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Viet Tran

1 Year Ago

Your Thought Of Art And Poetry

Please feel free to drop by and leave your thought, your art, your music, your poetry, or whatever you wanna share. Enjoy your life and your art. Thanks for dropping and leaving your footprints on this thread . Have a restful day and night.

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Viet Tran

1 Year Ago

Sell Art Online




The Sorrowful Autumn
(Specially written for my friend artist Fred Jinkins)


Summer is drifting further away
leaving behind an adoring sensation

Autumn is coming
and
creating
a confusing moment
as the breezy wind rustles inside tree canopies
when it’s blowing colorful leave.

White cloud forms a mournful headband on the sky
during the long funeral;
in
which
it grieves for the dying summer.
Hot and dried weather would be fully buried
under layers of soggy leaves and rainfalls.

As if it were yesteryear,
farewell footprints
from the last Fall
still
could be seen
on the olden trail.
Somehow it arises inside my inner self
a wild-wild dream of strolling around on the lost path again.

Life in exile is always as painful as it would be
I often feel as if I were a dying leaf
drifting
very far away
from the main branch
of my former homeland.

My emotion has been entwined like a tangled roll
that would have ever been undone
to its original norm
and form
again.

08-9-2917
Thao Chuong Tran Quoc Viet
www.papercollage.ca




Triste Automne

L'été dérive plus loin
laissant derrière lui une sensation adorante

L'automne arrive
et
créant
un moment confus
alors que le vent souffle dans les auvents
quand il souffle des feuilles colorées.

Le nuage blanc forme un
bandeau de deuil
sur le ciel
pendant les funérailles longues;
dans
lequel
Il pleure l'été mourant.
Le temps chaud et sec serait entièrement enterré
sous des couches de feuilles empilées et de pluies.

Comme si c'était autrefois,
empreintes d'adieu
depuis le dernier automne
encore
pourrait etre vu
sur l'ancien sentier.
D'une façon ou d'une autre, elle se pose à l'intérieur de moi-même
un rêve sauvage de se promener sur le chemin perdu à nouveau.

La vie en exil est toujours aussi pénible que ce serait
J'ai souvent l'impression d'être une feuille mourante
dérive
très loin
de la branche principale
de mon ancienne patrie.

Mon émotion a été entrelacée comme un rouleau enchevêtrement
cela aurait été annulé
à sa norme d'origine
et forme
encore.

08-9-2917
Thao Chuong Tran Quoc Viet

 

Bill Tomsa

1 Year Ago

In the southwest autumn is welcomed
It signals a time of cooler weather

A time to enjoy the desert outdoors
It signals a time that's always better.

Photography Prints


Bill Tomsa

https://billtomsa.blogspot.com/

 

Viet Tran

1 Year Ago

Nice to see you dropping by, Bill. Have a restful evening, my friend.

 

Bill Tomsa

1 Year Ago

Thank you my friend and same to you.

 

VIVA Anderson

1 Year Ago

Hello my friend, good to see you here again amongst us and for a start, I just feel it important to post a quote from my collection of quotes.
This one resonates so much for me, it is about art, life, love.............and, shall be back soon with more to share...........thanks for the thread.
Always glad to share art, life, love, with you. I might add another to this post in the way of Art.........mine, of course, lol..............VIVA


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VIVA Anderson

1 Year Ago

As to sharing Art...........hope you like this: it has the most visitors, and is my favourite, too.................................

one of the quotes I chose for this, in the description........................



"I'll dip my brush into the sunrise, and the sunset, and the rainbow. " ~ Robert Browning to Elizabeth Barrett.


Sell Art Online

 

Viet Tran

1 Year Ago

Good morning my dear friend Vivian. Thank you very much. It's nice to see you dropping by and leaving the quote and your awesome painting. A nice day and a restful weekend to Tom, Vivian and everybody.




An echo to y painting Rainbow Clouds



Hope

What's going down must go up
sooner or later
for
sure.

