“Fruit for Thought” Louis Vuitton goes Bananas!
Louis Vuitton Exhibition – Artist, Urs Fischer – Arcimboldo
Louis Vuitton Exhibition – Artist, Urs Fischer – Arcimboldo
Image created by L.K. Thayer
“Passion is what adds so much value to life. And if you think about the things that you do, there’s so much juice potential for them if you do it.”
Fruit of life – by Frida Kahlo
“BEWARE OF THOSE
Beware of those who are bitter,
For they will never allow you
To enjoy your fruit.
Beware of those who criticize you
When you deserve some praise for an achievement,
For they secretly desire to be worshiped.
Beware of those who are needy or stingy,
For they would rather sting you
Than give you anything.
Beware of those who are always hungry,
For they will feed you to the wolves
Just to get paid.
Beware of those who speak negatively
About everything and everybody,
For a negative person will never say
A positive thing about you.
Beware of those who are bored
And not passionate about life,
For they will bore you with reasons
For not living.
Beware of those who are too focused with
Polishing and beautifying their outer shells,
For they lack true substance to understand
That genuine beauty is in the heart
That resides inside.
Beware of those who step in the path of your dreams,
For they only dream to have the ability
To take half your steps.
Beware of those who steer you away
From your heart’s true happiness,
For it would make them happy to see you
Steer yourself next to them,
Sitting with both your hearts bitter.
Those who are critical don’t like being criticized,
And those who are insensitive have a deficiency in their senses.
And finally,
Beware of those who tell you to BEWARE.
They are too aware of everything –
And live alone, scared.”
Poetry by Suzy Kassem
― Suzy Kassem, Rise Up and Salute the Sun: The Writings of Suzy Kassem
My dear beloved Cousin, artist Kari (Pratt) Bishop.
Sending you Love & healing Light.
You are a genius rich talented soul…
I love you. – L.K. Thayer
Between Jacob and Benjamin
In the kitchen in the middle of the night
between two bedrooms
my son sleeps in one, my father in the other
while my concern moves between
his limp & his lunch
his repetitions & his why
his criticism & his acceptance
his love & his love.
These two men eighty years apart
& me in the middle
between answers still asking questions
wanting to be understood & getting told what to do
telling my son its time to go & being told I shouldn’t by my father.
In the middle of the night in the kitchen
I peel an apple
watching 4 AM traffic 21 floors below Queens Boulevard
so far away from my home in California
& my birth in Eastern Europe
the end of his story
the beginning of his
worried awake by some haunting
or something I haven’t done
being in the middle of everything
the night
the passage
the place between these two men.
I eat the apple bit by bit
without a sound the traffic slips
into the middle of summer
I hear him stir & him snore
& watch the morning amber press against the cobalt
finally feeling the sleep I need
ready for surrender
I leave the last of skin and seeds
on the table in the kitchen
between parent & child.
little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won’t flinch and
I won’t blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
I won’t blame you,
instead
I will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and I won’t use it
yet.