Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Almond Blossoms, by Vincent Van Gogh: An Ekphrastic Poem

 

“Life is the art of drawing without an eraser.”— John W. Gardener

SOURCE

“No better way is there to learn to love Nature than to understand Art. It dignifies every flower of the field. And, the boy who sees the thing of beauty which a bird on the wing becomes when transferred to wood or canvas will probably not throw the customary stone”.— Oscar Wilde

Midweek Motif ~ Almond Blossoms, by Vincent Van Gogh: An Ekphrastic Poem

We want your literary response to a non-literary work this week. We have Vincent van Gogh’s Almond Blossoms as your motif today.

“Almond Blossoms is from a group of several paintings made in 1888 and 1890 by Vincent van Gogh in Arles and Saint-Rémy, southern France of blossoming almond trees. Flowering trees were special to van Gogh. They represented awakening and hope. He enjoyed them aesthetically and found joy in painting flowering trees.” Wikipedia

Sharing a couple of ekphrastic poems for your inspiration:

SOURCE

The Starry Night

by Anne Sexton

That does not keep me from having a terrible need of — shall I say the word — religion. Then I go out at night to paint the stars. –Vincent Van Gogh in a letter to his brother

The town does not exist
except where one black-haired tree slips
up like a drowned woman into the hot sky.
The town is silent. The night boils with eleven stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die.

It moves. They are all alive.
Even the moon bulges in its orange irons
to push children, like a god, from its eye.
The old unseen serpent swallows up the stars.
Oh starry starry night! This is how
I want to die:

TWO MONKEYS by BRUEGHEL (1562)

Two Monkeys by Brueghel 
(trans. from the Polish by Magnus Kryski)

by Wislawa Szymborska

I keep dreaming of my graduation exam:
in a window sit two chained monkeys,
beyond the window floats the sky,
and the sea splashes.

I am taking an exam on the history of mankind:
I stammer and flounder.

One monkey, eyes fixed upon me, listens ironically,
the other seems to be dozing--
and when silence follows a question,
he prompts me
with a soft jingling of the chain.

Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others in the spirit of the community—

              (Next week Susan’s Midweek Motif will be ~ Biodiversity)

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Fun

Emily's Quotes

“And the sun and the moon sometimes argue over who will tuck me in at night. If you think I am having more fun than anyone on this planet, you are absolutely correct.” ― Hafiz

“One thing I had learned from watching chimpanzees with their infants is that having a child should be fun.” ― Jane Goodall

“Fun is closely related to Joy -- a sort of emotional froth arising from the play of instinct.” ― C.S. Lewis

 Midweek Motif ~ Fun

Can you list 10 ways you have fun?

Fun for me is ACTIVE, like: licking the cooking spoon, playing a challenging game of Scrabble, drinking tea while visiting, reading a good book, re-reading the good book, praying while coloring, stroking the cats until they purr, writing a poem in an un-rushed time, reading poetry aloud, and taking long walks on cool days.  That's 10 things.  What's the first 10 that occur to you?  the next 10?  

The challenge:  In a new poem, find a meaningful way to have fun fore-grounding fun.

Children’s Games by Pieter Bruegel the Elder (1560)

Children’sGames

 by William Carlos Williams 

(I)

This is a schoolyard

crowded

with children

of all ages near a village

on a small stream

meandering by

where some boys

are swimming

bare-ass

or climbing a tree in leaf

everything

is motion

elder women are looking

after the small

fry

a play wedding a

christening

nearby one leans

hollering

into

an empty hogshead

(II)

Little girls

whirling their skirts about

until they stand out flat

tops pinwheels

to run in the wind with

or a toy in 3 tiers to spin

with a piece

of twine to make it go

blindman’s-buff follow the

leader stilts

high and low tipcat jacks

bowls hanging by the knees

standing on your head

run the gauntlet

a dozen on their backs

feet together kicking

through which a boy must pass

roll the hoop or a

construction

made of bricks

some mason has abandoned

(III)

The desperate toys

of children

their

imagination equilibrium

and rocks

which are to be

found

everywhere

and games to drag

the other down

blindfold

to make use of

a swinging

weight

with which

at random

to bash in the

heads about

them

Brueghel saw it all

and with his grim

humor faithfully

recorded

it.

Country Boy in Winter

BY SARAH ORNE JEWETT

The wind may blow the snow about, 

For all I care, says Jack, 

And I don’t mind how cold it grows, 

For then the ice won’t crack. 

Old folks may shiver all day long, 

But I shall never freeze; 

What cares a jolly boy like me 

For winter days like these? 

Far down the long snow-covered hills 

It is such fun to coast, 

So clear the road! the fastest sled 

There is in school I boast. 

The paint is pretty well worn off, 

But then I take the lead; 

A dandy sled’s a loiterer, 

And I go in for speed. 

When I go home at supper-time, 

Ki! but my cheeks are red! 

They burn and sting like anything; 

I’m cross until I’m fed. 

You ought to see the biscuit go, 

I am so hungry then; 

And old Aunt Polly says that boys 

Eat twice as much as men. 

There’s always something I can do 

To pass the time away; 

The dark comes quick in winter-time— 

A short and stormy day 

And when I give my mind to it, 

It’s just as father says, 

I almost do a man’s work now, 

And help him many ways. 

I shall be glad when I grow up 

And get all through with school, 

I’ll show them by-and-by that I 

Was not meant for a fool. 

I’ll take the crops off this old farm, 

I’ll do the best I can. 

A jolly boy like me won’t be 

A dolt when he’s a man. 

I like to hear the old horse neigh 

Just as I come in sight, 

The oxen poke me with their horns 

To get their hay at night. 

Somehow the creatures seem like friends, 

And like to see me come. 

Some fellows talk about New York, 

But I shall stay at home.

Nostalgia 3 by Sunil Pookode  (2016)
(Used without Permission.  Forgive me.)

a song in the front yard

BY GWENDOLYN BROOKS

I’ve stayed in the front yard all my life.

I want a peek at the back

Where it’s rough and untended and hungry weed grows. 

A girl gets sick of a rose.

I want to go in the back yard now   

And maybe down the alley,

To where the charity children play.   

I want a good time today.

They do some wonderful things.

They have some wonderful fun.

My mother sneers, but I say it’s fine

How they don’t have to go in at quarter to nine.   

My mother, she tells me that Johnnie Mae   

Will grow up to be a bad woman.

That George’ll be taken to Jail soon or late

(On account of last winter he sold our back gate).

But I say it’s fine. Honest, I do.

And I’d like to be a bad woman, too,

And wear the brave stockings of night-black lace   

And strut down the streets with paint on my face.

🎲

Please share your new poem using Mr. Linky below and visit others in the spirit of the community—                

(Next week Sumana’s Midweek Motif will be ~ Cloud)