The sun always comes out after heavy rain;
we might see the clear sky
with a beautiful rainbow
in full spectrum
of
colours.

So long as we keep our hope intact,
everyone one of us will see the bight sunlight
after many days
in
the dark.

09-9-2017
Thao Chuong Tran Quoc Viet
www.papercollage.ca



 

VIVA Anderson

1 Year Ago

Thank you, Viet..........I find your thoughts so uplifting........and am honoured to have inspired you..............We see the light, it is, fantastic.

 

Natalie Holland

1 Year Ago

Nice to see you, Viet!

Sharing one of my favorites quotes.......Follow your heart but take your brain with you. - Alfred Adler

 

Viet Tran

1 Year Ago



@ Vivian: How is the weather in Sidney, my friend?

@ Natalie: Long time no talk. Nice to see you dropping with your favorite quote, my friend. I think when you follow your heart, you'll lose your brain. Have a restful evening.



 

Viet Tran

1 Year Ago

Art Prints

Description
"You don't love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear." ~ Oscar Wilde



An echo to the quote by Alfred Adler: "Follow your heart but take your brain with you."




No Logic in Romaine

She prefers to take the brain with her,
whenever, she follows her heart
on the path
of
romaine.

Alas, it’d be totally worthless;
simply, ’cause, there’d be absolutely
no logic in love
for
the brain
to comprehend.

As soon as, she falls into it;
her mind is blind;
her heart is lost
she’s drowned
deep
deeper
deepest
‘til she hits the bottom of the ocean o’ love
and gets stuck there for the rest of her life

It's nearly impossible say good bye;
unless, she wanna get out of it
with
a troublesome mind
and a shattered heart.

09-9-2017
Thao Chuong Tran Quoc Viet
www.papercollage.ca

 

VIVA Anderson

1 Year Ago

Viet, the weather, ahhhhhhhhhh Sydney.............it is already balmy in daylight, still chilly at night, and DRY.........I give thanks.............considering the weather worldwide...........
I pray for the wellbeing of our fellow humans enduring nature's 'gifts' to remind us of how powerless we really are..........the lions know.
Here's a weather image for you from my main street in beautiful, ritzy Mosman, just north of city centre, across the Harbour Bridge...........a recent photo.........
an Aboriginal name of the Whale..........The Aboriginals were our 'first' settlers 40,000 years ago!


Art Prints

 

Viet Tran

1 Year Ago

My dear friend Vivian. Thank you very much for your reply. You're lucky to live in Australia - a rich country with abundant natural resources. I love Aussies's romantic accent.

I’m poetically inspired by your comment "I pray for the well-being of our fellow humans enduring nature's 'gifts' to remind us of how powerless we really are..........the lions know.".




Pollution: How Would We Deal With It?

It’s up to us to take whatever best
for us and for our own lives.
no one would dare
challenge
us.

Why would they would care?
unless,
we’re
their loved ones.

So
go ahead
keep praying
if you truly believe in God,
who knows
He might help you cope with your own mess.
or
you
would do
whatever make you feel at ease
from the cluttered rubbish which we've dumped around our own home.

I myself believe
I’m the one
who has dug up my own hole
I
must
fill it up by myself
if I wanna get out of it.

It time for us to stop polluting:
the air we breathe,
the food we eat,
the water we drink,
the space we live in…

What the heck are we waiting for?
Let’s do it together
in our own way.
you pray;
I act.

10-9-2017
Thao Chuong Tran Quoc Viet
www.papercollage.ca

 

Peggy Collins

1 Year Ago

Katz
they have crazy eyes
that shine like devils in the dark
They leave their mark
on my innards
in ways i can't describe

Dogz
they have hopeful eyes
that beg you to love them
I never want to leave them
on this plane or the next
they are my favorites

papillon dog art

 

Viet Tran

1 Year Ago



Nice to see you here, Peggy. Thank you for your poems: Kats and Dogs. . Victoria's sky is clearer, because we have got some rainfall in the at two days. I hope the wildfire smoke would have been cleared up in your area and you would breathe fresh air too.

