In haiku reflection...
this grace of color
pulsing hues of knowing real
amber speaks your heart.
Rose Marie Raccioppi
Poet Laureate
Orangetown, New York
Vue de l'Asile et de la Chapelle de Saint-Remy, Vincent van Gogh, 1889.
The 1889 painting was part of the collection of ElizabethTaylor
and sold in London for 10.1 million pounds ($16 million) with fees.
Christie's Images via Bloomberg
"speaks your heart"...van Gogh always speaks to my heart as does your haiku!
ReplyDeleteTheanne, But a few of Van Gogh's works were sold by him in his own lifetime and now in competitive bids being sold for millions of dollars... The words of Starry Starry Night bring it all close to heart...
DeleteVINCENT by Don McLean
Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and gray
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
Now I understand what you tried to say to me
And 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 flowers 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
Now I understand what you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen, they did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now
For they could not love you
But still your love was true
And when no hope was left inside
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 strangers that you've met
The ragged men in ragged clothes
A silver thorn, a bloody rose
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow
Now I think I know what you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen, they're not listening still
Perhaps they never will.
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