Your colors matter
Wear the ones that speak to you
Bathe and eat them
Color can give you comfort
Artisans know this
They stimulate your dendrites
Right colors will inspire
wide selection of
homemade products crafted by
skilled artisans
They walk in spotless, pointed shoes, through burned fields
hands in front, folded in prayer.
Their talk drips honey, over the graves they dug themselves.
calling it mercy.
They are artisans of fog,
blurring horizons with smoke and mirrors.
Every wound they make is a misunderstanding,
blamed on the victims of their attacks.
They weave fig-leaf halos out of denials,
as snakes unwind and recoil in the grass.
Their smiles are taut, righteous, and rehearsed
eyes gleaming with the confidence of a practiced con.
They speak of love, but leave heart-shaped tattoos,
as mementos and curios in their wake.
To face them is to stand before a mirror,
that swears blind your reflection never existed.
They fear no reckoning.
For the wrongs are always someone else’s.
Their smugness is deaf, dumb, and blind,
born of sacred, frozen certainty,
worn like virtue naked on face and sleeve.
They polish ashes and call them grace,
reclaiming the fire for yet another fight.
They dress the wound, deny the blame,
their forgiveness ever lame—
in virtuous disdain.
The nobility, the priesthood,
The common, the slaves
A life's journey fixed,
Elected for life or
Passed from father to son.
Omens, divinations,
Predictions, reading future
They were skilled mathematicians,
Historians, keepers of knowledge
Recorded details in codices.
Books of fig bark paper
Mayans wrote, kept count
Of Sun's path, tracked Venus
With surprising Accuracy,
Marked zenith twined with beliefs
Hard workers ate well,
Worshiped their many gods
In willing exuberance
Artisans, carvers,
Traded true, cities grew
Peaceful obsidian warriors
Extravagant kings and queens
Fell to their own intelligence
Wrath of gods unfurled red-carpet
For death and destruction
Nothing to eat, nothing to carve,
Nothing to record, nothing to trade,
Nothing to fight, none left to please god
Nothing to sacrifice, simply collapsed.
They weren't spared, would we be?
The Ziggurat
So.
I am completed now,
and what have you learned
that you did not already know?
Closer to the gods, I suppose,
who seem somewhat indifferent
if you ask me.
You are the ones making all the noise.
I have no complaint.
You treat me well.
You lavished millions of man-hours
to forge and lay my bricks.
You commissioned the finest work of artisans
to inscribe my walls.
I am admired,
worshiped perhaps, by many
(not all, I notice - I will keep their secret).
I do stand tall and imposing,
and the view is quite nice.
The birds, in particular, seem to be appreciative,
catching soft thermals from my sloped sides.
They glide without effort at the pinnacle;
some even daring to land.
And that’s about it for me.
What did YOU have in mind?
Help plant bamboos
It's needful for handicrafts
Human beings would not
Have progress without this grass
Handcraft is cost as old art it's lost
Basket making is a way of life
As weaving is an old way of living
Help propagate the art of handcraft
Help artisans restore the beauty
Of handcraft creativity which handed
Down from our ancient to modern craftsmen.
Because wonder has morphed
Building an edifice of beauty
Is no longer magnificent
The plan in going to Mars
Communicating with others
From around the globe in real time
Are to believe all miraculous
Because all technology
has robbed humanity of imagination
No more sense of creation of marvel
With our own two hands
Capitalism killed dreams
Human lost trades
Few artisans left to carry on the concept
Plus very expensive materials this time
Everything is prefab and build boxed type structures
All artificial beauty are in science and technology
We no longer look for organic beauty.
First fruits brought to the Temple were not a one-off affair
They were first brought on the Pentecost right up to the New Year
Farmers, each with his own basket, formed a lively parade
Singing songs of praise while a flautist merrily played
The artisans of Jerusalem met them at the city’s gate
Welcoming those who put delicious fruits on their plate
Then the King himself placed a basket of fruit onto his shoulder
Joining the parade as a humble stakeholder
The ceremony of the First Fruits, a new beginning for us all
Glory to God for the miracle of fruit, inside the Holy Temple’s walls
_______________________________________________________
The first fruits for which the Land of Israel is blessed - wheat, barley,
grapes, figs, pomegranates, olives and dates - can be brought each
year from Shavuos/Pentecost (late May or June to Rosh Hashana/New
Year (Sept. or early October).
This is part of the Torah portion read this Saturday in synagogues
world over. See Deteronomy 26: 1-15
Went to the ROM last weekend
The Royal Ontario Museum
An absolute and total eye opener for sure
We, with our sophisticated smugness
With our feeling of superiority
Emboldened by today's amazing technological
Need to stop and take a look back
At the achievements of these artisans
From centuries gone by
Of generations with totally amazing skills
Without the aid of of today's modern technology
To help them in their endeavours
Just their hands and their inventive minds
The results of which were astounding
I stood there in awe
It was a totally mind blowing experience
Everyone needs to take a break and look back
It makes us realize what great achievements
The human mind has always been capable of
It was a jaw dropping experience!
Art
Artsy
Artisans
Articulate
Artifactual
Artificialities
Artificial intelligence
Artificial inseminations
Artificial human integrity
Artificial humana intercession*
Artificial Arnold Schwarzenegger Army**
*selective human traits for future breeders
**Houston had a problem ... Hollywood
Fey leaf cloaks are being created by faerie artisans in the midst of the veil
Maple tree is smiling, recognizing many of the offerings from his own limbs
Sycamore takes credit for a few, as does elm, but fir tree is silent
Thinking his offerings are not good enough, is something wrong with him?
It is not you, he is reassured by robin, you are my salvation in the winter.
The other trees offer me no coverage whatsoever, I count on you.
This cheers him up considerably, as he watches the witches’ movements.
They parade through the forest in their ethereal finery of tangerines and browns
Fey leaf cloaks are being created by faerie artisans in the midst of the veil
Maple tree is smiling, recognizing many of the offerings from his own limbs
Sycamore takes credit for a few, as does elm, but fir tree is silent
Thinking his offerings are not good enough, is something wrong with him?
It is not you, he is reassured by robin, you are my salvation in the winter.
The other trees offer me no coverage whatsoever, I count on you.
This cheers him up considerably, as he watches the witches’ movements.
They parade through the forest in their ethereal finery of tangerines and browns
Went to the ROM last weekend
The Royal Ontario Museum
An absolute and total eye opener for sure
We with our sophisticated smugness
With our feeling of superiority
Emboldened by today's amazing technology
Need to stop and take a look back
At the achievements of these artisans
From centuries gone by
Of generations with totally amazing skills
Without the aid of of today's technology
To help them in their endeavours
Just their hands and their inventive minds
The results of which were astounding
I stood there in awe
It was a totally mind blowing experience
Everyone needs to take a break and look back
It makes us realize what great things
The human mind has always been capable of
It was a jaw dropping experience!
Confusing moments
diffuse or strange...
They are full of meanings.
ordinary or extraordinary days,
are essentially real...
They are doctrinaire masters,
artisans of the necessary...
Days to live...!
At poetry soup manufactory,
we are all fortunate artisans
crafting blissful gilded poetry...
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