Elephant

Large in its grotesque dark silence
… it waits in the room
My attempts to get away …
trapped under sandbags of futility…
Fleeing from it an exercise of the impossible
In silence my fate resigned
For it follows me you see

Even escaping the confines
Of the suffocating...
shrinking walls of my prison
I can count on it to …
remain two steps behind

Stealing away in my shadow
It follows … faithfully …. no …
spitefully … in it’s malice its bound to me
and me to it

And turning around …
almost in recognition of a familiar face
And see nothing …
an empty nothingness protruding from the silence
a familiar entity …
an ominous presence
Yet I do recognize it ...
before the need to embark
on a journey of painful recollection …
I know
… It’s the elephant in the room

It says nothing …
expects nothing to be said in return
It just waits …
patiently .. reminding me …
constantly reminding me

WHAT DO YOU WANT? …
WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO DO?
Say something …
say anything .. please
… dear jesus
I feel my sobs choke halfway up my throat

Will your resolve weaken
Now that your quest is successful
now that we are alone
Just you and me

No …
Now that I am alone
You see … You don’t count
For its solitude you seek
Its solitude you impose
… On me
And you have become
… my self imposed warden

Oh love of my life
Light of my roadway
You are but a memory
In the darkness that envelops me
And as the night of my existence
... embraces me
I await the breaking dawn that never comes

Had we met sooner
Before I was bound to
This entity
Of sorrow and painful regret
Lurking in the shadows
It sits
And waits
It’s waiting still

Waiting for me to finish my writing
To take the last gulp
Of this bitter cup of heartache
And in its predictability
… It offers me a refill


Copyright Johannes Cloete 2009
All rights reserved

LOVE YOU FOREVER

A mother held her new baby and
very slowly rocked him back and forth,
back and forth, back and forth.
And while she held him, she sang:

I’ll  love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
As long as I’m living
my baby you’ll be.

The baby grew.  He grew and he grew
and he grew.  He grew until he
was two years old, and he ran all around
the house.  He pulled all the books
off the shelves.  He pulled all the food
out of the refrigerator and he took his
mother’s watch and flushed it down the
toilet.  Sometimes his mother would say,
“This kid is driving me CRAZY!”

But at night time, when that two-year-old
was quiet, she opened the door
to his room, crawled across the floor,
looked up over the side of his bed;
and if he was really asleep she picked
him up and rocked him back and forth,
back and forth, back and forth.
While she rocked him she sang:

I’ll  love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
As long as I’m living
my baby you’ll be.

The little boy grew.  He grew and he grew
and he grew.  He grew until he was nine
years old.  And he never wanted to come
in for dinner, he never wanted to take a bath,
and when grandma visited he always
said bad words.  Sometimes his mother
wanted to sell him to the zoo!

But at night time, when he was
asleep, the mother quietly opened the
door to his room, crawled across
the floor and looked up over the side of
the bed.  If he was really asleep,
the picked up that nine-year-old boy
and rocked him back and forth,
back and forth, back and forth.
And while she rocked him, she sang:

I’ll  love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
As long as I’m living
my baby you’ll be.

The boy grew.  He grew and he
grew and he grew.  He grew until he was
a teenager.  He had strange friends
and he wore strange clothes and he
listened to strange music.
Sometimes the mother felt like she
Was in a zoo!

But at night time, when that teenager
was asleep, the mother opened the door
to his room, crawled across the
floor and looked up over the side
of the bed.  If he was really asleep she
picked up that great big boy and rocked
him back and forth, back and forth,
back and forth.
While she rocked him she sang:

I’ll  love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
As long as I’m living
my baby you’ll be.

That teenager grew.  He grew and he
grew and he grew.  He grew until
he was a grown-up man.  He left home
and got a house across town.

But sometimes on dark nights
the mother got into her car and drove
across town.

If all the lights in her son’s house
were out, she opened his bedroom
window, crawled across the floor,
and looked up over the side of his bed.
If that great big man was really
asleep she picked him up and rocked
him back and forth, back and forth,
back and forth.
And while she rocked him she sang:

I’ll  love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
As long as I’m living
my baby you’ll be.

Well, that mother, she got older.
She got older and older and older.
One day she called up her son and said,
“You’d better come see me because
I’m very old and sick.”
So her son came to see her.
When he came in the door she tried
to sing the song.  She sang:

I’ll love you forever,
I’ll like you for always ...

But she couldn’t finish because she
was too old and sick.

The son went to his mother.
He picked her up and rocked her
back and forth, back and forth,
back and forth.
And he sang this song:

I’ll  love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
As long as I’m living
my Mommy you’ll be.

When the son came home that night,
he stood for a long time
at the top of the stairs.

Then he went into the room
where his very new baby daughter
was sleeping.  He picked her up in
his arms and very slowly rocked
her back and forth, back and forth,
back and forth.
And while he rocked her he sang.

I’ll  love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
As long as I’m living
my baby you’ll be.

Robert Munsch 1945

have you ever been in love?

have you ever been in love?
it's scary like a test
you're vulnerable as a dove
it opens your chest

as it opens up your whole heart
someone gets inside you
messing you up from the start
and make you feel blue
distorting all your senses
you build many defenses

you build up a whole suit of armor,
nothing can hurt and your heart imprison
then one stupid person a real charmer
no different from any other stupid person
then wanders into your stupid life
you're no longer free from strife

you give them a piece of you.
they didn't ask for it, it's true
they did something dumb one day
like kiss you or smile at you that way
then your life isn't your own anymore
you're showing your peace the door

love takes hostages
it tears down bridges
it gets inside you from the start
and then begins to eat your heart

it leaves you crying alone in the darkness,
so simple a phrase can make you helpless
like 'maybe we should be just friends'
how can those words make amends
it turns into a splinter of glass
working its way into your heart
It seems the pain won't pass

it hurts,
you're unable to change the station
and its not just in the imagination
and believe me its not just in the mind
it's a soul-hurt, the ache makes you blind

a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain
and now who is there to blame
will you then ... do it again
it's only a matter of when

Copyright 2009
Johannes Cloete
All Rights Reserved

while you are sleeping

The sun still rises before it later fades
after the night still yields its twilight shades
while you are sleeping

Lips will smile and tears will fall
as the world revolves; without pause at all
while you are sleeping

Daily tasks will all resume
as flowers on your chest will bloom
while you are sleeping

Eyes now see, that once were blind
as your friendship you leave behind
while we are weeping

You viewed the world through beautiful eyes
and you've left unable to hear our cries
while you are sleeping

