three women in hats, an art, and a poem on hats

Cambodian girls with hats
foot masseurs in Cambodia

Someone sent me pictures taken in a rural seaside town in Cambodia. What interest me are the variety of hats the women wear. They wear modern western hats instead of the conical shaped hat they normally use to shield them from the sun and rain. The hats in the pictures add character while being functional as in the case of the fruit-vendor.

http://By Henri Matisse – http://www.sfmoma.org/explore/collection/artwork/213, PD-US, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=14899126

I decide to include The Woman with a Hat (1905) above as a treat. Can you accept the splashing of paints on the hat? I still cannot figure out the stuff in her hat which seems heavily loaded for her head.

Analysis quoted : “Matisse attacked conventional portraiture with this image of his wife. Amelie’s pose and dress are typical for the day, but Matisse roughly applied brilliant color across her face, hat, dress, and even the background. This shocked his contemporaries when he sent the picture to the 1905 Salon d’Automne. Leo Stein called it, “the nastiest smear of paint I had ever seen,” yet he and Gertrude bought it for the importance they knew it would have to modern painting. “(https://www.theartstory.org/artist-matisse-henri-artworks.htm)

Henri Émile Benoît Matisse (31 December 1869 – 3 November 1954) was a French artist, known for both his use of colour and his fluid and original draughtsmanship. His mastery of the expressive language of colour and drawing, displayed in a body of work spanning over a half-century, won him recognition as a leading figure in modern art. (Wikipedia)

Well, what do you think of Matisse’s hat? I like the variety of shades in blue and green though.

Here is a sentimental old poet about his old hat, the last stanza from My Hat! – Poem by William Henry Ogilvie (21 August 1869 – 30 January 1963 / Kelso, Scotland)  (https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-hat/)

Though it wasn’t a hat you would bolt with

Or be anxious to borrow or hire,

It was useful to blindfold a colt with

Or handle a bit of barbed wire.

Though the world may have thought it improper

To wear such old rubbish as that,*

I’d have scorned the best London-made topper

In exchange for my old battered hat. 

*I won’t wear that rubbish on my head. LOL. (This blogger’s remark)

RDP Saturday: THREE

a universal language: smile poetry

 

One morning I met Smiles when I took a walk to the back of a restaurant. I was told that the owner employed widows to give them a home and a better living.

The local women are gentle and shy. We could not communicate so they smiled and I smiled. Smile is a good universal language. I thoroughly enjoyed the encounter and the food.

A HAIKU ~ON SMILE
i know we are friends
because you smile i smile too
willing to walk extra mile

coming thus far all ways lead back to you

belovedI know I should not be writing about my Beloved because it is like baring my soul to the world, the old poet said. So I find this poem by random browsing from a gift collection given by my own beloved younger relatives who know that I love poetry.

CIRCULAR

coming thus far
all ways
lead back to you:
no matter the dead
roads dreams went
you pull
the cord you sent
me yearslong
to my pastimes
only to reach
you, and to find
you at the end
of it all.

(Poem taken from “Soul’s Festival -collected poems 1980-1997″ by Anne Lee Tzu Pheng)

Reading this poem pulls my heartstring too. I have my own beloved, at certain time in life. Sometimes I travel far for a prolonged period of time. But when my heart is still I can find an invisible cord inside pulling to the dear ones I have left behind. This week’s photo challenge word “beloved” makes me sit down and ponder, “Whom can I call my beloved?” My first thought today is my mother.

The sad thing is that during the last part of her life I was not able to stay geographically closer to her. In those days we did not have easy digital communication through internet or mobile phone. Line phone was expensively ticking by minutes and limited in audible performance as she just could not hear what I said. Separated by oceans and other matters too. I know I have no excuse whatever the road/sea/sky blockages might have been. Why did not I fly home more often? I ask today. My honest answer is that my heart was divided and distracted by too many unimportant matters which can sum up in just one phrase, “I was busily living my own life.” On the other hand she never forgot any of her beloved. After the funeral, we found our names and the daily prayers she prayed for each of her children faithfully written down in her handwritten journal. We also found some letters she had written to us but not posted because no one did it for her and she was not mobile by then…

Bible verses to meditate upon:
Exodus 20:12 “Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long upon the land which the Lord your God is giving you.
Proverbs 23:25 Let your father and your mother be glad, And let her who bore you rejoice.

