Songs without Words, Frederic Leighton (1860)
Songs without Words
Pure water continuously runs free
Many a thirst it has power to quench
Oh how I wish moving water to be
So this desert life may quickly unclench
Each day hearing water’s songs without words
Wondering what it is trying to say
Not knowing like the singing of the birds
Until deciphered here condemned to stay
Wise lady told me words of the water
Water asking that I take her away
To a new life that would be much brighter
Than sink into the ground so cold and gray
Learned very important lesson this day
So easy to let my mind go astray
La Promenade, Renoir August Pierre (1870)
Joy in my heart to see thee standing there,
Warmth of the sun on thee providing care,
With a gentle wind toying with thy hair.
Looking at thee my heart shall not be bare.
Come closer into the shadows with me,
So that I may hear loving words from thee,
While I shall try to explain they beauty,
And why the two of us should lovers be.
Want the touch of your love until my end,
For is thee who provides needed comfort.
With each passing day my love I will send,
That we may share loving lives in concert.
Absent thy touch life be but misery,
But with thee each day life shall shine brightly.
Reclining Beauty, Fritz Zuber-Bühler (c. 1880)
Orchestra plays music this early morn,
Coaxing me back from a wondrous dreamland.
Get up quickly and shine cries the French horn,
As I rub away from my eyes the sand.
Begrudgingly my bare feet meet the floor,
Preferring to return to dream I’d come.
But can’t ignore timpani at my door,
Shaking my limp body making it numb.
Pulling me up are the violin strings,
Creating songs from the birds on the sill,
Giving the feeling of a thousand springs.
Now I’m awake eager to do your will.
You my dearest love, you are my symphony,
Nothing more treasured than just you and me.
Olive Trees, Vincent van Gogh (1889)
It’s a hot summer night, I see the moon
Placing its glow on leaves of olive trees
All is alive in the shadows of June
It is good to feel the slow moving breeze
Standing bare before the bedroom window
Breathing in rose scent in the evening air
Listening to tiny creatures below
Grasshopper coaxing mate into his lair
Felt a meaningful grip upon my hips
Sensing desire to materialize
Turning to meet her parted agile lips
Her message is clear as her striking eyes
The grasshopper makes music with his legs
Soon there’ll be bountiful grasshopper eggs
The Birth of Venus, Sandro Botticelli (c. 1485)
From the Sea
Light, bright as the sun falls into the sea
Forcing thousands of ripples to the shore
Disrupting the quietness quite pertly
Curious bubbling foam each ripple wore
Substance steadily stacks at water’s edge
When suddenly a wind came roaring in
Whirling all if it were a swirling dredge
Ceasing abruptly as it did begin
Then suddenly before my very eyes
Slowly grains of sand falling to the ground
The remaining form much to my surprise
I stood their helplessly without a sound
Such great beauty in her pure nakedness
Was the goddess of all beauty, Venus
Moonlit Beauty James Sant (c. 1900)
Stars by the millions in the evening sky
Cast their dreamy eyes upon one so pure
The moon’s glow upon this beauty does lie
The caressing wind sings its song to her
Like a bird’s feather floating down to earth
My hands come to rest on her nakedness
Touching her so softly creating mirth
Then kissing her glow with great tenderness
Responding with a long sweet sounding moan
Brushing away golden strands kissed her nape
Rolling towards me, her full beauty shone
A moment neither wanted to escape
Touching each other in magical love
As the moon and the stars watched from above
Snow Scene through a Winter Window, Henry Alexander (1870)
Under blankets, another frigid night
Could feel aching chill in my weary bones
Feared what horror there would be my first sight
Feeling confident would be many moans
Looking through button holes, saw the bright white
Tired of the piling up of winter’s snow
This freezing matter is no longer trite
Miserable stuff really must go
A death row prisoner is what I am
Give me my last meal and be done with it
Never have been fan of winter’s program
Ever bored of doing nothing but sit
For the joy of spring I hunger and thirst
Can I survive, it’s but November first