 

Peggy Collins

1 Year Ago

Hi Viet. Yes, we got some rain yesterday finally and it might happen again today so the smoke has cleared away. We've had about three weeks of smokey skies here on the Sunshine Coast. We really need more rain though, don't we? I just went for a hike and the air is intoxicatingly fresh for a change.

 

VIVA Anderson

1 Year Ago

Thanks, Viet, for your insightful response to me, and I think your words.............
"
Let’s do it together
in our own way.
you pray;
I act. "

should/could easily be the mantra for all humanity.

 

Kenneth Agnello

1 Year Ago

Viet,

My thought of the day is I am glad you are back with the thread...was wondering how it disappeared. Glad to see your return! Keep the writing and poetry a'coming.

 

Viet Tran

1 Year Ago



Good evening EVERYONE.
Thank you very much Peggy, Vivian, and Ken. I appreciate your dialogues that make me feel connected to the outside world.

@ Peggy: Happy to hear that the air quality on your Sunshine Coast is much better now. In Victoria, the sun is back today and the atmosphere has becoming little bit murky by the end of the day. According to the local weather forecast, it'll be sunny in the next two weeks. Therefore, we may breathe the badly smokey air again.

@ Vivian: The world, we live in, has increasingly drifted apart. It is too far to build any bridge between the left and the right. Anyway, you and i won't be here to witness the doomsday of mankind. I think we'd better take the best of each day, don't you agree?

@ Ken: Nice to see your dropping by my thought-provoking artist. The past has gone, wouldn't it be better to leave it alone? In addition, it seems impossible to predict what would be in the future. Let's celebrate this instant moment, my friend.

Enjoy a restful evening,

 

VIVA Anderson

1 Year Ago

Good advice, Viet......thank you.
I'm glad to see Kenneth back, too.

 

Karen Newell

1 Year Ago

Art Prints



Embracing a Dream

I met her
in a dream
last night
where
our hearts
began to heal.

A sacred needle
of peace
strung
with infinite love
patiently began to sew
the scars
of our long separation.

Karen Newell
9/11/17

 

Marlene Burns

1 Year Ago

MY only contribution to this thread will be to sit back and luxuriate in your words, Viet, that scream across miles with such quiet truth.....

 

Viet Tran

1 Year Ago


Good morning all. Thank you Vivian, Karen, and Marlene. Your conversations have given me a good feeling of having human touch with you.

@ Vivian: Go with your comfy flow, my friend. Don't take my lousy advise, otherwise you might end up in a ditch -lol.

@ Karen: Long time no contact. Interesting to read your nice poem and viewing your new artwork. I hope to read more.

@ Marlene: You're a very talented artist. Each time, you drop by, you inspire me by your creativity. It makes me think of how I could bring my poetry to your creative level.

A Note to my friend Ed Meredith: I hope you are safe and sound while Irma is pounding on Florida. Take care, Ed.

Enjoy your day, my friend

 

Viet Tran

1 Year Ago



Photography Prints



True Love Has No Sex

She is very attractive,
Her eyes are in deep blue
as the color of a mystic sky
in
one of van Gogh’s paintings.

Her gentle nature makes her
a perfect female
the best dream
of
every man.
He feels very relaxed in his trouble-free time with her.

Unlike his former relationship with other females,
he falls in love with her
purely
from his heart
without any sexual desire attached.

