GOP Psalms

Going into an election year, one quote will not do! While the poem is an older one, and the names may have changed, it is certainly relevant.

“Individual rights are not subject to a public vote; a majority has no right to vote away the rights of a minority; the political function of rights is precisely to protect minorities from oppression by majorities (and the smallest minority on earth is the individual.”

– Ayn Rand

And last but far from least:

“Throughout history, it has been the inaction of those who could have acted; the indifference of those who should have known better; the silence of the voice of justice when it mattered most; that has made it possible for evil to triumph.”

– Haile Selassie

GOP Psalms

Bush is my Shepard

I shall know want

He maketh me lie down

On park benches

He polluteth pristine waters

He eulogizes family values

For re-election sake

Yea-

Though I walk through the valley

Of unemployment

And education cutbacks

I fear no evil

Clarence Thomas art with me

He shields me with sailors

They hooketh my tail

He leadeth me past still photos

For Helms sake

He anointeth desert sands

With blood

For mid-east oil

He enriches elitist coffers

Surely embezzlement and fraud

Shall follow him

All the days of his incumbency

And I shall dwell in the kitchen

Barefoot and pregnant forever

Bisous,

Léa

Mind’s eye

“The first casualty when war comes is truth.”

-Hiram Johnson

Mind’s eye

My father fought

A war

Years before

My birth

As I grew up

I watched him

Fight it

Again and again

His sinewy hands

Trembled

As he pried apart

Venetian blinds

Scouting the enemy invasion

Of our suburban neighborhood

Armed with a bottle of juice

A newspaper

Or any other munitions

At hand

He held his ground

Paralyzed

By his reality

 

Bisous,

– Léa

Motivation

“Insane people are always sure that they are fine. It is only the sane people who are willing to admit that they are crazy.”
-Nora Ephron

(Commentary on a relationship)

Motivation

Being with you

Reminds me of an experiment

In stimulation

– Sensory deprivation

Cézanne, Art & Poetry

It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.
Antoine de Saint-Exupery

When I judge art, I take my painting and put it next to a God made object like a tree or flower. If it clashes, it is not art.
Paul Cézanne

Fete de Cézanne

While visiting Aix-en-Provence in 2006, I had the good fortune to arrive at the beginning of fête de Cézanne. Paul Cézanne 1839 – 1906, a French artist and Post-Impressionist painter. His work was instrumental in bridging the transition from 19th century Impressionism and 20th century’s line of enquiry, Cubism.

Born in the town of Aix-en-Provence, he had a fondness for painting Mont Sainte-Victoire. He left over 60 paintings of the mountain. His studio remains as he left it. Now owned by the University, it is maintained as if he just stepped out. Even the basket of ripening apples is kept so that there is fruit in each stage and the aroma permeates the room. Over a hundred years since his death and his spirit lingers large. The grounds that surround the studio are a maze of paths dotted with work by students. I must admit to visiting more than once and it remains one of my two favorite places I have visited since first visiting France. While I do appreciate the policy of no cameras inside the studio, I do wish I had photos of it to share. You will just have to visit it yourself!

Upon returning to California from the first visit, I was approached by my friend Carol. Carol, an artist, was putting together a limited edition art book with a grant from the Art’s Council. As we talked, she asked me about art & France. I told her that “art is the loom the tapestry we know as France is woven upon.” She asked if she could quote me. Bien sur! (of course) Then she told me that she would require a poem from me that would speak of art & France. That was what brought about the writing of the poem below.
Dans le jardin de Cézanne
Meditations on Visiting Atelier Cézanne

One hundred years
After his death
The doors to his shrine
Open to the masses
I but a privileged pilgrim
A witness – I inhale deeply
The plethora of scent
Aging fruits
A wicker basket
Darkened by harvests of the past

A long shelf balanced
Across the western wall
Dusquenoy’s cupid keeps company
With the three skulls of death
Enlightenment radiates
From the northern exposure
A burst of light
Color spreads wantonly
I am humbled in each direction

Le choeur fantôme
Intones hymns of praise
Peaches, apples and pears
Whisper of fields they have known
An old apple dreams of freshness
Home is Aix-en-Provence
Sainte-Victorie
He paints their secrets
With celestial vision
And transparency

Since moving to France, I have returned to visit Atelier Cézanne and was just as moved as my first visit. Having spent six weeks exploring France on my first visit and living here for over four years, I continue to be delighted at every turn. However, I must admit that to date, my favorite places are Montmartre and Atelier Cézanne. There is no doubt that I shall return again and again.

Bisous,

Léa

Bread & marriage

“The first thing I do in the morning is brush my teeth and sharpen my tongue.”     –  Dorothy Parker

BREAD & MARRIAGE

years and years

of baking bread

bread I did not eat

did not want

the emptiness remained

feeding family

feeding others

the staff of life

kneading

always

needing

divorce

can be a beginning

i don’t bake bread

anymore

but the emptiness

has gone

other hungers

emerge

-Bisous,  Léa

Finding voice

Finding voice…

Be tells me to keep writing

Cait tells me to just write

My past tells me I can’t write

Fear writes for me

Anger writes the loudest, and is most prolific

Joy is silent, nearly invisible

Sadness drones on and on

Pain is sharp, isolated, and intense

Journals are scattered about my home

Tossed into the recesses of the car

They harbor numerous attempts of binge/purge

When moving I will devalue their loyalty

As I shove them through the shredder

The ghosts of childhood critique every effort

They silence me with threats to expose my failure

Deep inside the struggle

To break through the barriers

Quakes with revelatory thunder

Bisous,

Léa