May now your dreams be treasure laced
forgotten, the sorrows you have faced
while you are sleeping

good bye my dearest
good bye my heart

Copyright 2009
Johannes Cloete
All Rights Reserved

Night Night

Here's a magical feather - soft and white
feel it stroke your neck and whisper
Night-night

Here's a magical feather - soft and white
feel it stroke your shoulders and whisper
Night-night

Here's a magical feather - soft and white
feel it stroke your chest and whisper
Night-night

Here's a magical feather - soft and white
feel it stroke your tummy and whisper
Night-night

Here's a magical feather - soft and white
feel it stroke your legs and whisper
Night-night

Here's a magical feather - soft and white
feel it stroke your feet and whisper
Night-night

Here's a magical feather - soft and white
Hold it in your hands now and whisper
Night-night

Spring Time

Hooray!!! Spring is nearly here
My vision I say has gone all monocular
I pretend to only have one eye this time of year
So all I can see is the spring time spectacular

The spectacular is the new season’s fantastic party
Food, drink, music and dancing the night away
I get to dance the night away with my dearest hearty
As usual she will ask me on vacation, and I will say...

Sure ... where shall we go this year?
Somewhere with a nice peaceful hush
Romantic with the sound of the waterfall we hear
Or go on adventure with an adrenalin rush

I don’t mind where we go; it’s a springtime break
It starts the day after the spring time spectacular
Now I’m dreaming of what to take, when BANG! on my desk I awake
My friend says hey, I asked if you knew the meaning of monocular

I belong to you

I became aware of you as I felt my heart glide
I felt your presence the laws of physics I defied
I tried to deny it in my mind but my heart felt it
I’m trying to be calm but my resistance melted
My defenses I thought strong, my feelings secured
Through the cracks I’ve fallen, my heart captured
I’m in a dream world filled with beauty and song
To reality in vain I’ve tried to return for so long

Before my cool runs out I’m trying hard
Only divine intervention can keep me barred
Here I found my chance for winning or learning
To put an end to my hesitation for I’m yearning
For you it’s time to end my resistance
I belong to you lets close the distance

I wonder if your defenses down I’ll pull
To see through my eyes a love that’s full
So cancel your plans and set yourself free
You’ll find a pure love that’s there for me
Of the same large family you and I are part
You deserve the love I’ve stored in my heart

There’s nothing really complicated about it
It’s our fate, I belong to you and I won’t quit
Do you have the need to feel closer too?
A tiny kiss on your neck may convince you

Intently I’m studying myself closely in the mirror
Perhaps I can see what you’ll see once I’m nearer
I’m only an ordinary guy that’s completely fallen in love
And dreaming how your hand will fit mine like a glove
I’m standing so close the mirror’s all fogged
So I just drew a little picture and laughed

What I’m trying to say I’ve been blind
My dearest a better reason I cannot find
To shed my vanities as I’m feeling my complete awakening
And just accept what all along my heart’s been planning

To my hesitation I’m going to put an end
No longer can I wait so these words I send
I belong to you

please can I have that girl who ...

please can I have that girl who sings to me

and my heart sings along happy and free
she just knows how my cheekbones in smile to raise
she recalls my every comment poem or phrase
originated from my inner TS Eliot I reproduce

words imperfect and rhyme sometimes loose
and she has them stored in the back of her mind
from the soles of her lips ready to impart in kind

please can I have that girl that fills my heart with song

and in whose soft caring eyes I can do nothing wrong
who with orbit fresh breath and colgate smile
who talks with her Janet-Jackson-voice while
in a breathless reassuring steamy-mama-sound
a preparation of a slow seduction can be found
of my mind which me with silence arm
who perceives compliments and charm

as the overflowing refuse pit
its just too typical for my wit

please can I have that girl friend who
just knows that I don’t want that rue

who, so I can be happy will not change
if I collapse broken anemic out of range
broken with tears as the ill treated animal of the plains
that wants nothing but fresh dry grass to mend its pains
from the vast fields of the polluted earth

and knows not of any better since birth
who will gently pick me up

as the lioness collects her cub

safely in the clutch of her mouth

whether I’m here, north or south

A Lover’s Passion

I blame you not my dear
For the fault was mine I fear
Had I not been made of flesh and bone
And reached up into the sky’s dome
And climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet
As I breathed the fuller air a larger day I met

For in the wilderness of my passion
A better, clearer song I did fashion
And for a freer freedom a torch I lit
Against many wrongs I sent my wit

And scorched these lips of mine
Into kisses that bled for some time
And in the fiercest bright blue light
As you seem like an angel’s sight
As in a paradise of splendor lush and green
A gift from heaven you had surely been

And as I was following this path of mine
Where Dante saw the suns of seven circles shine
And I saw the heavens opening by pure chance
The same as when the Florentine did advance

And the world would have crowned me with fame
But here I am now crownless and without name
And you would find me kneeling at first light of an African dawn
Find me at the entrance of the house of fame for which I was born

And together with the famous and wise I used to often sit
Where the eldest together with the young was equally fit
And there was good fortune bountiful
And their blessings were flowing plentiful
And the famous would look upon me with praise
And with a kiss on my forehead me they did raise
And with their noble affection and charm
They would hug me with outstretched arm

And at springtime when the apple’s blossom
Brushed the beautiful dove’s burnished bosom
And two young lovers in an orchard under a tree would lay
They would have read the story of our love back in the day

Would have read the legend of my passion
Known the bitter secret of my heart
Kissed as we kissed in similar fashion
But never parted as we are fated to part

For the crimson flower of our life
Is eaten by the cankerworm of truth
And no hand can gather up
The fallen withered petals
Of the rose of youth

Yet I am not sorry that I loved you
What else was I supposed to do?
For the hungry teeth of time devour
And the silent-footed years pursue

Rudderless sideways into the hurricane we drift
Without any introduction or warning it’s so swift
And when once the storm of youth is past
Death the silent pilot comes at last

And within the grave there is no pleasure
Where blindworm get fat beyond measure
Where desire shudders into ashes devoid of care
And the tree of passion has no fruit to bear

What else than to love you was I to do?
God’s own mother was less dear than you
And less dear than that glorious moment’s prize
When Aphrodite like a lily from the sea did rise

I lived my poems it's a decision that I have made
And though youth is gone in wasted days I fade
I have found the lover’s crown of leaves and thorn
Far greater than the poet’s crown of laurels borne

The Last Word

Creep into your narrow bed,
Creep, and let no more be said!
In vanity you be steadfast
Eventually you'll break at last.