He enjoys putting her on his lap,
running his fingers through her hair
to sense the softness on her neck
while
listening to her moan
of purring in orgasm…

After going through hell from different failed relationships,
he has totally lost trust in women
in general.
so
he can only rely on her
he has never considered her as a pet
but a trustworthy companion for the rest of his life


11-09-2017
Thao Chuong Tran Quoc Tran
www.papercollage.ca

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Jim Taylor

1 Year Ago

Art Prints



Late Bus

I saw you waiting for that bus
the one that is always late
in between a dream

you looked so patient
as you let the wind caress your hair
I thought I heard some tires moan
or maybe the breeze through the trees

I hope your safe in the night
on that bench alone
hoping your bus arrives soon
under an old street lamp like moon

Jim Taylor 9/10/2017

 

Karen Newell

14 Days Ago

So fun to read everyone's creative flow! Thank you for the kind compliments 😊
Happy Halloween!
Art Prints

 

Jim Taylor

14 Days Ago

Floating and drifting


his pipe
it dreams
as the world screams
the images float everywhere
recycling through time
it’s always been the same
no matter what anyone can do or say
sometimes on the beginning edge
hoping for a new renaissance
somehow
some way
some day

James 10/31/2018

Sell Art Online

 

Danl Art

14 Days Ago

Happy Halloween Art On Parade

https://www.facebook.com/100003829788082/videos/1386047898199523/UzpfSTU0MTc5OTEzNToxMDE1NjgwNDYwMDUwNDEzNg/?id=541799135

 

Karen Newell

14 Days Ago

Dreaming of a New Renaissance

I light my pipe
and puff for peace
as I watch the World
go up in smoke.

Karen Newell
10/31/18

 

Viet Tran

14 Days Ago

What a smooth poetic flow! It is very inspiring to read. Thank you Kevin, Jim, Maria, Vivian, Dan, and Karen.


Midterm Halloween in America.

in mid-Autumn,
all leaves nearly fallen off.
happy Halloween arrives.
the night o' the dead.
kids dress in disguise
different scary costumes;
ramble every house
in their neighborhoods;
call out “trick or treat”
for some sweet delight.
absolutely no threat.
the begging bliss.
it's kids’ fun time.
nothing is serious.
too much sweet stuff.
teeth must be rotten.
headache for parents
wallets will be robbed.
dentists get "sweet" treat.


this “midterm” Halloween,
has worried many adults.
too many big boys-in-suits
knock at your doors.
instead of asking candies,
they “trick” you with sweet promises,
for your special “treat”
the midterm
votes.

the politik horse-race has been extremely hostile
the man-in-power on top has poured loads of gasoline
into raging fires
to heat up his base.
the wild crowds love his combative rhetorics in his many rallies .

hatred is on the rise
with the surge of white supremacists.
zombies of past-politik have been brought back to life.
white nationalists along with heavily tattooed fascist bikers roam the streets
raise their fists high in Nazi salute style
chant anti-immigration,
n' anti-Semitic slogans.
it has brought back the worst nightmare of WWII
the “Night of Broken Glass”
“Kristallnacht”.

“trick or treat”
what a horribly crazy Halloween
in the American cemetery!

does anyone know
how to cope
with
“an elephant in the room”?


Thao Chuong Tran Quoc Viet
10-31-18

 

VIVA Anderson

14 Days Ago

Cheers, Viet.......!

Well, there ain't no way to ignore that there elephant.
Talk about targets.
If I knew then
What I know now,
I rather be
a
Cow, how now,etc.
I ain't scared of anything no more.
'Cause I don't go anywhere now,
I ain't no target.........
And
some of my 'stuff' is
blurry, pixilated,noisy.....
Just like me !

 

Jim Taylor

13 Days Ago

Ode to November


I woke up this morning
it was November
the man on the radio reminded me
that was the only information I wanted for that moment
it felt good through my window
like a new beginning as the morning was soft
fuzzy clouds with humidity gathered together
as if they were praising the new day
take me with you peaceful day
I know its not like this everywhere
but there is little I can do about that
may the innocent survive
and may they some how thrive
on a November day


James November 1 2018

 

Kevin Callahan

13 Days Ago

So this happened: I went on down to the Uptown Arts Bar last night to read my Halloween poem. It was of course "dress up" so I donned my 3x beaver cowboy hat with the pheasant feather front, checked shirt, green suspenders, and a large badge that proclaimed I am the "SHURIFF." As soon as I walked in the bar the barmaid handed me a drink and quipped, "you should always come here dressed like that!" I highly doubt it. But I did get to read:

