The Baker and His Wife

The Baker and His Wife

Pompeii, Italy 79 AD 

Il panettiere e la sua moglie

 La montagna è stata rumbling per i giorni -- 

Siete andato andare a prendere alcuni fichi mentre stavo 

producendo il pane, levanteti in piedi improvvisamente 

là prima di me che avete detto - 

Non possiamo farli funzionare non possiamo nasconderci, 

Il mio amore come volete passare i vostri ultimi momenti? 

Il più caro, prenda la mia mano e ponga con me la tenuta voi tenuta me. 

da  joanny

 Fin

 Fresco

Pompeii, Italy, 79 AD 

english version 

The Baker and His Wife

The mountain has been rumbling for days --
You went to fetch some figs while I was making bread,
Suddenly standing there before me, he said –
"We cannot run -- we cannot hide, my love"
"How do you want to spend your last moments?"
"Dearest,", I said, "take my hand and lay with me holding you holding me."

by joanny

Fresco
Pompeii, Italy 79 AD

Last Days - Mt Vesuvius

Pompeii, Italy  79 AD 

Lava Bread/rolls recipe to go with G-Man's Possum dinner.

Make wine-must rolls as follows:

moisten a bushel of wheat flour with wine-must, 

add aniseed, cumin, two pounds of suet, a pound of cheese ,

chopped figs and dates and some grated bay twig; 

after you have shaped them, place them on bay leaves and bake.

buono appetito

fin

This is my offering for Friday Flash 55, hosted by G-Man  Mr. KnowItAll.


photo credits wikipedia commons, photo stock

DaDaism Unmasked

    "DaDa is beautiful like the night, 

who cradles the young  day in her arms." - Hans Arp 

   "DADA speaks with you, it is everything, it envelops everything,

it belongs to every religion, can be neither victory or defeat,
it lives in space and not in time." - Francis Picabia

I wrote this poem in the style of 'Laws of Chance" 

DADA

Up confusion rumbling, that broke
worship navel The as his sleep....The
regarded up bourgeois and in
their bourgeois the mighty began
a safe-deposits, Dadaist bells to
his honours The bourgeois so
hot thy each like garden
this upon warm awakens from
your electric worth beast like
absence, shroud, beast each diamonds,
burning beast within With each diamonds,
desire my awakening arcs hot.

This poem I wrote using a free style
of whatever came into my imagination
I wrote down and did not alter my first attempt
albeit it isn't written in French and German.

 Theater of the Mind

I would go to bed thinking of new ways
To let the artistic journey begin
And let passion be my guide
I do not waste time in regret the moments I let slip by
For the dull days make me weep

There in the darkest hour of night find me
Scribbling thoughts deep down in my head
Flying birds flapping wings in the breeze  

Seemingly   chasing their mates
I stop only for a moment to listen to the crazy birds sing
One of them carried a message from God
“You’ve no reason to fear”
“Art is going to sleep so a new world can be born”
DaDA dada da da dadada  da

I wonder is this stranger telling me truth or lies?
There I stood wrapped in enameled skin
Wandering through the corridors of my mind
Consumed by the evenings dreams

 I dared look into the years…
While you were yet just a dream
Where will you be? Will you wait for me?
Stirring the secrets and the dreams
I hurl them to the sky

 Awakened suddenly by
a garland placed upon my head,
I shake my dreams and rise, 

 life is waiting for me to live

for time is passing me by.

Fin

By inaugurating the legendary „Cabaret Voltaire“ on February 5, 1916, Hugo Ball, Emmy Hennings, Hans Arp, Tristan Tzara and Marcel Janco founded the most important art movement ever to originate in Zurich: the Zurich Dadaism. From the house at Spiegelgasse 1 Dada started its journey into the world – launching an international cultural revolution.

 These literary figures were interested in sound, nonsense,  and "Laws of Chance" poetry. This did spill out into the visual art field in the form of automatic drawing and the allowance of "Laws of Chance" and the absurd to infiltrate too.

The Dada movement claimed to be “anti-art” and had a strong destructive and negative element. It was a rejection of tradition and the seeking of complete freedom from past traditions.   Also, like the Cubists, they had an interest in letter forms as concrete visual shapes. Letters were not just phonetic symbols.The art of photo-montage was said to originate from this same movement.

 fin

you will find other poets and their prose on the two links below.