Today I sense a Transformation by the renewal of the mind

renewal of mindToday I sense a Transformation by the renewal of the mind.
On this morning when sleep is freshly cast aside with reluctance
because of the lingering sweetness of an undisturbed rest,
I hear a light whisper outside my window
and I rise and greet the call which is even sweeter, from love.
A light switch turns gently on by nature from beyond
with a rush of refreshing cool breeze that only a dawn can bring.
How do I define you, my dawn?
I just look at the demarcation line you make between the light and the darkness.
I always associate you with light and love.
Together you bring fresh hope for life.
For too long I have heard oppressed stories of gloom and depressed forecast of doom.
Today I decide to turn way from false prophets and soothsayers.
I am resolute to start my day with you of light and love.
My mind is transformed by your evidences that present themselves
in grandeur and majesty from on high,
yes, from great beyond.

a traveling bird’s pausing and three poems

Pause

 

colorful island birdBe like the bird who, pausing in her flight awhile on boughs too slight, feels them give way beneath her, and yet sings, knowing she hath wings. Victor Hugo

The Oven Bird
By Robert Frost

There is a singer everyone has heard,
Loud, a mid-summer and a mid-wood bird,
Who makes the solid tree trunks sound again.
He says that leaves are old and that for flowers
Mid-summer is to spring as one to ten.
He says the early petal-fall is past
When pear and cherry bloom went down in showers
On sunny days a moment overcast;
And comes that other fall we name the fall.
He says the highway dust is over all.
The bird would cease and be as other birds
But that he knows in singing not to sing.
The question that he frames in all but words
Is what to make of a diminished thing.

Birds of Passage
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Black shadows fall
From the lindens tall,
That lift aloft their massive wall
Against the southern sky;

And from the realms
Of the shadowy elms
A tide-like darkness overwhelms
The fields that round us lie.

But the night is fair,
And everywhere
A warm, soft vapor fills the air,
And distant sounds seem near,

And above, in the light
Of the star-lit night,
Swift birds of passage wing their flight
Through the dewy atmosphere.

I hear the beat
Of their pinions fleet,
As from the land of snow and sleet
They seek a southern lea.

I hear the cry
Of their voices high
Falling dreamily through the sky,
But their forms I cannot see.

O, say not so!
Those sounds that flow
In murmurs of delight and woe
Come not from wings of birds.

They are the throngs
Of the poet’s songs,
Murmurs of pleasures, and pains, and wrongs,
The sound of winged words.

This is the cry
Of souls, that high
On toiling, beating pinions, fly,
Seeking a warmer clime,

From their distant flight
Through realms of light
It falls into our world of night,
With the murmuring sound of rhyme.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I decided to post three poems from three poets/writers. The picture is taken from my random coloring on a cluster of stuff, mainly one-dimensioned buildings. Why the poems on birds? Well, if you look closely you can find him perching alone somewhere in the picture. The rests are unseen perhaps, flying overhead at night just as the poet said, with their wings singing the murmuring sound of rhyme.

atop a roof in the rain half musing…

Atop
atop the roofThis picture was taken one day when the river of rain swept down without notice. I just happened to be there looking out of this window, not exactly high up but high enough to take this picture of the rain. Unable to go out, I decided to browse online to find something about the word atop. Here are the results of random searches. It is amazing that there are many words which could rhyme with atop. Pity the poet is not around today. Looking at the picture I realize that the rain has written its own poem. So here it is-a poem in motion.