Let your lengthy contentions cease!
Let bickering drift away in the breeze
Let them have it how they will!
You are weary, best be still.

You’ve been out-talked, teased and jeered.
At perfection greater than yours they sneered
People better than you have tried
In vain they all have died

Try and try again you may,
Your constant wisdom to give away
Then stop and in silence be dumb
Let the victors when they come
When the forts of foolishness fall
Find your body on the wall

Do you feel like giving up the fight?

On your cold gray stones, breaks the sea
If my mouth could only speak the feelings that arise in me
Carefree the children shouting on the beach at play
Happily the sailor sings in his boat at bay

In dreamlike state seeing your face now disappeared
I’m still hearing the sound of your voice gone silent
At the foot of your rocky crags, breaks the sea
The tender grace of a day long lost, will never come back to me

And in the silence of my lips my thoughts spoke questions

What have I been fighting for? Can I remember what I’ve been living for? Can I feel it taking my breath away? Can I feel myself suffocating? Can I feel? Have I replaced my pride with pain? Have I come here to hide? Did someone break my heart inside? Have I grown weary? Do I feel like giving up the fight, you and I? Am I in ruins?

And in brilliance of light from white sands
I glanced up and noticed your radiance
In your happy voice your eyes betrayed a pain
And in the silence of my lips my thoughts spoke questions

Have you reached the end of the road? Do you feel yourself losing all sense of control? Have your thoughts taken their toll, and you feel them breaking the spirit of your soul? Did your faith walk on broken glass, and now await the emptiness to pass? Does anything last? Have you grow weary too? Do you feel like giving up the fight, you and I? Are you in ruins?

Have we tried living on our own, after it all burned down? Did we stand too close to the fire, searching forgiveness? Do we understand how it feels, when it’s time to live and let lie and we can’t get another try? Did something inside our hearts die? Have we grown weary? Do we feel like giving up the fight, you and I? Are we in ruins?

As I glanced back up there you were still
And as the sun shone brightly on the white sands the pain had left

my heart, my belief

I pretend there's nothing wrong. But inside I feel the hollow emptiness grow. So I hid my heart in a nest of roses, out of the sun's way, hidden apart. In a bed softer than the soft white snow. Under the roses I hid my heart. Why would it sleep not? Why should my heart be so restless, when never a leaf of the rose-tree stirred?

Lie still, I told my heart, for the wind was quieting down, and mild leaves were muffling the keen sun's rays. Lie still, for the wind on the warm seas dozes, and the wind is more restless yet than you are. Is there a thought in you still stinging as a thorn's wound? Why do the fangs of hope deferred torment you so? Is that what bids the peace of your slumber farewell?

The green land's name that a charm encloses was never mapped in the traveler’s chart. And the sweet fruit that grows on its trees was never sold in the merchant's mart.

In the world of dreams I have chosen my part, to sleep for a season and hear no word of true love's truth or of light love's art.

And I pretend there's nothing wrong. But inside I feel the hollow emptiness grow. And a cloudburst came over me … and I felt my spirit break, for I had lost all of my belief. And realizing my mistake, I whispered a prayer in my heart.

And as through a timeless void, I felt my heart speak to me quietly. I need love … Divine love. Please forgive me, for I understand that I've been blind. Love is what I need to help me know my name. Through the cloudburst came my insight and I felt my spirit fly as if through centuries. And in a flash of lightning I felt my reality. And I realized what it takes.

The message from my heart was plain to see. Make me a promise. Show me how to live. For I know you won't forsake me. I want to believe ... I have to believe

I speak not your name

I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not … your name. For there’s grief in the sound … there’s guilt in the blame. Will I ever be able to feel again? May I hold you one last time? Maybe I will feel something again. Deception leaves a metallic taste ... the untruthfulness is more than I can bear … I can no longer convince myself … when I speak to you, my voice I no longer hear… and it rips me apart. Why am I trying to hold on… when the pain is more than I can bear? Perhaps if I can forgive me … forgive you … forgive us …but the scars wont heal.

How do we play our broken strings? How do we feel something that our hearts won’t allow? How can I continue telling you something that’s not real?

The truth hurts … but lying is worse… the pain of it too much. How can I give anymore … when my love for you is different now? How do we play house in the ruins of us? It’s like running back into the fire, when there’s nothing left to save. It’s like chasing the very last train, when you already know it’s too late.

I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not … your name. For there’s grief in the sound … there’s guilt in the blame. The tear that now burns my cheek reveals the deep thoughts dwelling in the silence of my heart. Thoughts too brief for our passion … too long for our peace. Where are all those hours gone now … will their joy or bitterness ever cease? You may have all the happiness … mine will be the guilt.

Forgive me my dearest .. forsake me if you wish. Your heart is stronger than mine, and no one shall ever break it .. whatever may become of us. For now … the bitterness in this soul I cannot shake .. and our days appear more fleeting now, and our moments more sweet.

One sigh of your sorrow, one look of your love … and I’m captivated .. rewarded … reproached.

You warm my heart

Sweet friend of mine. I have reached these lands newly, by a route obscure and lonely, haunted by ill angels only. With mountains toppling into seas without a shore and oceans that restlessly aspire, that surge unto skies of fire. With lakes endlessly outspread lone and dead, their waters still and chilly. Yet I felt warm as I thought of you.

In the cold of dawn, where the traveler meets sheeted memories of the past, shrouded forms that start and sigh as they pass the wanderer by. White-robed forms of friends long given in agony, to the earth and heaven. And as the sun rose, and gave warmth and light freely, I thought of you my dearest friend.

Sweet friend of mine. How soothing your kind companionship warms my heart and refreshes my soul. Thank you for coming into my life.

My Gift, My Sacrifice

As I watched the crimson colored clouds bidding the dying sun farewell, my disquieting thoughts prevailed. Of light and darkness … harmony and discord … beauty and fear … freedom and entrapment.

I was thinking about you tonight. And I was thinking about my gift … My sad sweet gift, to shine light upon darkness and wash away gloom … the only limitation was its being ineffective on you my dearest. For against your deep sorrow it had no use. So I hid it … buried it. For the perversity of it was a constant reminder of my sacrifice. In graceless mutiny misrepresenting goodness I dwelt, until it was impossible to continue.

The shiny skies were swimming now in the moonlit expanse. As ray lit clouds gleamed glory, yet highlighting a dead spot where the light lay spent to darkness. How this serene landscape was being threatened by thoughts of bitter self reproaches as I dealt them silently.

