clearing

blue senses awaken

surrounding

a dark soul

it’s 

that hole 

in the sky

widening

while 

the rain shivers

and 

fades away

Joining d'verse tonight

Image: Green Dreams - Original Art Oil Painting On Canvas  by Leonid Afremov

12 ideas or so

...

......

...........

.

Life has brought me to this climax
.

My dreams talk to me
and I listen

.

My attitude warns me
so I move back

.

So many new years
 full of unfulfilled resolutions

.

And again it’s now

.

The time to start it all over again

With a difference

,

The soup I’ll take and enjoy

.

And my bright consciousness

Lighting the path

.

A new old existence

Full of seeds to be watered

To be cherished and let grow.

............

.....

...

Images credits

The view by Catrin Welz-Stein

Construcción 2012 by Pedro Flores

Guitar

The weeping of the guitar

begins.

The goblets of dawn

are smashed.

The weeping of the guitar

begins.

Useless

to silence it.

Impossible 

to silence it.

It weeps monotonously

as water weeps

as the wind weeps

over snowfields.

Impossible

to silence it.

It weeps for distant 

things.

Hot southern sands

yearning for white camellias.

Weeps arrow without target

evening without morning

and the first dead bird

on the branch.

Oh, guitar!

Heart mortally wounded

by five swords.

................. 

The Guitar by Federico García Lorca
translated by Cola Franzen

Image Woman With A Guitar by Pablo Picasso

Danae

How much have we grown?

What is it we knew yesterday

That now we don’t know ?

Where was it gone

When it left

And we knew

It was forever

But denied to accept?

Why did we insist

On having

Which was not created,

Expected to be ours?

I am dying

I am crying

I am dining

You are

Wherever you are

Doubting

Whether

It does affect Me

Why- or maybe you are just asleep

Please leave me alone

Only gives me

More of that crying

Dying

Flying

Sighing

Dining

Smiling

At those jokes I find funny

No more…

Miming or lying.

My real feelings

Keep on hiding.

___________________________________________________________________

Painting, Danae by G. Klimt

Old Lessons

Once a month I like to devote a post to an impressionist artist.This time it goes to P.A: Renoir. My poem of the day was inspired by this video ...And hope you understand....>>> (Please watch first and then read or viceversa!)

Below you can find another beautiful video with some FEMALE NUDE paintings as well.

We were children

Playful, joyful

Lost in innocence

Took for granted

Nothing

Could ever happen

That made our world

Break down…

We were blind with faith

And believed

Nothing

Could ever make us

Get down…

We were growing

Joyful, useful

In the grounds of heaven

We suffered vainly for

Death did not exist

Or was so far away…

Nobody taught us

It could happen

Any day

To anyone…

We grew up

Useful, mournful

When up came despair

Unreason and graves.

One of those times when

We had to accept,

Had to behave

As if nothing from

Our past had

Ever changed

And thus keep sane.

© DULCE

Pierre Auguste Renoir was a French impressionist painter noted for his radiant, intimate paintings, particularly of the female nude. Recognized by critics as one of the greatest and most independent painters of his period, Renoir is noted for the harmony of his lines, the brilliance of his colour, and the intimate charm of his wide variety of subjects. Unlike other impressionists he was as much interested in painting the single human figure or family group portraits as he was in landscapes; unlike them, too, he did not subordinate composition and plasticity of form to attempts at rendering the effect of light.

My Bed (I)

How fortunate

I realize I am

Lying on my bed

My window shows me

My eternal, unmoving

Neighbour mountains

The clouds

With their curious changing shapes

Move south

Pushed as the wind pleases

Lying on my bed

I look out

And think about

Nothing.

-----------------------------------------------

© Dulce

Original painting by Pauline Adair

MOTHER & CHILD // MARY CASSATT

SON OF MINE
>My darling, my son, so gorgeous,
So perfect in every sense.
My deepest love evolves,
Surrounds your aura
With your sweet laughter.
>On your smile and presence
I depend to keep on
With the weight of life,
Which only makes sense
Since the day you were born:
That’s RELIANCE...
>Wanna hug you and kiss you
All day long.
When you cry my broken heart
Develops into painful pieces…
Fortunately, my spirit gets peace
Every time I see you.
>Certainly, I could not
Live without You, my Dear.
No matter how I try-
Words are vain to define this:
That’s UNUTTERABLE...
.
>This connection is even harmful.
Motherhood is not a state,
Not a way of living,
It’s beyond nature,
Beyond the ‘never ending land’,
It overflows all bounds, all wisdom,
The infinite and vast space:
That’s BIZARRE...
>Spoilt?
Who could help it?
My angel, my bravest and delicate
Little Man
Oh honey!
Moan more, demand more
Make me angry
So as not to worship you so much
So as to deal with my own life
A bit more
And so you with yours:
That’s FONDNESS, ADORATION, PASSION...
That’s LOVE…

© Dulce Rosales
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Mary Stevenson Cassatt (May 22, 1844 – June 14, 1926) was an American painter and printmaker. She lived much of her adult life in France, where she first befriended Edgar Degas and later exhibited among the Impressionists.
Cassatt often created images of the social and private lives of women, with particular emphasis on the intimate bonds between mothers and children.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Edgar Degas

My favourite painter of all time is (Hilaire Germain) Edgar Degas, a French painter and

sculptor, whose innovative composition, skilful drawing, and perceptive analysis of movement made him one of the masters of modern art in the late 19th century.

He was born into a well-to-do banking family on July 19, 1834, in Paris.

Degas is usually classed with the impressionists, and he exhibited with them in seven of the eight impressionist exhibitions. However, his training in classical drafting and his dislike of painting directly from nature produced a style that represented a related alternative to impressionism. His pastels are usually simple compositions containing only a few figures. He was obliged to depend on vibrant colours and meaningful gestures rather than on precise lines and careful detailing, but, in spite of such limitations, these works are eloquent and expressive and have a simple grandeur unsurpassed by any of his other works.

Degas was not well known to the public, and his true artistic stature did not become evident until after his death. He died in Paris on September 27, 1917.