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THE ENCHANTMENTS OF THE SIRENS

in Paintings speaking Poetry by
Sirenes (Sirens) by Charles Edward Boutibonne

THE SIRENS ARE ENCHANTERS

Circe warns Odysseus about the Sirens:

“You will come first of all to the Sirens, who are enchanters Keep Reading

ANNA AKHMATOVA

in Poetry of Art by
anablog

You will hear thunder and remember me,
And think: she wanted storms. The rim
Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson,
And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.”
― Anna Akhmatova, The Complete Poems of Anna Akhmatova

A FEELING THAT CAN NOT BE DESCRIBED, ONLY FELT ~ POEM BY MONIQUE LUCY WEBERINK

in My own creations by
blog

Seldom I live in this imaginary world
Surrounded by ghostly energy, I can feel it
Nothing else is present in my dream today
All that is there is this huge dark space

I feel haunted now all the time
What scares me most is being alone here
All alone. Without any good soul to accompany me
Just the screams of demons and evil spirits

Joyous feeling, why did you leave me?
You deserted me and left me here all alone
Wandering around in a delirium that is not mine
It takes over my unconsciousness
Going around in circles until I lose direction
Now I can surrender, let myself fall into the deep

Nothing more of me is left other then a black hole
My spirit lost and my body absorbed due gravity

Knowing that I am going to die.

Monique Lucy Weberink

Painting is Angel in Chains by Odilon Redon

PAUL VERLAINE – WHAT IS A POEM?

in Poetical Visions by

“A poem is really a kind of machine for producing the poetic state by means of words.”
― Paul Verlaine

Paul Verlaine II
Anders Zorn – 1895

MY DAILY WALK HOME ~ POEM BY MONIQUE LUCY WEBERINK

in My own creations by
blog

My daily walk home…

There is a river on my right
fast flowing deep and dark water
these leaves being dragged along
twirling, what a curious sight

High up a blackness of one cloud
when I am starting to talk to you
and even though you are not here
mist forms a cover like a shroud

A few strange birds glide in the sky
the variation of trees just in front
suddently a squirrel running across
and the grass covered by a grey dye

Now there it is again, this massive weight
pressing hard on both of my shoulders
I need to find a way to break free from this
free myself from carrying this freight

These thoughts of us are crossing my mind
just because and despite of what happened
they intertwine, merging into the distant
for what is next to happen is not aligned

Do you think it just happens like this
do you think it just falls out of the sky
if so I can’t be bothered to pick it up
It’s definately not something I shall miss

Walking, step by step, slow but steady
always avoiding the mud and the puddles
still going through the drissling rain
I am clearing my mind, am getting ready

To fight this poison without a remedy
like a powerful flame that burns me up
I must wake up out of this bad dream
to finally reenter the realm of reality

You are hardly worth my while
but the curious world around me
pulls me out to another place
its only for a short mile

A sound distracts me
pulls me back here
someone walking past
that is not all I see

This is the brand new me
exactly how it was dreamt
this is the end of the road
There exists no more we

I used to think I was strong
but now I know where I belong

…its just another daily walk home

Monique Lucy Weberink,  2014

James Abbott McNeill Whistler (1834-1903)
Nocturne in blue and green

TOLKIEN ~ REMEMBERING PAST SEASONS

in Poetry of Art by
monique

I sit beside the fire and think
Of all that I have seen
Of meadow flowers and butterflies
In summers that have been

Of yellow leaves and gossamer
In autumns that there were
With morning mist and silver sun
And wind upon my hair

I sit beside the fire and think
Of how the world will be
When winter comes without a spring
That I shall ever see

For still there are so many things
That I have never seen
In every wood in every spring
There is a different green

I sit beside the fire and think
Of people long ago
And people that will see a world
That I shall never know

But all the while I sit and think
Of times there were before
I listen for returning feet
And voices at the door”
― J.R.R. Tolkien

Vasilevskoë – Autumn

Wassily Kandinsky – 1903

ANNA AKHMATOVA ~ IN THE EVENING

in Poetry of Art by
Anna

IN THE EVENING  BY ANNA AKHMATOVA

The garden rang with music
Of inexpressible despair.
A dish of oysters spread on ice
Smelled like the ocean, fresh and sharp.

He told me: “I’m a faithful friend!”-
And lightly touched my dress.
How different from embraces
The touch of those two hands.

That’s how one strokes a cat or bird
Or looks at slender lady riders…
Just laughter in his quiet eyes,
Beneath his light gold lashes.

And the despondent voices of the violins
Sing out beyond the hanging smoke:
“Give blessings to heaven above
At last you’re alone with your beloved.”

March 1913

AKOSAH KWADWO ~ THE HEART IS NOT YET SWEET

in Poetry of Art by
a_summer_night-large

And then we added the colors in the rain

The hundred pins in the skeletons of dust

In the dawn and evening

Of the wedding of mourning

In the earth of the harsh country

But if the sun falls

Within you in the years

And the heart is not yet sweet

Let no one touch it

In the how many years of the sun…

Akosah Kwadwo
2012

Painting is A Summer Night, 1890 by Winslow Homer

A SOUL INSIDE ~ POEM BY MONIQUE LUCY WEBERINK

in Poetry of Art/Uncategorized/My own creations by
Silence-2

For sure you must have a soul
Somewhere there buried inside
With strong metal welded shut tide
You play your mister perfect role

But things are not as they always seem
Fragile are the walls that you keep up
And if I could peak through the cracks
Its all just compromises into extreme

Why don’t you show your true face now
For once lower the wooden painted mask
I beg you to show me your teardrops
All I get is a lonely sounding sough

I admit when you do I might run scared
Your face forward straight and open wide
With eyes as window holes without the glass
It happened right after you no longer cared

Shadows growing on the walls and floors
The room gets dark and a struggle starts
Its following me and freaking me inside out
Paranoid trying to escape via narrow doors

Personal private sufferings took control
You committed suicide of your inner self
I know noble thoughts are fighting inside
just figure out whats wrong with your soul

I want to run away from you for good
To be the one who ditches you hard
Make you feel the same pain and anger
Being the girl who did what she could

Taken your passion and your freedom restrained
Trying to break your soul free from its cage
Bittersweet deep down up till its solid core
but the key to unlock is all that maintained

I am forced to lie, but do whatever it takes
Shorty said, exactly that and not a bit more
Every wise man should know himself to be a foul
To save you even when it takes till day breaks

Its made from paper so there is nothing to destroy
Only delineate it to get it back to the surface
Writing memories down with different colors of ink
Red curves for our love and black words to deploy

Watching the ink lines getting sucked dry
I just elegantly reclaimed my true soul mate
You are not going to take me down again
If erasing is the only option, I wonder why

Then that is what I will do.

Monique Lucy Weberink

February 2012

Odilon Redon

Silence

EMILY DICKINSON ~ HOPE

in Poetry of Art by
george-frederick-watts-hope-79536

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune–without the words,
… And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Emily Dickinson ~ Hope

George Frederick Watts ~ Hope

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