My love, how fleeting our serenity was? … under constant threat by tormented reality … saturated by sadness. Was I beginning to lose my mind in the depths of your despair? Frail limitation prevented me from being your companion on your journey through hell. In this I failed you. By cowardice I was distanced … whisked away to the light … away from suffocating darkness.

And how I abandoned you in the darkness of your prison … please forgive me. Was not the warmth of my love for you enough … enough to melt the ice from your heart? How can I blame you, when it’s me I can’t forgive?

You are my greatest sacrifice … for my gift I can no longer hide.

Sadness

Would that I were a dry well, and that the people tossed stones into me, for that would be easier than to be a spring of flowing water that the thirsty pass by, and from which they avoid drinking. – Kahlil Gibran (January 6, 1883 – April 10, 1931)

A deep sadness has taken my heart ransom. There is no price to pay for its release, for the kidnapper has no demands, other than to inflict pain. There are days when it seems that I will certainly drown in this immeasurable well of agony. How has this beautiful sad sweet life come to this? I keep asking myself rhetorically, hungrily awaiting an answer. My mind continually reasons around in perfect circles, as minds often do, only producing more questions, and no answers. No approach seems to have much success and I abandon all hope of understanding. Answers are as evasive as peace and closure.

I want to run naked shouting at the top of my lungs crying laughing sobbing … immersed in pain … enveloped by sad heartbroken emptiness … where I fall I wish to remain … for the dust to cover me, hide me, comfort me. Instead I willingly consume this poison in small benign meticulous dosages; its thoughts … memories … sorrow … happiness ... pain. I’m looking at this strangely familiar face in the mirror, it still looks pleasant although its eyes reveals perseverance turned weak; its mouth is silent while my heart is screaming.

It’s over and impossible to save. My soul is hollow. I am surrounded by silent passersby, a silent nightmare where nobody speaks. I’m offering sand deliveries in the middle of the Sahara, trapped on this lonely island where hopes and dreams turn into ashes, and illusions are dashed into broken mirrors.

As the sun sets

The last bits and pieces of daylight
before the clouded curtain of a long night:
deep reds and purples of a burning chalice
colors of mourning
signaling the end of another day.
As the trees and sky gradually melt and fade
into one another, the last light
takes with it not only our ability to see
but all the bright things of a lazy afternoon.
Dreams and wishes, a day's delight - disappeared,
leaving us alone within the darkness.

The truck arrived with merciless intent. An army marched in knowingly and determined. I watched memories of a life together carried out, one by one. I felt pieces of my heart go along and melt in the clear sunlight before it could make it to the rusty belly of the beast parked in the driveway.

These walls now shared the emptiness in my heart, but I did not notice it … for the crowded suffocating heartache drove me outside. Outside .. outside to the clear sunlight and the crisp cold air as the sun was setting … watching. Watching the truck rev up and disappear into the sunset where it came from … never to return.

The ache in my chest sends its poison through my veins, pulsating … beating a steady rhythm … ignorant to the screaming agony raging through this weathered spirit.
Inevitability is blazing its trumpet of finality. As the sun sets I’m down on my knees, praying for a sunrise.

The Prophet's Candle

Some came to teach
and others to learn,
We each chose the time
to which we were born.
First to seek and later to find
The Prophet's Candle
now left behind.

So...

I write these words
upon the dawn
That they might rise
with the newborn sun,
And they shall be as a
breath of wind
Silently sung in the
hearts of men.

A Fathers Love

As we gaze into a fathers eyes
We see such love
We stand in awe
At all he is made of

Strong enough to protect us
Yet, gentle enough to heal
His body though tired
Seems to be made out of steel

A fathers love surely
Knows no end
His goal in life
To be our one true friend

He's always giving...
Wanting nothing in return
Through his lessons in life
We often learn

He teaches us to be strong
Loving and kind
Through this...
Secrets treasures, we will find

If we realize that our father
Is always there
Then he is blessed and God has answered
His prayer



By Trish Stinson (c) 2002 ~~ 5/6/2002

What do you dream of, my angel

What do you dream of, my angel?
Do you dream, like me, of happiness?
A place where everything asked is served
And everything deserved,
given?

Do you dream of hope, my angel?



What do you pray for, my angel?

I pray for you.
I pray that you are loved and happy.
For you see, my angel,
I am only human
And cannot repay what you have given me.

So, what do you pray, my angel?
And what do you dream, my angel?
For I hope
there is nothing less you receive.

"Ladywolfspirit" the Alpha

Arched Across The Sky

by Hope Smith
Copyright 1999 All rights Reserved

Rainbows created my imagination
As it arched across the sky
On one end there sat you
At the other end, there sat I

Imagining I could slide across
Over the rainbow to the end
There would be my pot of gold
The sweet love of my dear friend

The rainbow is a connection
Like a bridge from me to you
It appears joined by sunlight
Then the gray skies turn to blue

Arriving after the rainstorms
It became so evident to me
Thoughts of love follow rainbows
They arched right across the sea

A colorful arching rainbow
It has no gate, it has no door
It reaches from friend to friend
It arches from shore to shore

I smiled up today at the sky
How far would my loving smile go
It slid right over to the other side
The other end of the colored rainbow

Life is a miracle

Life is a miracle

Life is a miracle
Don't let it slip away,
Open your heart to others
Give of yourself each day

See the beauty in everyone
Regardless of where they've been,
Some have a difficult journey
And really need a friend.

Share your gifts and talents
Listen with your heart.
Do the things you dream about
But don't have time to start.

Show someone that you care,
Be gracious and forgiving
Life is never fair.

Hold on to your courage
You may need it down the road,
We all have a cross to bear
It could be a heavy load.

If you practice all these things
No matter where you roam,
You may find both sun and rain
But you'll never feel alone!

An Artist

An artist is a creature driven by demons.

He doesn’t know why they choose him and he’s usually too busy to wonder why.

- William Faulkner

Curiosity

may have killed the cat; more likely
the cat was just unlucky, or else curious
to see what death was like, having no cause
to go on licking paws, or fathering
litter on litter of kittens, predictably.

Nevertheless, to be curious
is dangerous enough. To distrust
what is always said, what seems
to ask odd questions, interfere in dreams,
leave home, smell rats, have hunches
do not endear cats to those doggy circles
where well-smelt baskets, suitable wives, good lunches
are the order of things, and where prevails
much wagging of incurious heads and tails.

