Magritte in the Morning

Fine images flow through this piece that none can deny the profundity of. Victor

OH how we can see, we can see through the veils of muslin better than any of Magritte's paintings, this green apple, the bite of which is in its own sour mystery, juicy, plastic bubbles. I would love to see the panting of it on the wall of a great Cathedral, a 'collage' projected with coloured lights and the intimate prayer sheets illustrated with it. That would be fun. And what wonderful delusions,I stride onto this page dressed in robes from the Empires and go on along the limb, along the limb right to the very tip to FALL over the edge into the sea of ancient art. Boedica (forgotten how to spell this name) comes to mind. Salvador Dali would do it more justice perhaps. Toppled Ann with love.

Breathtaking write ... these last words smash me ... delusions of grandeur. love and biggest hugs Jayne-Chloe x x x

Great poem. I especially love the last stanza. Sincerely, Hugo

The way I see this poem ; my dear Anna puts forward the idea of Rene Magritte that art, and life are 0ffer illusory perceptions that we become tuned to through our needs and desires .Our individualities that impose upon us their unique perspective of reality. The key words are delusion and illusion. One is a false belief and the other means to mislead the senses. An exploration through some brillant metaphors and imagery. A thought provoking poem dear in which you imerse yourself and your reader. B