One Stop Poetry    

    imperfect prose on thursdays-

This is also for, “The world I want for my children," an effort to support The Joyful Heart Foundation, which was founded by Law & Order: SVU actress Mariska Hargitay to help victims of sexual assault mend their minds, bodies and spirits and reclaim their lives. Today, the foundation is at the forefront of an effort to end a disheartening backlog of tens of thousands of rape kits in labs across the country, a backlog that contributes to a rapist’s 80 percent chance of getting away with his crime. The backlog and its detrimental effects will be the topic of an SVU episode on September 29th.

Joyful Heart Foundation The Joyful Heart Foundation works to foster a community that turns toward the issues of sexual assault, domestic violence and child abuse. Such a community, empowered with knowledge, courage and compassion, can support survivors of this violence and engage in an open dialogue about how to collaboratively end the cycle of violence and abuse. We invite you to read our story here and join our joyful community.

"IT GIRL" Queen of the Silent Screen

She dreamed of a life without slums, 
yearning with desire to escape 
her past from the pain instilled,
haunted from within by the sonorous vault of insomnia.

The future was revealed by her vibrancy of spirit 
that spread like a lit match in the dry autumn woods.
Her charms indescribable,  
the country falls in LOVE-LUST with the 'IT GIRL'

A tangled mass of slept on flame - red hair, 
Softly she applies red rouge to her silken lips,
revealing a heart shaped sensual mouth.
Dark smoky violet frames in shadowed
eyes of the ‘come hither queen '
of the silver screen.

The sweet sucking angels and the 
envious eyes of the other stars,
try much to emulate her style.

The red carpet ruffles under her feet
as she dances to her own wild heart beat, 
while throwing off  the restrains of  convention
binding corset and imposed morality,
she becomes the much sought after
‘naughty girl’ next door.

On the silver screen she enlivens dead cardboard plots, 
with a fizzy-flirty style the Queen of silent silver screen
lights up with her most sensual style.

Hollywood drama follows the rich and famous 
like dandelion spores blowing in the wind,
her career ends as quickly as it begins
 
The  fragile young sensuous miss, 
caught in a scandal succumbs
to a fickle nation's feeding frenzy
that was more then eager to blame
its own "Roaring Twenties" excesses 
on the once wildly dramatic
life of Miss Clara Bow.

"It Girl".

 Clara Gordon Bow (July 29, 1905 – September 27, 1965)

Fin 

Mondays Poetry Pot luck

Clara Gordon Bow (July 29, 1905 – September 27, 1965) was an American actress who rose to stardom in the silent film era of the 1920s. Her acting artistry and high spirits made her the premier flapper and the film "It" (1927) made her world famous as the "It Girl". Bow came to personify the "roaring twenties"and is described as its leading sex symbol.    photo credits to Clara Bow.net & Wikipedia


It girl 

She dreamed of a life without slums,
yearning with desire to escape her past from the pain instilled,
haunted from within by the sonorous vault of insomnia.

The future was revealed by her vibrancy of spirit
that spread like a lit match in the dry autumn woods.
Her charms indescribable,
the country falls in LOVE-LUST with the ‘it girl’

A tangled mass of slept on flame - red hair,
she softly applies red rouge to her silken lips,
revealing a heart shaped sensual mouth.

Dark smoky violet frames in
shadowed eyes of the ‘come hither goddess’
the sweet sucking angels and the envious eyes of the other stars,
try much to emulate her .

The red carpet ruffles under her feet
as she dances to her own wild heart beat,
while throwing off  the restrains of  convention,
binding corset  and imposed morality
she becomes the sought after ‘naughty girl’ next door.

On the silver screen she enlivens dead cardboard plots,
her fizzy-flirty style lights up every silver screen with her sensual charm,
Hollywood drama follows the rich and famous
like dandelion spores blowing in the wind,
her career ends as quickly as it begins.
* * * *
 Postscript
 The  fragile young sensuous miss,
caught in a scandal succumbs
to a fickle nation's feeding frenzy
of bliss that was more then eager to blame
its own "Roaring Twenties" excesses
on the once wildly dramatic
life of Miss Clara Bow.

fin

The Painter!

