I found some fascinating information about Magritte himself, specifically about his early life. Learning about what events inspired an artist’s or writer’s work is endlessly intriguing to me!
It seems Magritte was a vampire:
Looking into the mirror seeing no face
No hair empty black suit black hat.
Is this the real world?
It seems an image given by a false mirror
An image given yet at least free,
Free of that damned apple
Which filled the entire space between
I’ve been trying to write something all week for this captivating picture (preferably something that is not terrible). This poem started to take on some surrealist qualities as I wrote and looked at more of his paintings. At least, that’s my excuse. Apologies!
(my one-liner today)
I also have a poem inspired by that line and DVerse Poetics’s prompt from yesterday: “The Light of Vika Muse.” They feature the beautiful and fantastical art of a Ukrainian artist, Vika Muse. Continue reading →
The Greek word translated as “workmanship” is “poiēma,” which looks a lot like the word “poem,” so I wrote this poem. This was written on February 20th, but I saved it for a day when I had nothing else to post. Today is that day. Though a few ideas were floating around my mind, none landed on the page well enough to be post-able.
A sonnetina (like a sonnet but only 10 lines) in response to MLMM’s Saturday Mix: Opposing Forces. I have actually written a few poems in different forms on this same topic, reusing the first one or two lines multiple times. I find that entertaining. 🙂
What’s all else worth, if greatest dream is dead?
Even with wealth, one craves and hungers still,
Without a way to find his daily bread:
Having nothing to live for kills the will.
A quiet heartbeat yet the pain is loud:
A frozen passion nevermore to melt,
Humbling the artist’s eyes that had been proud
Of such great work — that joy no longer felt.
What use is popularity and cash,
If one’s reason for being’s burned to ash?
Above all, I wanted to just post something today. Yesterday I didn’t post anything and hardly wrote anything, either. Until about 8 p.m., I had only written one poem, and the good news about that is, by the time I went to sleep, I had written another 3 poems in my notebook. Their quality, however, is dubious and most likely below average.This is my second poem of today. Let’s see if I have any luck in following this mysterious and winding stream.
Those days that I love the most
Are the ones when I am least aware
Of my own thoughts. No reason to boast
Or be ashamed, I am simply there.
I am playing music at piano keys,
Or writing poems by hand in ink.
Perhaps I feel not aloft on the breeze,
Neither do I in dark depths sink.
I am spending time in the presence
Of those I love, and Love itself,
My very being exists as intense
Creative force, which is my wealth.
I wasn’t going to post this, but here it is: an attempt at flash-fiction for FFFC #92. The image is below. I am also sharing this with the Writers’ Pantry.
Side note: I just realized that I have been writing and posting about space a lot lately. Continue reading →