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I chose a theme of green for this week’s art and a theme of renewal and contemplation for the writing. Monday saw the Spring Equinox and I felt with everything suddenly bursting into bloom whilst some of Winter’s remnants are still hanging around this would be a good idea. LOL See for yourself…
This image seemed to encapsulate everything I wanted to say with this week’s features. There’s something romantic and melancholy about it, something contemplative and celebratory, just a very special atmospheric image.
Rose by © miruna uzdris
This wonderful poem just stayed with me ever since I read it, and although it’s maybe looking back in contemplation, there is a seed for a new Spring in still chasing…
I say goodbye at the station
Knowing he is heavy with time
Time that’s has passed us by
Unnoticed
And I can see his struggles
In his hands and the lines of his face
And I see that he’s not looking at me
But at the might have beens
The future yet to be written
And doors unopened
This restlessness in his heart
Seems like it will never leave
He’s chasing ghosts in the night
Sometimes wisdom lies
In all those things you cannot say
I see myself in the mirror
Older,
still trying to find, my own way
Cant you see
That I’ve been searching
And it’s the only way i know how
All my temples are ruins
And reduced to rubble
From chasing ghosts in the night
The four winds have surrendered
And now there’s no way back home
There’s no shelter back there
I put on a song to save me
Hoping it will make me feel what i cannot say
Some kneel and press palms
Some play a track
Walking into some oblivion
Never looking back
Chasing ghosts in the night
He is silent in the car
Knowing that something ain’t right
That freedom is hard to find
That the change can be worth the fight
But I know she is also leaving
I saw it as she walked through the door
And I hear it in her silences
A tear falls in the streets
Another step into the dark
Chasing ghosts in the night
More looking back and looking into the mirror, but in a good way… Love this image – the striking contrast of the red and green and the title.
Here’s the perfect match for it. Or it least that’s how it feels to me. ;-)
they say to be popular you have to lie
but how does that feel
knowing their praise, adulation, support, sympathy
is for someone that isn’t really you
for something that didn’t happen to you
for a hurt you pretend to suffer
for emotions you pretend to feel
how far are you willing to go?
was it worth it
taking your pillow
and casting your feathers of jealousy and hate to the wind
can you gather them back now
repair the damage you’ve done
tell me, is your popularity worth the price
does it really feel that good
when you know in your heart
it is based on lies
and in hurting another
A little bit of whimsy, that’s what Spring is all about.
Lady Cage by © FilleDeLEau
Another great poem – as whimsical as the image at a first glance, but again like the image with far more meaning hidden in plain sight.
Magic Trick by © lovelyrita
I have a sunny disposition
but I am a dynamo of volition
on a major, life-long expedition.
I put the eccentric in tradition – -
while working toward my ambitions
and I don’t need to ask your permission
to turn the key and start the ignition.
You know, I’m a limited edition – -
The cat’s meow.
I finished my search
and rescue mission now
and I got my gun cocked, emitting frisson
Pow!
with every spark of ammunition,
you wonder how I do it.
I am a fucking magician.
Frida Kahlo was a fabulous artist and woman and therefore very deserving of this beautiful homage. The imagery used – the flowers, the ornaments, the green all speak of renewal and connection to the world around us (at least to me).
Spring is the time when we make plans for the rest of the year… it might also be a good time to decide our fate?
I see giant power-lines blowing in the wind
and a bus barreling down on me
am I being saved
is this the end of me
should I jump out of the way
or is this Destiny
I could always hop on the bus
it desires to pick me up
but that would glue fate to the driver’s hands
I think I’ll jump
and polydream my own plans
The next image reminded me of a Renoir – the light, the feeling of almost floating and the gentleness and dance like pose. There’s is a lightness and acceptance and renewal about this image which felt like Spring to me.
But here’s Winter again… sometimes no matter what you do, it’s just not enough.
When Sorry’s Just Not Enough
What do I do when the road comes to the end? What do I do but follow the bend? You walk the line never looking for things you can’t find. I search for dreams, I reach for the sky. It’s my time to fly, it’s your time to cry, it’s my time tell you goodbye. What do I do when your going’s too tough. What do I do when you say it’s too much? How do I say I’m sorry when sorry’s just not enough?
We stood side by side. We watched as the future marched on; never a plan, never a word. Time passed in a blur. You thought I’d never leave. But here we are, we drifted apart—I toward the sunrise and you toward the night; searching for lost love, searching for light. What do I do when I say I’m sorry and you say it’s too tough? What do I do when you say it’s too much? How do I say I’m sorry when sorry’s just not enough?
I watch as you bleed, heart torn open wide, wanting to run, wanting to hide. You say sorry’s only a word, empty, without feeling, never wanting to be heard. What do I do when you hurt to the core? What do I do when you say life’s not worth livin’ anymore? What do I do when your going’s too tough? What do I do when you say it’s too much? How do I say I’m sorry when sorry’s just not enough?
How do I say I’m sorry when sorry’s just not enough? How do I say I’m sorry when sorry’s just not enough? How do I say I’m sorry…
A perfect finale – a Spring symphony in greens. You can almost hear the music…
This I just had to include. What a perfect poem to elaborate on the thoughts I started off with on this journey although it might leave you with more mysteries to solve… :-)
In the end there is only fantastic vision—
an end to diversion, and the division
of most likely scenarios.
Where have all the Baudelaire’s gone?
Fuck the cowboys, leave them to their beans.
What we need here is some goddamn fantastic
sock smokin’ madness—
offset by some, Je vous aime follement
and
Te amo.
When you close your eyes, what do you see?
Who do you see when the lights
in your room
are dark—
as dark as the streets behind corners on a moonless night,
alone, with nowhere to go?
Can you see the new world you’ve created,
simply by flicking the switch
in your skull marked: DREAM
to OFF?
Do you see the object of your desire?
or just a bed
and absence of corners;
or a dark horse riding out your window
screaming as the light
in it’s eyes
goes out.
Or are you the one
who sees heaven in hands?
holding your face like a whisper,
the way a tulip’s outer petals hold
its inner,
as delicate hours
inside it’s fragile
unfolding heart.
Or is it the old warehouse you see,
down by the docks—
a ghost-town
full of dead ghost riders, floating
face-up in a stagnant,
still water pool?
Go ahead. Be brave. Look.
Open your eyes, and see your world
looking back,
and then tell me you’re not a poet:
together
and impossibly gone.
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