By Emily Dickinson
He ate and drank the precious words, His spirit grew robust; He knew no more that he was poor, Nor that his frame was dust. He danced along the dingy days, And this bequest of wings Was but a book. What liberty A loosened spirit brings!
🌸📕Illustration • Reading • Virginie Cognet
By Roald Dahl
In this Poem, Little Red Riding Hood doesn’t need a woodcutter to save her, she takes care of the wolf all on her own.
As soon as Wolf began to feel That he would like a decent meal, He went and knocked on Grandma's door. When Grandma opened it, she saw The sharp white teeth, the horrid grin, And Wolfie said, 'May I come in?' Poor Grandmamma was terrified, 'He's going to eat me up!' she cried. And she was absolutely right. He ate her up in one big bite. But Grandmamma was small and tough, And Wolfie wailed, 'That's not enough! I haven't yet begun to feel That I have had a decent meal!' He ran around the kitchen yelping, 'I've got to have a second helping!'
Then added with a frightful leer, 'I'm therefore going to wait right here Till Little Miss Red Riding Hood Comes home from walking in the wood.'
He quickly put on Grandma's clothes, (Of course he hadn't eaten those). He dressed himself in coat and hat. He put on shoes, and after that, He even brushed and curled his hair, Then sat himself in Grandma's chair.
In came the little girl in red. She stopped. She stared. And then she said, 'What great big ears you have, Grandma.' 'All the better to hear you with,' the Wolf replied. 'What great big eyes you have, Grandma.' said Little Red Riding Hood. 'All the better to see you with,' the Wolf replied. He sat there watching her and smiled. He thought, I'm going to eat this child. Compared with her old Grandmamma, She's going to taste like caviar.
Then Little Red Riding Hood said, 'But Grandma, what a lovely great big furry coat you have on.'
'That's wrong!' cried Wolf. 'Have you forgot To tell me what BIG TEETH I've got? Ah well, no matter what you say, I'm going to eat you anyway.'
The small girl smiles. One eyelid flickers. She whips a pistol from her knickers. She aims it at the creature's head, And bang bang bang, she shoots him dead.
A few weeks later, in the wood, I came across Miss Riding Hood.roat a change! No cloak of red, No silly hood upon her head. She said, 'Hello, and do please note My lovely furry wolfskin coat.'
🖌️Painting • Is There Something Out There? • Kim Mlyniec
By Patty DeGroff
Between childhood and teen the child holds such magic in their eyes and mind. Before the noise of the world and the stress of the day. She walks in the book silent to thought. The world about her is of nature and heaven scent. Eyes witnessing the swirls reflections play. The only time a Child’s mind is truly at peace among the babbling brook in a song… Before life rushes in tearing her world down.
First heartbreak first fall in her young life school and fads all come to call. Lost in times of silence in that babbling brook feels the tremble of the child nestled within. Occasionally she hears an inner whisper what about me closes her eyes and mind for a moment secure in a balance of what was and what is. What she could start again but life is not that way for we all grow and now looking out instead of inward today silently sets pleasing the world as the girl fades.
🪄 Digital Art • A Magical Encounter • Joe Gilronan
By Anonymous
Let the music play! I would dance alway - Dance till the dawn of the bright young day! Wild notes are sounding - swift lights are glancing, And I - I am mad with the rapture of dancing - Mad with a breathless delight. With thine arm to enfold me, Thy strong hand to hold me, I could dance through an endless night.
Doth the music play? Or is it - oh, say - But the sound of thy voice that I hear for alway? Is it thy smile or the sweet lights glancing? Is it thy presence or only the dancing Makes the whole world so glad? Love I - ah me! - Or the dance, or thee? Am I mad? Am I mad? Am I mad?
Bid the music play! Let us dance alway - Through all life - through all time - dance forever and aye! Such wild notes are sounding! Such bright lights are glancing! And I - I am mad with the madness of dancing - Of dancing? - or dancing with thee? Let thy heart's love enfold me! Thy heart's strength uphold me! Let us dance till earth ceases to be!
🖌️The Passion Of Dance • Richard Young
𝐁𝐲 𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐀. 𝐁𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐧
𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞, 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐲 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐬.
𝐁𝐮𝐭…
𝐈'𝐝 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐢 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰, 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐞𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭, 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐬, 𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐬, 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞.
🌺Digital Art • The Beauty • Tran Nguyen
By Sharon Lagueux
Reach for the moon and fly your dreams Run with your goals and let go the strings
Climb the ladder Step-Up your faith Be you, a Go-getter Your dream embrace
Vision your dreams Before your eyes Reach for the moonbeams Set your goals high
Fly high your dreams higher than a kite and never lose sight Put your goals to flight
Let go the strings The faith in you Believe in your dreams Pray they come true
🌛Painting • Reaching for the Moon, 1933 by Edward Mason Eggleston (1882-1941)
By Anil Kumar Panda
When the mind is free it welcomes new thoughts and life moves ahead in a single path without many ifs and buts
When the mind is free it goes with honesty and truth it flies beyond the clear sky and achieves success and growth
When the mind is free the windows remain open to varied ideas and views and rushes to places where truth is born
When the mind is free it walks tall and straight to the land of justice and peace and strives to do something new.
