their generative veins of
red and orange and gold and brown
struggling straining suffering
holding together the decaying
fragments of a life now gone
in their autumnal sacrificial demise
ordained in the moment of their budding birth
give valiantly the indispensable victuals
for life
red and orange and gold and brown
struggling straining suffering
holding together the decaying
fragments of a life now gone
in their autumnal sacrificial demise
ordained in the moment of their budding birth
give valiantly the indispensable victuals
for life
anew
9 comments:
you always amaze me...
much love
thank you so much, stacey - peace and love to you!
Very troubling poetry, milady. The more I think of this image, and your text, the more I understand.
Yet at the same time, melancholy is burning me. I am only a leaf, I am going away.
This is Autumn, what about Winter?
The leaf will disappear, its art gone and forever forgotten.
How come that all of a sudden I want people to understand my art, to see beyond the dreaded photograph, and to gaze into the eyes of my thoughts?
Don't fret, gypsywoman. This is only an outburst of my duality. I am happy this morning and my smile fills my house from one wall to the other. Ouch! This is real bad prose, But I don't mind, good writing is a byproduct of great joy or infinite sadness.
Except in your case, Jenean!
Roger G., The Last Prophet
good morning roger - of the poetry here - it is not mine, really, at all - it belongs to your image - when i blew your leaves image up on my screen, these are the words they said to me - almost in a raw literal sense - it's really very simple - it's about perspective - how we choose to view things and how we allow those things to speak to us - we must listen - more than that, we must hear - there is a difference - perhaps you are beginning to see and to hear in a different way now - i'm no prophet at all so i am not one to know - it's just a thought - thank you for your kind words - have a beautiful day!
... Just heard a Prévert song and heard:
Jour après jour les feuilles mortes
Te rappellent à mon souvenir
Jour après jour les amours mortes
N'en finissent pas de mourir
... One accepted translation is:
And every time the dead leaves
Remind me of you.
Day after day the autumn loves
Don’t stop withering
It really means:
Day after day the dead leaves
Bring back the memory of you
Day after day the dead loves
Are forever dying
So moving. A short glimpse at the transience of human nature by a superb poet.
This is also part of Life. A dead romance forever dying? This will bring hatred and sorrow.
But look the other way and see a gigantic laugh! And then, laughing at Life itself as Brel did was also a form of hatred.
Roger G., Preparing Lunch!
and what are we having - for lunch?
HA HA HA HA HA...
Pretty good, pretty lady! :-)
The answer is: a refrigerator salad. This means: open the fridge, take about all you can find that more or less looks like a vegetable, cut into pieces, toss all that in a bowl and add a simple vinaigrette made from (good) wine vinegar. Preferably French of course.
The Chef
oh, yummy! and a good french wine with it!
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