
Based Repin.

[Anonymous No.15068545]

>>15066989
Lost in thought, the Imp did sit
Both crusty feet sat light on tit
The woman, aghast,
Defeated, hard fought,
Had nary a thought
For the evil now wrought

[Anonymous No.15068777]

>>15066989
Like fallen wheat she laid
Clothed in pure white
Incubus sits and waits
For her to wake in this night
Like a dog at the gates
Its will is for her to invite
For lust is not an attack of treason from the world
But it is yourself you have betrayed

[Anonymous No.15068814]

>>15066989
The maiden lay, forlorn. The ogre sat there, upon satin gowns and satin skin. She laid there like a shattered jewel. He crouched on top of her, greedily, the room growing dark like his hatred of the world.

[Anonymous No.15068816]

>>15068777
>777
Holy based

[Anonymous No.15068863]

>>15067011
The port seemed made of marble, and gold and amethyst. The crowd was a glittering mass, as adorned as the buildings above them. And yet amongst the fat men with gold earrings and purple sash and courtesans with satin robes as thin as clouds, the servorum moved about - thin and busy and hungry. Some moved jars of oil, others carried the fat men that outweighed them. Others, in alleyways and in the peripheries, were beaten with fists and ninetails. Some of the larger buildings were already sinking into the harbor. Marble on sand will only be buried. Maybe too that is the nature of empires.

[Anonymous No.15068969]

>>15067267
"No, no" Ivan cradled his son. "It is no thing, it is no thing. I take it back!"

At times Ivanovich whimpered and murmured, and at other times babbled like a fool who never learned to speak. Blood ran down his face as his eyes darted around, sometimes wildly and sometimes dumbly.

They were alone, Ivan and Ivan. Boris ran to find the physician. Anastasia and Yelena had run already run away to escape his storm.

"I take it back, I take it back!" Ivan's mouth tasted salt as his tears mixed into blood. All around there was silence, and all of Heaven knew the sin Ivan had done.

[Anonymous No.15069040]

>>15068969
First line of paragraph 2 should be:

"At times Ivanovich murmured like an infant, and other times he babbled like a fool" also I'd rewrite the last part of the last line as "...and all of Heaven knew the terrible thing that Ivan had done".