Face it. Curiosity
will not cause us to die--
only lack of it will.
Never to want to see
the other side of the hill
or that improbable country
where living is an idyll
(although a probable hell)
would kill us all.
Only the curious
have, if they live, a tale
worth telling at all.

Dogs say cats love too much, are irresponsible,
are changeable, marry too many wives,
desert their children, chill all dinner tables
with tales of their nine lives.

Well, they are lucky. Let them be
nine-lived and contradictory,
curious enough to change, prepared to pay
the cat price, which is to die
and die again and again,
each time with no less pain.

A cat minority of one
is all that can be counted on
to tell the truth. And what cats have to tell
on each return from hell
is this: that dying is what the living do,
that dying is what the loving do,
and that dead dogs are those who do not know
that dying is what, to live, each has to do.

by Alastair Reid

Moonlight

Your soul is like a landscape fantasy,
Where masks and Bergamasks, in charming wise,
Strum lutes and dance, just a bit sad to be
Hidden beneath their fanciful disguise.

Singing in minor mode of life's largesse
And all-victorious love, they yet seem quite
Reluctant to believe their happiness,
And their song mingles with the pale moonlight,

The calm, pale moonlight, whose sad beauty, beaming,
Sets the birds softly dreaming in the trees,
And makes the marbled fountains, gushing, streaming--
Slender jet-fountains--sob their ecstasies.

Paul Verlaine

Longing

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times,
A messenger from radiant climes,
And smile on thy new world, and be
As kind to others as to me.

Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth,
Come now, and let me dream it truth.
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
And say My love! why sufferest thou?

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.




Matthew Arnold (1822 - 1888)

A Dream Within A Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?



Un sogno in un sogno

Prendete questo bacio sulla fronte!
E, in partenza da ora,
Così tanto vorrei avow -
Tu non sei sbagliato, che ritengono
Che i miei giorni sono stati un sogno;
Ma se la speranza è volato via
In una notte, o in un giorno,
In una visione, o in mancanza,
È quindi meno andata?
Tutto ciò che vediamo o sembrano
È un sogno, ma all'interno di un sogno.

Io sto in mezzo il rombo
Di una terra tormentata-surf,
E io tengo in mano
Grani di sabbia d'oro -
Come pochi! ancora il modo in cui creep
Attraverso le mie dita alla profonda,
Mentre io piangere, mentre io piangere!
O Dio! non riesco a cogliere
Con una maggiore chiusura?
O Dio! non riesco a salvare
Uno spietato da onda?
È tutto ciò che vediamo o sembrano
Ma un sogno all'interno di un sogno?





Edgar Allan Poe

My flower, My love

Your petals bloomed around my face
and your leaves scraped my skin.
I fell into your softness
and your sweet nectar.

I was enveloped in your love
and devoured by your soul.
I was, and forever will be,
your sun in which you thrive from.

And you, my flower, will forever
feed me with your sweets.
Into night and into day
we live in each other's air.



Versione italiana:

Il mio fiore, Il mio amore

Il tuo petali fioriti attorno alla mia faccia
e lascia il tuo raschiati mia pelle.
Sono caduto nella tua dolcezza
e il tuo dolce nettare.

Mi è stato avvolto nel tuo amore
e divorato dalla vostra anima.
Sono stato, e sempre sarà,
la vostra domenica in cui si da prosperare.

E voi, il mio fiore, sarà per sempre
Feed Me con il tuo caramelle.
Nella notte e in giorni
viviamo gli uni negli altri aerei.




by Amanda Alicia Smith

Yesterday and Today

The gold-hoarder walked in his palace park and with him walked his troubles. And over his head hovered worries as a vulture hovers over a carcass, until he reached a beautiful lake surrounded by magnificent marble statuary.

He sat there pondering the water which poured from the mouths of the statues like thoughts flowing freely from a lover's imagination, and contemplating heavily his palace which stood upon a knoll like a birth-mark upon the cheek of a maiden. His fancy revealed to him the pages of his life's drama which he read with falling tears that veiled his eyes and prevented him from viewing man's feeble additions to Nature.

He looked back with piercing regret to the images of his early life, woven into pattern by the gods, until he could no longer control his anguish. He said aloud, "Yesterday I was grazing my sheep in the green valley, enjoying my existence, sounding my flute, and holding my head high. Today I am a prisoner of greed. Gold leads into gold, then into restlessness and finally into crushing misery.

"Yesterday I was like a singing bird, soaring freely here and there in the fields. Today I am a slave to fickle wealth, society's rules, and city's customs, and purchased friends, pleasing the people by conforming to the strange and narrow laws of man. I was born to be free and enjoy the bounty of life, but I find myself like a beast of burden so heavily laden with gold that his back is breaking.

"Where are the spacious plains, the singing brooks, the pure breeze, the closeness of Nature? Where is my deity? I have lost all! Naught remains save loneliness that saddens me, gold that ridicules me, slaves who curse to my back, and a palace that I have erected as a tomb for my happiness, and in whose greatness I have lost my heart.

"Yesterday I roamed the prairies and the hills together with the Bedouin's daughter; Virtue was our companion, Love our delight, and the moon our guardian. Today I am among women with shallow beauty who sell themselves for gold and diamonds.

"Yesterday I was carefree, sharing with the shepherds all the joy of life; eating, playing, working, singing, and dancing together to the music of the heart's truth. Today I find myself among the people like a frightened lamb among the wolves. As I walk in the roads, they gaze at me with hateful eyes and point at me with scorn and jealousy, and as I steal through the park I see frowning faces all about me.

"Yesterday I was rich in happiness and today I am poor in gold.

"Yesterday I was a happy shepherd looking upon his head as a merciful king looks with pleasure upon his contented subjects. Today I am a slave standing before my wealth, my wealth which robbed me of the beauty of life I once knew.

"Forgive me, my Judge! I did not know that riches would put my life in fragments and lead me into the dungeons of harshness and stupidity. What I thought was glory is naught but an eternal inferno."

He gathered himself wearily and walked slowly toward the palace, sighing and repeating, "Is this what people call wealth? Is this the god I am serving and worshiping? Is this what I seek of the earth? Why can I not trade it for one particle of contentment? Who would sell me one beautiful thought for a ton of gold? Who would give me one moment of love for a handful of gems? Who would grant me an eye that can see others' hearts, and take all my coffers in barter?"