Doing Battle with Old Bones

There was a drive-by fruiting last night
2 ghoulish denizens died a gruesome death
leaving only oozing intestines and broken bodies

The act undoubtedly perpetrated by
a gang of delinquent deer
showing absolutely no fear of the occult
or my dog

Jack Frost was on the prowl
our lawn blanketed with discarded flora,
foliage thoughtlessly dropped to blow and roll
making sounds like old finger bones rattling in the bushes

I don my armor,
seize my lance and sword
mount my green Deere
and sally forth to do battle

I herd the leaves into long windrows
Galloping my green horse in tighter and tighter ovals and didos
Rake, load, dump, repeat
Rake, load, dump, repeat
Rake, load, dump, repeat

Passing from the forest to civilization
I am greeted by the gift of color
The cotton white of Cromwell contrasts
with the emerald green of the not yet dormant lawn
glowing like a great jewel in the soft fall light

Carpe Diem
The battle is fought
Winter will arrive in his inexorable creep
But for today warmth and color
Have won the war

 

Danl Art

12 Days Ago

For your Information....I am not getting older
I am already there!

 

Jim Taylor

12 Days Ago

The days shorten


the days fall shorter
not as long as they were
like the road that narrows
my shoulders fall a little forward
my life grows shorter
but wiser
trying to take the right course
with the new autumn season
as I am conscious of mind body season and time


James 10/27/2018



 

Kevin Callahan

12 Days Ago

Jim, so true.

 

Maria Disley

12 Days Ago

As little explorers my little brother and I
propped up a baker’s wide bread tray with a stick
From the garden
And in the shade of the propped up tray
We scattered small bodies of bread
Then tied a long piece of string to the Sycamore stick
And threaded it along the grass, the path, up the wall of the house and in through the
Eye-of- a-needle ajar window!
And there we would wait…
On the other side of the glass pane,
For hours sometimes…
Until our elbows were sore with leaning
Or our bended knees made our legs weightily numb.
And the birds would one by one come
Warily, at first, then confidently
Twisting their necks, keeping watch, and pecking at the little white crumbly hosts
We pulled on the string several times
Which in turn tugged at the stick
And caused the bread tray to fall
And scatter the birds!
We sighed grumpily, beaten with despair at our unsuccessful attempts
As they ascended
Not one by one
But altogether, in a flurry of feathers
We missed the goal, every time
Trying to capture nature.
Exploring the survivalist tactics of others
Won us knowledge and experience
And the intelligence of birds
And the beauty of freedom.
I sit now looking through the glass at the birds
The seeds I threw out in order to tempt them are untouched…
They know
That I am trying to catch them
That as soon as they patter around the spray of seeds
They will notice my hand pick up a pencil
And try to catch their likeness
An old explorer now
Remembering the lessons
My little brother and I learned a long time ago.
He’s gone now
And I have changed
But the birds, just maybe, remain the same
still as sharp, and free with no claims on me.



Maria Disley

 

VIVA Anderson

12 Days Ago

My dear,darling,seer, sayer,Maria, my muse.........as always.....
and for you to know, yet again,
you have captured a 'knowing'.......
to which I relate in ways inexplicable here,
but you know, anyway.........
thank you.........I enjoyed,appreciated,your experiences
'capturing nature'......perhaps a pursuit for learning, that,
one can't capture nature, without its permission?
These, your words, an excerpt, tell my own story,
my own lesson.......as you intuitively know,knew,said::
Thank you, dear Maria..........
the lesson.........is a comfort .........
I dearly miss brother Donald, my true brother,
Just as, you are my true sister.
I am a survivor, too.
oHHHHH, to be 'free', as a bird.