Rhymes with atop

Aesopairdropa popbackdropbackstopbakeshopbarhopbebopbed-hopbellhopbenchtopbig topblacktopbookshopcarhopcartopcash cropchop-chopchop shopclip-clopclick stopclop-clopclosed shopcoin-opcookshopcooktopco-opcough dropdesktopdoorstopdoo-wopdramshopdrop-topdry mopdust mopeardropeavesdropESOPestopfield cropflag stopflue stopf-stopfire-stopflattopflip-flopforetopgrogshopgumdrophardtophead shophedgehophigh-tophilltophip-hophockshophousetopjoypoplaptopmail dropmaintopmilksopname-dropnonstopone-stopoutcroppalmtoppawnshoppipe stoppit stoppop-toppost-oppre-oppro shopragtopraindropredtopridgetopripstoprooftoproot cropsharecropshortstopskin-popslipslopsnowdropsoursopspeed shopstonecropstrip-cropsweatshopsweetshopsweetsoptank topteardropthrift shoptip-toptreetoptrip-hoptruck stopunstopwineshopworkshop

fireworks and a little poem

A Good Match

firework1firework2Two versions of the same without editing. The photos were taken one midnight when the locals celebrated the Lunar New Year Eve and I took these two within seconds. It is a surprise that they turn out one in red and one in white!

I searched online at random and found this touching little poem titled Red and White

RED AND WHITE

Crimson, Sinless blood,
Red enough to cleanse the world,
Has washed me snow white.

Date: 3rd March, 2016
by Jo Daniel

two ambience poems

ambienceAmbience of sea and sky. I decided to include two poems I found at random online. They blend well with the picture I took last November. I selected this picture for the vast span of the sky over the sea. The sky is infinitely vast and beyond our imagination. The sea is finite.
My sea of dreams, a vast expanse of glittering dreams and wishes rocking back and forth to form the waves
This sea the only sea I know that changes its color even from a deep majestic purple to a light azure
It changes from the most profound yellow to a bright grassy green
Atop the horizon of this picture perfect sight, the great sky towers above everything
My sky of miracles
The sky that is as enchanted as my wonderful sea
It too along with the sea changes shade
As from white to black to blue
From a sunset red to a dark violet
From a mellow scarlet to a fiery orange
This seascape portrays beauty and imagination
(My Sea And Sky – Poem by Bianca P.B)
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-sea-and-sky/

I’m soaring across the horizon
The deep dark colors of twilight painted on the clouds surrounding me
The gentle wind by my side keeping me company as I fly over the green valleys
I watch as the river between the valley flows unceasingly
The clear water imitates the figures forming reflections
Tiny cataracts below me create rainbows with the remaining light seeping from the clouds
As night falls the great skies open up and give way to a starry expanse of purple and blue
The playful stars dance around me in serene unison
Here I am flying, reaching the stars, at a place I thought I’d never be in………..
(Soaring – Poem by Bianca P.B)
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/soaring-4/

“forever young”: “I was so much older then; I’m younger than that now” ― Bob Dylan

bob-dylan“The future for me is already a thing of the past-
You were my first love and you will be my last”
― Bob Dylan, Bob Dylan – Love and Theft: Piano/Vocal/Guitar
“DESTINY is a feeling you have that you know something about yourself nobody else does. The picture you have in your own mind of what you’re about WILL COME TRUE. It’s a kind of a thing you kind of have to keep to your own self, because it’s a fragile feeling, and you put it out there, then someone will kill it. It’s best to keep that all inside.”
― Bob Dylan, The Bob Dylan Scrapbook: 1956-1966
“You need something to open up a new door, to show you something you seen before but overlooked a hundred times or more”
― Bob Dylan, Writings and Drawings
“Let me ask you one question
Is your money that good
Will it buy you forgiveness
Do you think that it could
I think you will find
When your death takes its toll
All the money you made
Will never buy back your soul”
― Bob Dylan, The Bob Dylan Scrapbook: 1956-1966
“I was so much older then; I’m younger than that now.
From the back pages”
― Bob Dylan
“You don’t have to be afraid of looking into my face. We’ve done nothing to each other that time will not erase.”
― Bob Dylan