As he reached the palace gates he turned and looked toward the city as Jeremiah gazed toward Jerusalem. He raised his arms in woeful lament and shouted, "Oh people of the noisome city, who are living in darkness, hastening toward misery, preaching falsehood, and speaking with stupidity...until when shall you remain ignorant? Unit when shall you abide in the filth of life and continue to desert its gardens? Why wear you tattered robes of narrowness while the silk raiment of Nature's beauty is fashioned for you? The lamp of wisdom is dimming; it is time to furnish it with oil. The house of true fortune is being destroyed; it is time to rebuild it and guard it. The thieves of ignorance have stolen the treasure of your peace; it is time to retake it!"


At that moment a poor man stood before him and stretched forth his hand for alms. As he looked at the beggar, his lips parted, his eyes brightened with a softness, and his face radiated kindness. It was as if the yesterday he had lamented by the lake had come to greet him. He embraced the pauper with affection and filled his hands with gold, and with a voice sincere with the sweetness of love he said, "Come back tomorrow and bring with you your fellow sufferers. All your possessions will be restored."

He entered his palace saying, "Everything in life is good; even gold, for it teaches a lesson. Money is like a stringed instrument; he who does not know how to use it properly will hear only discordant music. Money is like love; it kills slowly and painfully the one who withholds it, and it enlivens the other who turns it upon his fellow man."

Khalil Gibran



Versione italiana:

Ieri e Oggi


L'oro-hoarder camminato nel suo palazzo e parco camminato con lui la sua difficoltà. E sul suo capo oscillato preoccupazioni aleggia come un avvoltoio su una carcassa, fino a raggiungere un bel lago circondato da magnifici marmo statuario.

E sabato ci meditandole cui versa l'acqua dalla bocca dei pensieri, come le statue che fluisce liberamente da un amante della fantasia, e contemplando pesantemente il suo palazzo che sorgeva su un poggio, come una nascita del marchio su una guancia di una fanciulla. La sua fantasia, ha rivelato a lui le pagine della sua vita, il dramma che ha letto con le lacrime che rientrano velato i suoi occhi e gli hanno impedito di vedere l'uomo debole aggiunte alla Natura.

Ha guardato indietro con piercing rammarico per le immagini della sua prima vita, tessuti in modello da divinità, fino a che egli non potrebbe più controllare la sua angoscia. Egli ha detto ad alta voce, "Ieri ho avuto le mie pecore al pascolo nel verde della valle, godendo la mia esistenza, il mio suono di flauto, e tenendo alta la mia testa. Oggi sono un prigioniero di avidità. Oro conduce in oro, poi in agitazione e, infine, nella frantumazione miseria.

"Ieri mi è stato come un canto di uccelli, svettanti liberamente qua e là nei campi. Oggi sono uno schiavo di volubile ricchezza, le regole della società, della città e delle dogane, e ha acquistato gli amici, le persone gradevoli da conformi alle leggi strane e strette di l'uomo. Sono nato per essere libero e godere della grazia della vita, ma mi trovo come una bestia da soma talmente carico d'oro che la sua schiena è rottura.

"Dove sono le ampie pianure, il canto ruscelli, la pura brezza, la vicinanza della Natura? Dove è la mia divinità? Ho perso tutto! Nulla rimane salvare la solitudine che mi rattrista, l'oro che mi ridicules, schiavi che maledizione per la mia schiena, e un palazzo che ho eretta come una tomba per la mia felicità, in cui la grandezza ho perso il mio cuore.

"Ieri ho roaming praterie e le colline insieme con la figlia di beduini; Virtù è stato il nostro compagno, il nostro Amore gioia, e la luna il nostro custode. Oggi sono tra le donne con superficiale bellezza stessi che vendono per l'oro e diamanti.

"Ieri ero spensierata, la condivisione con tutti i pastori la gioia della vita, mangiare, giocare, lavorare, cantare e ballare insieme per la musica del cuore la verità. Oggi mi trovo tra la gente come un agnello paura tra i lupi. Come ho camminare nelle strade, hanno lo sguardo verso di me con gli occhi e il punto di odio verso di me con sdegno e di gelosia, e come ho rubare attraverso il parco vedo accigliato facce tutte su di me.

"Ieri mi è stato ricco di felicità e di oggi sono poveri in oro.

"Ieri ero un felice pastore in cerca della sua testa come un re misericordioso guarda con piacere alla sua contenti soggetti. Oggi sono uno schiavo in piedi davanti la mia ricchezza, la mia ricchezza che mi ha rubato la bellezza della vita, una volta ho conosciuto.

"Mi perdoni, il mio giudice! Non sapevo che avrebbe messo ricchezze mia vita in frammenti e mi portano in sotterranei di durezza e la stupidità. Quello che ho pensato è stata gloria nulla è eterno, ma un inferno".

Egli stesso raccolte stancamente e camminava lentamente verso il palazzo, sospirando e ripetere ", è questo ciò che la gente chiama ricchezza? E 'questo il dio mi serve e adorare? E' questo che io cerco di terra? Perché non posso fare il commercio per uno particella di appagamento? Chi mi vende una bella pensata per una tonnellata di oro? Chi mi darebbe un momento d'amore per una manciata di gemme? Chi mi concede un occhio che può vedere gli altri 'cuori, e prendere tutte le mie casse in baratto? "

Come ha raggiunto il palazzo porte si voltò e guardò verso la città come Geremia guardava verso Gerusalemme. Ha sollevato le braccia in doloroso lamento e gridò: "Oh gente noisome della città, che vivono nelle tenebre, accelerare verso la miseria, la predicazione di menzogna, e parlando con la stupidità ... fino a quando si deve rimanere ignoranti? Unità quando si devono rispettare nella sporcizia di vita e di continuare a disertare i suoi giardini? Perché si tattered indossare abiti di seta, mentre la ristrettezza vesti di bellezza della natura è moda per voi? La luce della saggezza è oscuramento; è il momento di fornire con l'olio. La casa di vera fortuna è stato distrutto; è il momento di ricostruire e di guardia. L'ignoranza di ladri hanno rubato il tesoro della tua pace; è il momento di riprendere it! "

Come ha raggiunto il palazzo porte si voltò e guardò verso la città come Geremia guardava verso Gerusalemme. Ha sollevato le braccia in doloroso lamento e gridò: "Oh gente noisome della città, che vivono nelle tenebre, accelerare verso la miseria, la predicazione di menzogna, e parlando con la stupidità ... fino a quando si deve rimanere ignoranti? Unità quando si devono rispettare nella sporcizia di vita e di continuare a disertare i suoi giardini? Perché si tattered indossare abiti di seta, mentre la ristrettezza vesti di bellezza della natura è moda per voi? La luce della saggezza è oscuramento; è il momento di fornire con l'olio. La casa di vera fortuna è stato distrutto; è il momento di ricostruire e di guardia. L'ignoranza di ladri hanno rubato il tesoro della tua pace; è il momento di riprendere it! "


In quel momento un povero uomo era davanti a lui e si estendeva il suo canto l'elemosina. Come egli guardava il mendicante, la sua bocca parted, i suoi occhi si illuminò con una morbidezza e il suo volto irradiata gentilezza. E 'stato come se il ieri aveva lamentato dal lago era venuto a salutare lui. Ha abbracciato il povero con affetto e riempito con le sue mani d'oro, e con una voce sincera, con la dolcezza di amore, egli disse: "Venite domani e portare con voi i vostri colleghi malati. Tutti i vostri beni sarà recuperata."