"Trying to capture nature.
Exploring the survivalist tactics of others
Won us knowledge and experience
And the intelligence of birds
And the beauty of freedom. "


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

 

Danl Art

11 Days Ago

CLIMATE CHANGE

The mountain snow
Melting
Beneath my feet
Heat of the sun
Torching rocks
Pines burning
Mountain birds
Falling to the ground
Towns below
Flooded
Cattle scorched
People blistering
Dying

 

Jim Taylor

10 Days Ago

On the same theme here Viva and Maria.
Thanks Kevin!
Stay cool Danl.

One from the past.


Grievers lament

when a child leaves to soon
and leaves a hollow spot
a hole that can't be filled no matter what

through the emptiness of time
the healing clock hands move slow

can't go under it
can't go over it
only through long dark nights
it will still be there at morning light
grieving to be healed
to roll and wallow
can't be packed away and moved

it may stray some day
but always to return
like an injured bird at the window
with blue forget me not flowers
never able or wanting to forget

James



Photography Prints

 

Kevin Callahan

7 Days Ago

How cool to come back here after a couple of days and find these wonderful words. Well, so, it's birds:

At the Feeder

Behold the Bluejay
The B52 bully of the bird world

Consider the crimson Cardinal
The high Bishop of the bush

Goldfinches glide across my vision
Like glimmering daytime comets

The delicate Dove demurely waits his turn
Cooing and bowing in deference

Silly sparrows spar together
Like reality show stars

The royal Robin reminds one of a banker at a banquet
needing only pince nez and top hat

Shy Chickadees consider
when to come in and consume

Baltimores are orange
Blue birds are blue (imagine that)

A continually shifting rainbow reigns in this little world
I am ever vigilant of small things

 

Maria Disley

7 Days Ago

Lovely everyone, poems and thoughts :))) Gives me something to think about.

 

VIVA Anderson

7 Days Ago

Lovely, from me,too.............ever vigilant, yes! .....Beauty....it is everywhere, poetry,art,hearts,souls.........birds.....
Freedom...........

Jim.....wonderful....yes.....that is how it is............

 

Danl Art

5 Days Ago

She was a gift to America from France

“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free.”

 

Kevin Callahan

4 Days Ago

Art Prints

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
MOTHER OF EXILES. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.

"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

 

Viet Tran

2 Days Ago

double post

 

Viet Tran

2 Days Ago

Thanks for your wonderful poetry and poetic thoughts.


Rain and Fog In Paris - the City of Romance

once upon a time, the fire was raging on the Western Front.
it was covered with thick smoke
and deafening sounds
of
artilleries roared,
airplanes soared,
bombs dropped.
they had charged forward
face to face with their enemies
under
heavy rainfalls
of shooting arrows and flying bullets.
many brave young men could never return.

Autumn in Paris is beautifully awesome and romantic as usual
it was foggy and raining
on
rows
and rows
of endless tombs
on the military cemetery in Vince.
those heroes rest in peace and smiled at dignitaries
those world leaders who came and paid their tribute and respect on the Remembrance Day;
except
the best of America
the “triple A” beef that couldn’t make it b’cuz of rain and fog.

let us not forget;
heroes lost their lives in horrible wars
for cowards to be survived,
for politicians to cheat,
for tyrants to rise,
particularly
for
the madman
to generate a new nuclear arm-race
and to make his nation great again and be ready for another destructive war.

Lest We Forget.
mankind could have ever enjoyed peace.


Thao Chuong Tran Quoc Viet
11-12-18

 

Kevin Callahan

2 Days Ago

Wow!

 

VIVA Anderson

2 Days Ago

Viet, I was, of course, attracted by your lead-in to Paris, City of Love.....
you are clever in the best, poetic way,
because,
then,( I should have known),
the direction of your thoughts,
the reality of your purpose, and
how well you describe it,
the present,
the future......
became clear...........
and yet, and yet,
I will keep wanting
Romance
Memories
Peace On Earth
and
so do you, I just know it.
Let us live, in hope, and
never
forget.

yes, per Kevin............
WOW !