There is really no adequate words to explain Bob Dylan. For those who have been his life-long friends and also those who like his music even when they are too young to understand. Can anyone truly know what he means in the poetic lyrics he wrote? Or perhaps we each interpret and read our own messages in them. I really like him a lot. Why? I cannot explain. I imagine many are like me who are happy that he has been awarded and recognized as the latest Nobel Laureate for Literature. Did he write literature? I would think he did. In my last visit to a library I borrowed his audio autobiography titled Chronicles, and here is a brief write up I copied/excerpted from his website as follows:

volume one SEP 21, 2014
“I’d come from a long ways off and had started a long ways down. But now destiny was about to manifest itself. I felt like it was looking right at me and nobody else.” So writes Bob Dylan in Chronicles: Volume One, his remarkable book exploring critical junctures in his life and career. Through Dylan’s eyes and open mind, we see Greenwich Village…Dylan’s New York…side trips to New Orleans, Woodstock, Minnesota and points west, Chronicles: Volume One is an intimate and intensely personal recollection of extraordinary times.
By turns revealing, poetical, passionate and witty…is a mesmerizing window on Bob Dylan’s thoughts and influences. Dylan’s voice is distinctively American: generous of spirit, engaged, fanciful and rhythmic. Utilizing his unparalleled gifts of storytelling and the exquisite expressiveness that are the hallmarks of his music, Bob Dylan turns Chronicles: Volume One into a poignant reflection on life, and the people and places that helped shape the man and the art.”

Time has changed much in the world around Bob. But has he changed much? Is he crossing to another New Horizon right now? Will the newly awarded recognition of poetry and literature in his song lyrics change him? I doubt that it would. He is Bob Dylan, always.

Lyrics from a song called “Forever Young” (1974), written by Bob Dylan.

May God bless and keep you always
May your wishes all come true
May you always do for others
And let others do for you

May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung
May you stay forever young

Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

May you grow up to be righteous
May you grow up to be true
May you always know the truth
And see the lights surrounding you

May you always be courageous
Stand upright and be strong
May you stay forever young

Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

May your hands always be busy
May your feet always be swift
May you have a strong foundation
When the winds of changes shift

May your heart always be joyful
May your song always be sung
May you stay forever young

Forever young, forever young
May you stay forever young

Visit Bob Dylan’s website by clicking here:
(http://bobdylan.com/news/bob-dylans-nobel-banquet-speech/)
Here is a link to the song:(https://youtu.be/jtFEzhaNrT4)
Photo credit goes to: http://bobdylan.com/news/lyrics-1961-2012/

We all have a ‘magic’ tank, onto the next exhibit

aquarium-singpaoreMagic is not on my mind when I take out this picture from some old albums and decide to post it. I took this during a visit to Sentosa Underwater World in Singapore in 2014. It had since been closed down in June 2016. I read that the animals are being transferred to another aquarium in China.

I found a poem online at random and post below to reflect both sides of life one may stand at the same time.Inside and outside.Which side are you now?

Rebecca Leven-Hill
Feb 4, 2015
Aquarium
The world is an aquarium
We all have a tank
With a paragraph of information about us next to our tank
When people see you they notice your looks and move on

If you are a tall skinny blond boy with blue eyes the girls will stop and get to know you
If you are a shorter boy with brown hair who has acne and is wider people might just move onto the next exhibit
The people in the tanks can’t tell what they people on the outside are saying
But they don’t care
They are all unique and they know that
People will always judge but they are not the ones you should try and impress
You are the only one who can truly judge you

a closer look at you: my tiny white flowers

Tiny flowers in yonder garden
beauty veiled at distance but not nigh
lo, transcendental strength to halt the turning time of tide
strive you would to thrive like your ancestors from eden

Notes: When I took these photos I did not really look much at the flowers. I just wanted to click away at whatever that broke the monotony of the impending bareness of the new season. The leaves were turning yellow and unsightly. The flowers tried to do a good job by blooming and cheering up those who walked pass and happened to pause and cast a casual look. When I look at them now I realize how wonderful they actually look in their whiteness even though they were really tiny and could easily be unnoticed by a traveler like me. I now wonder the number of lost opportunities I encountered with beauty and missed seeing them because they seemed too small and unimportant then.

White, an inherently positive color, is associated with purity, virginity, innocence, light, goodness, heaven, safety, brilliance, illumination, understanding, cleanliness, faith, beginnings, sterility, spirituality, possibility, humility, sincerity, protection, softness, and perfection.