🖌️Illustration • Free Mind • Rafael Silveira
By Sally A. Bayan
A poet writes about truths, what is, and what is not a poet writes about nature, people the sun, moon and stars, a poet dares to feel to see the whole world.
A poet writes to vent his/her own shares of joy of agony and aches miseries afflictions as well as those of the others' a poet reads sees through someone else's eyes, face words, voice and actions.
A poet writes, to euphemize the sharp truths and facts in life make them less painful to the ears to at least, soften the pointed edges of every trial to hurt less to pad the impact of a fall from frustration and despair and, through words encourage one to rise when fallen.
A poet writes to cite reasons so a hurting one would believe again have faith in life in love again to reach out to those who have gone far, in the dark and take them back to the fold of the bright side.
A poet writes to tell the woes of those oppressed the world over those tortured violated and killed of children abused their future stolen away from them.
A poet writes of how nature has been exploited and maltreated how human beings would one day disappear, how nature would be around .no matter what.
A poet is sensitive observant and vigilant A poet is compelled to see and tell all truths truths of yesterday those that are here now happening and those of tomorrow and beyond All these, A poet must write nothing more and nothing less.
Painting • The Poets • Juliette Aristides
By Rusty Ed Gibson
We live tomorrow the dreams of today Our hopes of the future gives us faith along the way
Love is the river of this wakened state Its never out of time its never too late
It gives us life as it flows through our lives It tears through confusion loneliness and strife
Love cuts a clear path through the test of time You can see where it has been and watch it unwind
Free as a river that you can't control You can't even say where it might flow
Hope is a power that cant be taken away It can pull you through even the toughest of days
Hope can keep you going when everything else fails It keeps you company on the loneliest of trails
Faith is ever daring in the face of defeat It can bring you courage that nothing can beat
Faith is never doubting in yourself or your beliefs Holding on to what you know when content is just a dream
Faith can give you strength to face what the future brings Combined with hope and love you only need the three of these
Love is like a River Hope is like a dream Faith is just believing with nothing to be seen
So dream of tomorrow and Love for today Hope with all your heart Let Faith show you the way
Painting by Shawna Erback aka Moon Parlor Art
By William Allingham
Golden, golden, Light unfolding, Busily, merrily, work and play, In flowery meadows, And forest shadows, All the length of a Summer day! All the length of a Summer day!
Sprightly, lightly, Sing we rightly, Moments brightly hurry away; Fruit-tree blossoms, And roses’ bosoms,— Clear blue sky of a Summer day! Dear blue sky of a Summer day!
Springlets, brooklets, Greeny nooklets, Hill and Valley, and salt sea-spray, Comrade rovers, Fairy lovers,— All the length of a Summer day All the livelong Summer day!
Painting • Best of Friends • Karen Howarth
The Old Guitarist was painted in 1903, just after the suicide death of Picasso's close friend, Casagemas. During this time, the artist was sympathetic to the plight of the downtrodden and painted many canvases depicting the miseries of the poor, the ill, and those cast out of society. He too knew what it was like to be impoverished, having been nearly penniless during all of 1902. This work was created in Madrid, and the distorted style (note that the upper torso of the guitarist seems to be reclining, while the bottom half appears to be sitting cross-legged) is reminiscent of the works of El Greco.
This bent and sightless man holds close to him a large, round guitar. Its brown body represents the painting's only shift in color. Both physically and symbolically, the instrument fills the space around the solitary figure, who seems oblivious to his blindness and poverty as he plays. At the time the painting was made, literature of the Symbolist movement included blind characters who possessed powers of inner vision. The thin, skeleton-like figure of the blind musician also has roots in art from Picasso's native country, Spain. The old man's elongated limbs and cramped, angular posture recall the figures of the great 16th-century artist El Greco.
A perfect companion piece is Wallace Stevens's poem, "The Man with the Blue Guitar." The poet puts words to Picasso's belief that art is the lie to help us see the truth. Stevens writes:
"They said, 'You have a blue guitar, You do not play things as they are.' The man replied, 'Things as they are Are changed upon the blue guitar.'
As a metaphor for the need to immerse oneself fully in one's grief in order to heal, Denise Levertov's poem, Talking to Grief is also apropos.
The Old Guitarist is probably the most iconic painting of Picasso's Blue Period when he was living in poverty and emotional turmoil.