. . .”ripe grapes over-flow. . .
bright green apples and violet-red apples are mingled  .. ."  
Gauguin's Intimate Journals - By Paul Gauguin

I watched as the sun awakened a new day to  life,
making it a glorious time
to take a morning stroll along the Seine, 
when out of the blue, there you were, 
a handsome man with a beret upon his head. 
“bonjour, veuillez venir s'asseyent 
près de moi, il a dit que je suis un artiste.” 

Then he began to paint, effortlessly,
with a confident hand, 
a great flourish of lavish brush strokes
of color began to fill the blank white canvas,
with beauty and agility unsurpassed. 
He piled layer upon layer of luminosity, 
a visual delight of warmth, beauty and surprise.

Mesmerized by the rhythmic waves of his hand
and through the swirls of paint
an image began to appear. 
He then spoke softly to me almost a whisper, 
I use paint that you cannot buy in stores. 
Nor do I  paint exactly what is, 
but more the way I image life to be, 
I make no apologies for that, mon joli.

 As he skillfully maneuvers the paint onto paper
the painting begins to take on a life of its own, 
out of the multi-layered splendor an indescribable 
feeling literally comes over me
I know not how to describe my emotions, 
for they were filled with joie de vivre,
an exhilaration of wonder, and awe.

The painting was me in a different time and place
A place that I have never seen before,
but in my heart knew 
I would be there somehow someday. 
At that moment when I looked up
to say to this handsome stranger, 
“Est-ce que Monsieur comment
je vous remercie, comment je rembourse ?” 

he was gone!

 Let The Magic Begin!

  One Shot Wednesday - hosted by Adam Dustus

photo credits 1,2,7 seine-pont-neuf.paris

5,6 google  3, 6 en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paul_Gauguin 

l'heure bleue

She wondered at the circumstances

that led her to this place?  

It was something simple really

  a postcard from a sender

who prefers to remain tantalizingly mysterious.

 Fin

written for Sunday 160 hosted by Monkey Man 

photo 1 & 4 tumblr,

Resonance and Harmony!

I silently sip my morning coffee,
closing my eyes the world
melts into a textual realm
of direct experience

  I smell the aroma of the earth, feel the soothing flow of water, allow the power of fire to warm me, and taste the  nourishment of life, 

thus,  my morning goes from silence into the sweetest song.

Fin

This was written for Friday Flash 55 hosted by G-Man
click on the links to see what G-Man and other notables have penned in 55 words

photo- coffee-world-ffffound

In the twilight by the river’s edge,

 

brightened with pure light the water and the grove

standing silent and tall – 

and as melancholy as the twilight woods,

drawing nigh, his scent fills the night air,

imbued  with a earthy sensuality as wild

as the oak and mysterious as the moon-lit grove.   

A fragrant moon, luminous 

in the darkness of the velvet night-sky sends trails of 

moonbeams that map our destiny together,

what choice do we have but to dance...




                                                                                                                                                                                                  Moments of wordless rapture 

when we are entwined in a timeless moment among the
constellations, their music is sad, and bittersweet, 

dancing barefoot on top of dewy grass 

nimbly do we pass the place 

we lived when we were young 

and the tender stalk
that never bends,  and yet...

 In the face of adversity our dance 

does not break we learn to bend,  

Dancing in this passionate storm,

through sacred groves and ancient orchards, 

we move with the flow
on the currents of grief and joy, 

 separation and union. 

Our energies mingle in a flow and fury

in a dance of tension and passion,

masculine and feminine moving 

to perfect harmony in where 

all things are possible 
where past and future meet,  

Passing yesterday into the new day 

with the dimming Milky Way, we move through
the darkness toward the sun’s first rays, 

in the morning light may be seen 
where the night before we have been.

This loveliness we share what pleasures can compare?  

We danced and played till dawn,

oh let’s start afresh and pass 
this way once more….

Take my hand. Let's dance!

Fin 

  One Shot Wednesday - hosted by Adam Dustus

photo's ffffound-tumblr