Tiny flowers and a poem

tiny-flowers
Tiny Tiny Flowers – Poem by Eloida Capuno: i always look
out for
those sweet
tiny
flowers
more than
the others
in the garden
with their
vibrant
colors
huge
and exotic
maybe
because
the little
ones
like some
innocent
children
are left
to fend for
themselves

I thought I would just post another poet’s poem on tiny flowers today. I took this picture because they are so tiny and their colors so quiet. When I look closely I realize that each flower is a cluster of many tinier flowers! Each tiny flower forming the overall formation is so orderly and cohesive with others in shape and size. I like the poem because I can also identify the little flowers with young poor children being forced into the street and left on their own to make a living. They are not completely helpless. They soon learn to form their own tiny regimental group just to stand together and survive together. Where do they learn to do so? Is there a program in their genes? I believe so. Even tiny flowers.

Daisies and stars: I see thee glittering from afar

yellow-daisies-white-butterflyTiny but not to be ignored. Often we are conditioned to think little of small ordinary things, such as the daisies of the field. Yet, more often than not, the small things are what that make up this world of vastness, like each droplet that makes up the seemingly borderless oceans that cover the whole earth. Likewise, whilst some more popularly favored flowers, such as, roses, are reserved as a majestic symbol, field flowers which are hardly mentioned in memorable imagined or factual narratives continue to bloom in their quiet unassuming yet resilient manner. A daisy symbolizes innocence and purity. It can also symbolize new beginnings. Other meanings associated with the daisy are faith, cheer, simplicity, loyal love, beauty, gentleness, youth, modesty, and romance.

I ask, what did some great painters paint? Claude Monet painted water lilies and poppy. He spoke this, “I perhaps owe having become a painter to flowers.” But he did paint daisies too. What did great poets write about? Surprisingly I found some poetic writings on daisies. Like Wordsworth did, the poets noted how this tiny flower glows and shines like a pretty star. I took the picture while visiting and staying in a remote tropical outback. The tiny flowers cheerfully greeted me with their radiant color every morning without fail. The country suffers draught yearly for a long period which can come to half a year. The daisies without artificial irrigation vanish and hide themselves in seeds perhaps as I cannot figure out how the root survives in the surface powdery dust. When the rain comes they burst forth from the crust and rise with the crescendo of the torrential rain, with yellow blooms that outshine others. They are truly amazing shining knights in the wild.

“Daisies infinite
Uplift in praise their little glowing hands,
O’er every hill that under heaven expands.”
-Ebenezer Elliott, Miscellaneous Poems, Spring, line 13.

“And daisy-stars, whose firmament is green.”
-Thomas Hood, Plea of the Midsummer Fairies, 36.

“I see thee glittering from afar–
And then thou art a pretty star;
Not quite so fair as many are
In heaven above thee!
Yet like a star, with glittering crest,
Self-poised in air thou seem’st to rest;–
May peace come never to his nest,
Who shall reprove thee!”
-William Wordsworth

Shine on, little stars.

Further notes on the meaning of yellow daisies: (Quoted)
The color yellow is symbolic of friendship and joy. Yellow is the color of sunshine and is associated with joy, happiness, wisdom, and energy. People of high intellect favor yellow.

Paintings by famous painters on daisies:
Famous Oil Painting Bouquet of Gladiolas, Lilies and Daisies by Claude Monet
Daisies by William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1894)
The daisy chain by Maude Goodman (1936)

I saw a crowd, A host, of golden shinning daffodils

Shine little flowers, just like little stars.
shine-yellow-flowersOne day a woman decided to plant a single bulb. This single bulb turned into many more and soon she had a field filled with daffodils. The daffodil field has refreshed many tired and wearied hearts and her story of a mere small and humble start with just one single bulb which grew into a vast sea of beautiful yellow flowers has motivated others and changed the belief that a small thing is too small to matter. Daffodils belong to the genus Narcissus. Their flowers have a trumpet-shaped structure set against a star-shaped background. In temperate climates they flower among the earliest blooms in spring. I took this picture in early spring. Daffodils often grow in large clusters, covering lawns and even entire hillsides with yellow. The flowers symbolize friendship, and are some of the most popular flowers due to their unmatched beauty. Here is a poem all about daffodils and stars, beautifully presenting a lively picture of daffodils that dance like the stars, shining and twinkling. Even a lonely traveler stops feeling lonely in their company!

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.