irises, pink, green


in a corridor I walk along here daily (hourly, probably, if truth be told), is a print of a painting; it's not the Hepworth (that's a different corridor), but it has the same effect on me as the Hepworth. . .

it makes me think
of the things I don't know about
.
and it has one additional effect. . .
.
it brings a tune
to my mind

and since - even in my current state - I'm all for a spot of self indulgence everynowandagain, enjoy. . .
.
TAKE ONE SET OF:
.

.
THEN PRINT THIS:
.


.
NOW REMEMBER WHAT IT WAS
TO BE A CHILD. . .
.
(could be more or less as follows,
doesn't have to be anything like it,
you don't even have to stay in the lines!)
.
.
and in the meantime,
enjoy listening to this:

.
Starry starry night, paint your palette blue and grey
Look out on a summer's day with eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills, sketch the trees and the daffodils
Catch the breeze and the winter chills in colors on the snowy linen land.
And now I understand what you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity, how you tried to set them free.
They would not listen they did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now.
Starry starry night, flaming flo'rs that brightly blaze
Swirling clouds in violet haze reflect in Vincent's eyes of China blue.
Colors changing hue morning fields of amber grain
Weathered faces lined in pain are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.
And now I understand what you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity how you tried to set them free.
Perhaps they'll listen now.
For they could not love you but still your love was true
And when no hope was left in sight on that starry starry night.
You took your life as lovers often do;
But I could have told you
Vincent this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.
Starry starry night, portraits hung in empty halls
Frameless heads on nameless walls
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the stranger that you've met, the ragged men in ragged clothes
The silver thorn of bloody rose, lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.
And now I think I know what you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity how you tried to set them free.
They would not listen they're not list'ning still perhaps they never will.
.

7 comments:

mig bardsley said...

Beautiful song, beautiful painting.
(He never kept between the lines did he).
(we're crossing over - sending you another big hug cos I've got to go out in a minute)
xxx

ziggi said...

ahh Vincent :)

(practising the pres - eeeeek)

I, like the view, still said...

it's only just occurred to me, witchy wonder, Friday is 2morrow. . .

(ECT causing short term brain dysfunction)(sorry sweetie)

best of luck!

xxx

mig we did, share a little bit of cybertime and space. . . hope you had a good evening

xxx

Gordie said...

This world is meant for one as beautiful as you.

And a few of us are listening, aren't we?

I, like the view, still said...

. . .it wasn't about me, my lovely friend

just inspired by the art in the corridor

(you are a good listener, you do know that I hope)(X)

ziggi said...

good morning, good morning
to you





(gulp)

Mel said...

:-)

Ohhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!

:-)

Good music and good fun!
Darn that I'll have to wait for the colouring to begin....but ya gotta know it'll happen...

Thinkin' it might be THE perfect excuse to pick up a bigger, better, more colors box of coloured pencils!
Yeah, yeah......like I really NEED an excuse? LOL

Good Friday to you!

(((((((((( ILTV ))))))))))))