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

 

Viet Tran

1 Day Ago

Thanks Kevin and wow...to Vivian for your poetic thought



Why Is Modern Art So Bad

Painters of the old days
had to totally
rely
on
pens
pencils
paint brushes
painting knives
colour palettes, easels, canvases

Also
they must acquire a basic knowledge and skills
in painting techniques, anatomy, etc.

Nowadays
not so complicated as it was
somewhat it's easier to create art
as high tech provides more magic tools
to
assist artists
in their creating process
thus it gives the same chance
to everyone in the roulette game
of
becoming
a modern artist

Here's what needed
at
least
a camera
or a laptop
and any other fancy hardware and innovative applications
it's
more
than enough
to help someone wake up
his sleeping artist inside himself

Consequently
the contemporary art world has been flooded
by an increasingly growing crowd
of
millions of folks - the wanna-be-artists around the world

Those "modern artists"
have
no talent
no artistic eyes
no wild imagination
no clue about art in general
except the amazing technical skills to use those new toys

What they've created might be good enough
to be printed en masse
and sold at the most affordable cost
for
the sole purpose
of filling in blank walls
for mega-businesses of household decoration

Certainly
it is required a very sharp eye
to recognize where the beauty lies
as pretty diamonds always hide inside bushy, tall grass
when a stunning flower garden
is taken over
by
wild
weeds

In
that regard
Modern Art still retains its gorgeous magnificence

Thao Chuong Tran Quoc Viet
(repost a old poem)

 

VIVA Anderson

1 Day Ago

Viet, very interesting premise/question, seems you answer it yourself,
as regards wild weeds being creative........

"In
that regard
Modern Art still retains its gorgeous magnificence "

the weeds die away or proliferate their ennui, yes, that's why what's left is
Modern Art............that survives ..........I'm glad of your positivity.................

My Dad Joe always said..........'horses for courses'.....plenty of room to run still.

 

Kevin Callahan

18 Hours Ago

Been holding on to this one for a bit until I can go read it in public. Heading to an open mic tonight, so here goes:

White Room

Tried, judged, convicted and sentenced for my crimes.
Or perhaps it was for my sins?
I was never sure.
I never saw those who judged me, nor heard the testimony given.
Sentenced to a white room from which there would be no reprieve.
My punishment a cell, blindingly white. Strong lights illumined unceasing.
My confinement diabolical, attired in white I was given no objects, no furniture,
nothing of color except the pigment of my hands.
In life, art was my life, writing, drawing, painting, observing. Now, only white smooth walls,
a penance devised to take everything from me, to drive me insane.
Every hour, minute, moment I felt as if I were falling into an abyss,
floating in a formless nowhere.
Lingering on the edge of madness for untold hours, days, months, perhaps even years
(I could no longer tell) I lay with eyes closed, conjuring color, line, shapes, movement.
It began slowly, tentatively, pulling on my fingertip until I began to bleed Color. The vermillion paint at first only oozed but soon it became a steady stream fed by the pounding of my heart.
Pollock-drops of red paint the floor as I cross the room and begin to paint on my only canvas.
Time becomes timeless. Working with all the pent-up creativity they meant to steal. When my makeshift brush becomes dry I squeeze my body making color flow into my arm down my hand out of my finger.
The image begins with my feet, legs lifting up to float and undulate like Chagall’s smitten husband. The background Klimt-like wallpaper.
Around I sketch, drawing legs, hands, arms, body. Coaxing a handful of pigment into my cupped hand I slap, smear, and push volume, shape, form.
A screaming nightmare depiction of my face emerges from my feverish mind and appears on the surface. Completing the circle of the cell, at last, I connect head to foot.
My “Guernica” is nearing completion. Weak, sans the liquid of life I need only a few more drops to sign my name just as light is extinguished.
White and drained of color my body is desiccated. I leave behind the only true thing I have to give this world, the color they attempted to squelch.
A professed martyr to the cause, in time my cell declared a monument, the courts disbanded, and color again reigns.
Gradually awareness returns, surrounded by half-empty tubes of paint, still dripping brushes. I survey the results of my latest work and see that I once again have won the war of the canvas.

 

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