Egli è entrato suo palazzo dicendo: "Tutto nella vita è buona, anche in oro, perché insegna una lezione. Il denaro è come uno strumento a corda, ma chi non sa come usarlo correttamente si limita ad ascoltare musica discordanti. Il denaro è come l'amore; uccide lentamente e dolorosamente colui che trattiene, e che anima le altre che si gira su un altro uomo. "

Khalil Gibran

I am hollow.

I am hollow.

The words form tragedies. Words seriously form my tragedies. They keep me existing - breathing paper and intelligence, but they wreck me. Perhaps it’s my personality? With nothing worthy - could I possibly keep something worthy?

I am hollow.

I keep a heart, but I never feed it. And my faults outweigh my good; do I truly deserve something good? And I hear the blood that runs through my veins, like a liquid disease of existing just because I can. I have nothing planned. I have nothing beautiful to offer and smiles are not a true occupation.

I feel anxiety, like I’m waiting for a call that will change everything. I have the feeling of wanting to cry, or drive forever, with my mind never resting. And am I waiting for a call to change everything? Am I waiting for a voice to say everything will be alright? Even if I won’t believe… Believing keeps you young.

And when I’m old and done believing, will the broken dreams be all but pieces of something better? And will never believing be easier than trying?

Then will I sink to the bottom with the pennies and nickels and dimes tossed for a dream—am I just a fragment of a wish that never was? It’s the waiting that kills me, the anticipation of something on the verge of something—self-discovery, maybe?

Frustrating.

It’s so frustrating to think that I may be the last to ever really know what I truly mean.

So when will those chains come to hold me close? When will I feel like I truly fit—not even here, nobody here make me feel like I am whole. I just see an image of a mouth widened in an endless scream - “Hear me, understand me!” -

Do you understand?

Maybe…

Maybe, if I was less a complication? Less an aggravation to those and to others and to me, maybe maybe maybe then hollow wouldn’t ring so hollow.

They whispered pride into my ear when I was born, the first thing they gave my mind to tighten it’s tiny fists around—the center of my existence, and my Atlas to my world. The sucking vanity of my core, the endless doubt of truth… my pride, my pride - the damn pride that sinks my solid resolutions. I’m a wretch against resisting instinct.

Crawling with humanity… on my hands and knees.

The dirt never was so deep.



Versione italiana:

Sono vuota.

Sono vuota.

Le parole sotto forma tragedie. Parole sul serio la mia forma tragedie. Essi mi esistenti - carta di respirazione e di intelligence, ma mi relitto. Forse è la mia personalità? Con nulla degno - potrei eventualmente tenere qualcosa degno?

Sono vuota.

Mantenere un cuore, ma non ho mai la sua alimentazione. E il mio difetti superano il mio bene, posso veramente meritano qualcosa di buono? E sento il sangue che scorre attraverso le mie vene, come un liquido di malattia esistente solo perché non posso. Non ho nulla previsto. Non ho nulla da offrire belle e sorrisi non sono una vera e propria professione.

Mi sento l'ansia, come sono in attesa di una chiamata che cambierà tutto. Ho la sensazione di voler piangere, o di guidare per sempre, con la mia mente mai riposo. E io sono in attesa di una chiamata a cambiare tutto? Sono in attesa di una voce a dire tutto andrà bene? Anche se io non credo ... Credere che si mantiene giovani.

E quando sono vecchi e fatto credere, i sogni infranti di essere, ma tutti i pezzi di qualcosa di meglio? E non credere di essere più facile cercare?

Poi mi affondare verso il basso con i centesimi e nickels Dimes e lanciata per un sogno, io sono solo un frammento di un desiderio che non è mai stato? E 'l'attesa che mi uccide, l'anticipazione di qualcosa alla vigilia di qualcosa di auto-scoperta, forse?

Frustrante.

E 'così frustrante pensare che io possa essere sempre gli ultimi a sapere che cosa ho veramente veramente significa.

Quindi, quando sarà venuto a quelle catene di tenere me vicino? Quando Mi sento come se veramente non fit-anche qui, nessuno qui mi sento come mi intera. Ho appena vedere l'immagine di una bocca ampliato in un urlo senza fine - "Ascolta me, mi capisce!" --

Avete capito?

Forse ...

Forse, se mi è stato meno complicazioni? Meno di un aggravamento e quelle per gli altri e per me, forse forse forse non sarebbe poi cavo anello così vuota.

Essi orgoglio sussurrato in un orecchio, quando sono nato, la prima cosa che ha dato la mia mente a stringere della piccola pugni circa-il centro della mia esistenza, e il mio Atlas al mio mondo. La vanità di succhiare il mio cuore, l'infinito della verità dubbio ... il mio orgoglio, il mio orgoglio - il maledetto il mio orgoglio che affonda solide risoluzioni. Sono un disgraziato resistere contro l'istinto.

La scansione con l'umanità ... e le mani sul mio ginocchio.

L'immondizia non è mai stato così profondo.





Adapted from where's my silence? by I am pookie

A FRIEND, by Breena C. Park

A friend is like a flower,
a rose to be exact,
Or maybe like a brand new gate
that never comes unlatched.
A friend is like an owl,
both beautiful and wise.
Or perhaps a friend is like a ghost,
whose spirit never dies.
A friend is like those blades of grass
you can never mow,
standing straight, tall, and proud
in a perfect little row.
A friend is like a heart that goes
strong until the end.
Where would we be in this world
if we didn't have a friend.

- Breena C. Park

"Like city's rain, my heart . . ." - by Paul Verlaine

The rain falls gently on the town.
Arthur Rimbaud



Like city's rain, my heart
Rains teardrops too. What now,
This languorous ache, this smart
That pierces, wounds my heart?

