Tuesday 25 October 2011

Gratitude...memorial to Paris...

Just Before Dawn


























The artist comes...
Hair breadths advance of dawnings light...
Laid back saunter...goatee then...
Long held desire...finally born...
Seines left bank...awash...gilded mornings light...
Misty drizzle worked the night shift...
Fades and heads for bed...
Cobalt, yellow just arrived...punching in...right on time...
Reflecting pools...splashing feet...
Steam swirls up...
Gossamer ballerinas off cobblestone...
Breezes waft...scent of fresh croissant...
Baked and warmed to honey bronze...butter drips...
Cafetière à piston...forces drive...pressing down...toward French roast...
Caffeine dark with fresh release...
Grounded whiffs from Latin climes...
Mornings bliss...again arrives...
I stop...inhale, turn, then sniff...
City of arts...
Market stirs...
Purveyors amble near, from far...
Leather classics bound, inlaid...canopied carts...
Floral constellations blaze...
Created brilliance radiates...
Redemptive tear...again it falls...
Intricate, so eloquent...
With great design it calls...
Ignored by most...
Day shouts to day...see wisdom here...and...
Night by night shows knowledge deep...then...
Florals curl and head to sleep...
Young love glides by...
Their hands entwined...
Others rowing on the Seine...
Dripping drops like gilded stones...
Circles of concentric float...
Vanish into currents deep.
Piaf croons low...
Old love she sighs...
Long long since lost...
Stumbling...shuffling sadness comes...
Fiercely grasping warm baguette...
Gauloises haze surrounds beret...
Circling blue in upward draft...
Gently turns and softly says...
Seasons, ‘mon jeune homme’...don’t lightly take...
C’est la vie...but then again...it’s very short...so live them well...
Each and every day...
Today...
Notre Dame...bells ring awake...
Humans day begins to stir...
Chorus wafts cross abstract swells...
Grandest organ growls bonjour...
Sorbonne’s youth, French chic...blow in...
Quickly stand and kisses give...
Café au lait...a cigarette...
Philosophize...then au revoir...
To...live let live...
The artist wanders west then north...
Arc de Triomphe...Champs-Élysées...
Boulevard amour, at times...
Concentric circles instead enshrine...
Blowing mad cacophony...
Passing fast, without a glance...
Architectures high climax...
They race...and miss...just feet away...
Auguste Rodin his...
‘Thinker’ waits...quiet gardens just aside...
Bronze patinas smooth, amaze...
Song of Solomon...carved in white...
The Kiss...it’s deep embrace, in marbles grace, 
Others dear...are worth a year...a month per chance...
Time to give them but a glance...
The Louvre...she calls...
Impressions wait...it’s not too late...
Monet, Van Gogh, Gauguin, Suerat...
Mona, Venus, and Versailles...
Even Eiffel, don’t be shy...
Across the ville toward Montmartre...
To catch a glance of Sacré-Coeur...
And peek as artists paint...
Wet oil moments...fleeting dreams...
Gone so far...gone too fast...
Mais Oui...a lingering lunch of French paté, a Bordeaux dry with warmth of bread...and then...too soon...Ah Paris...I leave you love, yes, once again...
Au revoir...
You stole and guard my painters soul...
And there remains the broken piece...
That left a longing ache too long...
Yet in minds eye...lives on so strong.
In early years, months of days were given to live within her strong French embrace and then through decades long, I’ve circled back to come again, each time my heart rekindled with the spirit of true living free...a dance outside the lines...how rich and blessed I’ve been...
Desires wandering heart He gives...
Again affords...a non stop flow...
Never once to be out done! 
It’s impossible, you know!
I’m thankful, stirred through the rich sauce of nostalgias reminiscence, and yet somewhat thoughtful too...how often in life I’ve buzz sawed my mornings, leaving my mouth caked sawdust and spurned my months with only skin deep encounter.
Depth demands, circling back, hovering above, chewing well, swirling around and over, time after time, whether toward the sensual or spiritual. Art and spiritual disciplines have this common golden thread to know them well.
Time...silence...solitude...reflection...rest...repentance...practice...
repetitiveness and yes, surrender...all requirements of growth toward depth.
If I am to know intimately the one who calls me son, friend, brother and whom I gratefully call Abba, the one who names me new, passionately and personally...the artist above all...(His claim, not mine)...I must go and sit, in the garden, yes, alongside ‘The Thinker,’ not leaving my brain at the door. This, a rational passionate journey in relationship...not pie in the sky, by and by. 
If otherwise, like the man from Damascus, most miserable, deceived and devoid of hope...I might just as well take the ultimate step off the proverbial cliff and leap into cosmic darkness. 
If one seeks with the cup of one’s heart full and splashing over, or dry, cracked as dust, you will find, the call floats out...promise proffered. Then He waits...asking...toasting...slow the pace, ponder, sip, swirl...drink long and deep...come weary one...rest awaits...thirst satiated.
What if?
What if His claims are really true? 
Would it affect my vision of beauty and wonder?
Would I, should I, could I...
Inhale with fuller anticipation...
Taste and chew with greater intensity...
Roll the velvet wine much longer...
View with fuller wonder...
Listen with greater clarity...
Touch with softer tenderness...
Wait with greater patience...
Love with deeper sacrifice?
Worth a wonder and a wander...a look to see...
Sure beats watchin bad TV...
Provides a touch of hope in me!
And now to you, old friend Paris...
Bonsoir...again...my...mon ami!
Soli Deo Gloria
J. Douglas Thompson...SDG
Copyright 2011




A sketch, done forty 
years ago...beings me back!

2 comments:

  1. Thanks Doug,

    Art by words, love it.

    Texture, history, culture, chaos, peace, balance, disorder, humanity, Paris is a fantastic melting pot and like good food for an athlete, it provides fuel for the Artist.
    A fantastic attribute of being an artist is that your innate senses that live on the extremes of human sensitivities gives you access to see and feel what others walk past or are oblivious to. Be ever thankful for who you are. Thanks again for your perspectives, looking forward to your next post.
    Cheers

    Phil

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  2. Thanks for this, Doug. Your words and the images they evoke call to mind my own all-too-short visits to Paris. It truly is a city unlike any other. There is something beautiful to be discovered around every corner - architecture, gardens, people creating music or art. I spoke briefly of it here, and hope that the Lord allows me to return some day.
    http://subiwilks.blogspot.com/2008/04/city-of-lights.html

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