Tag Archives: Song

Music Box – I Don’t Know Why I Love You But I Do – Clarence ‘Frogman’ Henry

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Music Attribution © Clarence ‘Frogman’ Henry, I Don’t Know Why I Love You But I Do

Video Attribution CLARENCEFROGMANVEVO

Source Attribution https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UbfJ3t3CwBc

More music from the Music Box

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Art Music Photography Poetry Quotations

Spotlight Tribute – Lata Mangeshkar – Lata’s Last Words and Lessons – Posted by Kaushal Kishore @ Kaushal Kishore

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Kaushal Kishore

During the last moments, I have seen how a person becomes calm, cool and stares at people, calls out names of near and dear ones, and sometimes smiles, probably at the futility and fragility of life so lived. In fact, a lot of things go inside the mind analysing what was that and what is now.

The iconic singer, Lata Mangeshkar (Lata Didi), who left for heavenly abode at 92 on February 6, 2022 was not an exception. She was in a hospital for quite sometime before her death. Those were the days when she was doing self introspection. A few thoughts thus emerged, were as under:

*There is nothing in this world more real than death.

*The most expensive branded car in the world stands in my garage, but now I’m carried in a wheelchair.

*Expensive clothes, expensive shoes and all expensive items of comfort of all kinds…

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Music Box – Wild is the Wind – Johnny Mathis.

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Music Attribution © Johnny Mathis, Wild is the Wind, Written by Dimitri Tiomkin and Ned Washington for the 1957 film Wild Is the Wind.

Video Attribution Serenata20101

Source Attribution https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fede33vouyc

More music from the Music Box

Thank you for your visit

goffjamesart.wordpress.com

Art Music Photography Poetry Quotations

Spotlight – deconstructed photos 39 – by ELMEDIAT @ impliedspaces

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Implied Spaces

Annotation Notes

After the crowd danced in a frantic fandango, Margrette-Yllaine died of a heart attack. According to interplanetary instructions, his body was placed in a small boat, tied to a lily with one hand, and the last letter in an unknown language covered the Mother-eye. He promised not to be a rain-forest in evening shadows. Then, for a year, he washed the river out into the yard every day – protecting the mouth of the neon radish as it opened to the brazen sea.

Sometimes the size of the weeping flea was ten pastures – there was an empty field where the green and yellow parrot hangs in the cage behind the Doors of January. The wheat sighs when the doors swing open at three. The banjo band repeats itself in the moonlight somewhere, somehow, but this stops with the end of the world’s last tear.

ephemeral dreams,

common…

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