Gentle, the sound of rain
Pattering roof and ground!
Ah, for the heart in pain,
Sweet is the sound of rain!

Tears rain-but who knows why?-
And fill my heartsick heart.
No faithless lover's lie? . . .
It mourns, and who knows why?

And nothing pains me so--
With neither love nor hate--
A simply not to know
Why my heart suffers so.



"Il pleure dans mon coeur . . . "

II pleut doucement sur la ville.
Arthur Rimbaud

Il pleure dans mon coeur
Comme il pleut sur la ville;
Quelle est cette langueur
Qui pénètre mon coeur?

Ô bruit doux de la pluie
Par terre et sur les toits!
Pour un coeur qui s'ennuie
Ô le chant de la pluie!

Il pleure sans raison
Dans ce coeur qui s'écoeure.
Quoi! nulle trahison? . . .
Ce deuil est sans raison.

C'est bien la pire peine
De ne savoir pourquoi
Sans amour et sans haine
Mon coeur a tant de peine!

From Romances sans paroles (1874)

Kahlil Gibran on Love

Kahlil Gibran on Love



When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.



For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.



Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.
Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.
Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, "I am in the heart of God."
And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;
To return home at eventide with gratitude;
And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

by Kahlil Gibran (January 6, 1883 – April 10, 1931)
a Lebanese American artist, poet, and writer.

The Faerie Lover, by Brenna Gwyn

The Leanan Sidhe

The Faerie Lover

I am a creature of the Fey
Prepare to give your soul away
My spell is passion and it is art
My song can bind a human heart
And if you chance to know my face
My hold shall be your last embrace

I shall be thy lover

I am unlike a mortal lass
From dreams of longing I have passed
I came upon your lonely cries
Revealed beauty to your eyes
So shun the world that you have known
And spend your nights within my own

I shall be thy lover

You shall be known by other men
For your great works of voice and pen
Your inspiration has a cost
For with me know your soul is lost
I'll take your passion and your skill
I'll take your young life quicker still

I shall be thy lover

Through the kisses that I give
I draw from you that I will live
And though you think this weakness grand
The touch of death your lovers hand
Your will to live has come too late
Come to my arms and love this fate

I shall be thy lover

I am a creature of the Fey
Prepare to give your soul away
My spell is passion and it is art
My song can bind a human heart
And if you chance to know my face
My hold shall be your last embrace..

-Brenna Gwyn

(Based on Heather Alexander's "Creature of the Wood")

Icarus by Gianni Bergamini

Icarus

I will fly over rivers, lakes, oceans & mountains;
Beyond the clouds of the infinite sky.
With no barriers or chains on my wrists;
I will fly today and tommorow.

I will fly where the sun warms every heart,
where the moon and the stars watch over the night
so it passes painlessly.

I will fly in the light of an infinite God
Where faith has just one colour and
people never die.

With the wings of love, I can fly.



Versione Italiano:

Icaro

Volero sopra fiumi, laghi, mari e monti;
Oltre le nubi tra cieli infiniti.
Senza confini e catene alle mani,
Volero oggi e domani.

Volero dove il sole riscalda ogni cuore,
dove la luna e le stelle vegliano notti
senza dolore.

Volero nella luce di un Dio infinito,
dove la fede ha un solo colore e
la gente non muore.

Con le ali dell’amore, io posso volare.


Poem by Gianni Bergamini 1996
Translation to English by Carmen Forward 2008

Sea of time

I nostri padri annaffiato con le loro lacrime
Questo mare di tempo sul quale si vela,
Le loro voci sono state in tutti gli uomini di orecchie
Chi pass'd all'interno del loro puissant grandine.
Sempre lo stesso oceano rotonda ci rave,
Ma siamo muti, e guardare le onde.




Our fathers water’d with their tears
This sea of time whereon we sail,
Their voices were in all men’s ears
Who pass’d within their puissant hail.
Still the same ocean round us raves,
But we stand mute, and watch the waves.

"Art poétique", from Jadis et naguère (1884) - Paul Verlaine

Let's hear the music first and foremost,
And that means no more one-two-one-twos…
Something more vague instead, something lighter
Dissolving in air, weightless as air.


When you choose your words, no need to search
In strict dictionaries for pinpoint
Definitions. Better the subtle
And heady Songs of Imprecision.

Color's forbidden, only Nuance!

Grip eloquence by the throat and squeeze
It to death. And while you're about it
You might corral that runaway, Rhyme,
Or you'll get Rhyme Without End, Amen.


Who will denounce that criminal, Rhyme?
Tone-deaf children or crazed foreigners
No doubt fashioned its paste jewellery,
Tinplate on top, hollow underneath.

You must let your poems ride their luck
On the back of the sharp morning air
Touched with the fragrance of mint and thyme…
And everything else is literature.

- Paul Verlaine

Alone, Looking for Blossoms Along the River - Tu Fu

Alone, Looking for Blossoms Along the River

The sorrow of riverside blossoms inexplicable,
And nowhere to complain -- I've gone half crazy.
I look up our southern neighbor. But my friend in wine
Gone ten days drinking. I find only an empty bed.

A thick frenzy of blossoms shrouding the riverside,
I stroll, listing dangerously, in full fear of spring.
Poems, wine -- even this profusely driven, I endure.
Arrangements for this old, white-haired man can wait.

A deep river, two or three houses in bamboo quiet,
And such goings on: red blossoms glaring with white!
Among spring's vociferous glories, I too have my place:
With a lovely wine, bidding life's affairs bon voyage.

Looking east to Shao, its smoke filled with blossoms,
I admire that stately Po-hua wineshop even more.
To empty golden wine cups, calling such beautiful
Dancing girls to embroidered mats -- who could bear it?

East of the river, before Abbot Huang's grave,
Spring is a frail splendor among gentle breezes.
In this crush of peach blossoms opening ownerless,
Shall I treasure light reds, or treasure them dark?

At Madame Huang's house, blossoms fill the paths:
Thousands, tens of thousands haul the branches down.
And butterflies linger playfully -- an unbroken
Dance floating to songs orioles sing at their ease.

I don't so love blossoms I want to die. I'm afraid,
Once they are gone, of old age still more impetuous.
And they scatter gladly, by the branchful. Let's talk
Things over, little buds ---open delicately, sparingly.

Tu Fu

We Wear the Mask - Paul Laurence Dunbar

We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,--
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.

Why should the world be overwise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask!

Paul Laurence Dunbar

Your own dimension

Imagine a world. A dimension where you are its chief architect.
Wouldn't it be fun?