A Meditative Challenge, Accepted & the Result- A Poem: The Blue Houses

 

Sramana Mitra is publishing a series on LinkedIn called Colors

to explore a topic that she cares deeply about: the Renaissance Mind. 

"I am just as passionate about entrepreneurship, technology, and business, as I am about art and culture. In this series, I will typically publish a piece of art – one of my paintings – and I request you to spend a minute or two deeply meditating on it." 

She requested - urged - LinkedIn members to write what came to us as we viewed her paintings, to write what came to us based on our feelings, thoughts, reactions to the piece, what thoughts it triggered, in the dialog area. She was interested to see what stimulation these pieces yielded. On this day – Les Maisons Bleues, Umaria

 

 

 Les Maisons Bleues, Umaria | Sramana Mitra, 2020 

Watercolor, Pastel, Brush Pen | 6 x 9, On Paper

 

The Blue Houses

 

No longer true blue. 

A bluer than blue sky 

bleaches walls from blue to aquamarine 

to dried waterless blue shadows 

on pasty blue-ish whitewash. 

Blue houses shaded by sun-brightened thatch. 

Where are all the children? 

Inside, in the cool blue shade. 

Too hot a sun to stay out and play catch. 

Where are all the women and the men? 

At the river for water or wash, 

and in the fields working their scorched patch.   

-mARTa weller 7/29/2020

My thoughts on the painting are mostly presented in the above poem, however, I also took a leap and imagined that the country where these houses were situated was a hot country. A country where the languages spoken might include French. And even though I never took French in school, I figured Bleue was Blue and most of us know that maison means house. I also imagined Umaria was a place name - which sounded foreign to me - an American. After I wrote the poem I looked up the name Umaria and found it was a district of Madhya Pradesh and is the district headquarters of Shahdol Division in India. I felt pretty good about my thinking processes! I also was pleased with the poem I ended up writing on a relatively spur of the moment!  

 

Poem ~ Nature's Gems

~ With Photos ~

Nature’s Gems

Raindrops and dewdrops

Glittering icy crystals

Natures delicate gems

Decorating, transforming

Dreamy heavenly blossoms

Common dandy seeds and

Dazzling frozen needles

poem- 7/25/2015 - mARTa weller

photos 2013 & 2014 by mARTa

Poem ~ Loneliness - be still

Loneliness – be still

                        by Marilyn Monroe in 1955

So-o-o-o-o many lights in the darkness

making skeletons of buildings

and life in the streets.

And the moon so full and dark.

What was it I thought about yesterday

in the streets?

It seems so far away –

long ago.

It’s good they told me what the moon was

when I was a child

for I could not understand it now.

Noises of impatience from cab drivers,

always driving – who  must drive –

hot, dusty, icy streets so they can eat,

and perhaps save for a vacation

in which they can drive their wives

all the way across the country

to see her relations.

Then the river – the part made of Pepsi Cola –

the park – thank God for the park.

Yet, I am not looking at these things.

I’m looking for my lover.

That silent river which stirs and swells itself

with whatever passes over it –

wind, rain, great ships.

I love the river –

never unmoved by anything.

Sad, sweet trees - 

I wish for you - rest

but you must be wakeful.

You must suffer

when your covering of dark golden –

even dead – leaves leave you strong and naked.

You must be –

alive – when looking dead.

Straight through

bent with wind

and bear the pain and joy

of newness on your limbs.

It’s quiet now.

And the silence is alone

except for the thunderous rumbling

of things unknown,

distant drums very present

but for the sharp sounds of piercing screams

and the whispers of things suddenly hushed

to moans beyond sadness – terror beyond fear.

The cry of things dim and too young to be known yet.

The sobs of life itself.

Loneliness – be still.

Poem ~ "Wishful Words"

This poem went through several days of cogitating before I decided on a couple words and finally came up with a title I liked. I wrote the poem to try to explain WHY I write poems. And happily, my many friends tried to help me figure out a title for the poem and gave me lovely suggestions for the words I wasn't happy with in my first draft. It was obvious that they "got" the WHY of this poem.

So here is my final (?) version:



Wishful Words 


I wish you could see what I see
- - the beauty in a moment, a hue
I wish you could feel what I see
- - the wonder in a vision, a tree
I wish you could hear my feelings
- - the magic in a memory, a smile
I wish you could touch my feelings
- - the whisper of a thought, a tear
I wish you could feel my words
- - my thoughts in a poem, a sigh


(completed March 19, 2012)

Poem ~ Snowflakes

 In honor of our "non-winter" and 
the forecast by Punxsatawney Phil 
for six more weeks of winter 
(or six more weeks for winter to arrive), 
I am posting this little poem.

               Snowflakes

                  Feather light crystals

                  float gently down,

                  Softly they blanket

                  branches velvety brown.

                  Barren grey landscape

                  now downy white,

                  Covered by snowflakes

                  twinkling diamond bright.

                                                 -mARTa weller

                                                               January 9, 2009

                    (snowflake photos from Google Images)

Poem ~ "FOG - damp, grey, dawn"

Fog
hugs the shore
muffling the roar.
Damp
thick air
misting my hair.

I walk the water-hardened sand
waiting to see the sun rise and color the land.
Distant banks of fog billow and drift
while waves crash quietly and hiss.
Water glides in with a gentle ebb and flow
as birds stand nearby, silent and slow.
The white, hot orb slowly appears
on a blanket of clouds, wet and smeared.

Dawn - Ocean City, New Jersey

Grey                             
clouds blush
coloring the hush.
Dawn
becomes day
in a quiet way.


- mARTa weller, November 2002

Poem ~ Haiku:

Green

Freshly mown hay
I close my eyes and inhale
Green heaven scent



(written by mARTa weller - August 9, 2011)

Poem~ "The Leaf"

The Leaf

It swooped down                         
and touched the ground
then made a mad dash
to the center of the road
where it suddenly stopped
and leaped into the air
and swirled and twirled
and skipped back again
the way it had come
but not all the way
for suddenly it lay
quietly at rest
in the center of the lane
till along came a car  
which stirred up the air                          (automatic setting, Olympus digital camera)
and gave it new zest
to dance with a flair
and zoom way up high
to float down from the sky
then it came to a rest
at the end of its glide
safe at last
in the tall
green grass
by the roots
of another
tree.


(written by mARTa weller - April 14, 2002)