Rendering delight

Rendering delight

April 29, 2020

Courtesy Christian Schloe

 

Translation

Of movement in you

Lost in space

I retrace

Your body’s forgotten hue

The ink and the blue

 

When sun sets

I remember you

The sweet touch

Of your face

From a spent reality

In an unseen place

 

In eclipse

I reinvent you

Through the sight

In the night

When your features blurred in light

Rendering delight

 

Reading of the poem:

I’ll be seeing you – Billie Holiday

Fire beneath embers

Fire beneath embers

1 April 2020

Courtesy behance.net

 

He shows me

The means to an end

Leitmotiv

To renew

Yet my bosom is now spent

From pains underwent

 

I hold him

In memories’ space

Brittle lace

Where his face

Redesigns the melodies

That put heart at ease

 

We travel

Through the light that shines

Within heart

Throughout mind

We will revel when we find

Fire beneath embers

 

Reading of the poem:

Max Richter – She remembers

In shape of our hearts

In shape of our hearts

27 March 2020

Courtesy Joanna Albrecht

 

Remember

The chirping robin?

When it came

From within

Heartbeats paired with rising spring

Composed song to sing

 

The dewdrops

Parallel to lash

Bated breath

Composure

Of beating lungs exposure

Strength of heart measure

 

Drawn insight

Stealth within the light

The darkness

Now vivid

Shining lighthouse all imparts

In shape of our hearts

 

Reading of the poem:

A Scene Of La Seine – Yuhki Kuramoto

Lake Louise II – Yuhki Kuramoto

Shape of Love – Yuhki Kuramoto

The Shaman tales 5: Uncovering the shamanic gift

The Shaman tales 5: Uncovering the shamanic gift

25 March 2020

Courtesy Serghei Ghetiu

She had always known she was a white witch, but it was only recently that she had found out that she was also a shaman. The knowledge had come to her after a particularly striking episode when she had been dancing to trance music and had experienced a shamanic journey into another world. She never consumed drugs so knew that there had to be truth to that journey. It was a world where spirits walked in fumes with nothing separating them from other human beings. She had looked around her in the night club and nobody else seemed to be noticing the spirits yet all of them were dancing to the same music she was dancing to.

 

She looked around her fascinated. The stroboscopic lights cast around filled the fumes of the spirits with various lights making them look like rainbows disintegrating on the dance floor. She wondered what the spirits were doing in the night club. Were they not meant to be somewhere more peaceful, she thought? One spirit seemed to realize that she was looking right at it and not through it and came up close to her. She was not sure she felt comfortable enough this close to it and raised a hand. It went right through the spirit who laughed. It was not a wicked laugh, just a friendly amused one. She laughed back. They were not as terrible as many made them to be. They only wanted to be part of this world just like us, she thought.

 

That was all before she discovered the extent of the Shamanic gift. How it could allow her to summon either the raven’s rains or the fires of the phoenix. That was before she discovered that the combination of the witch capacities and the shamanic gift could help mold consciousness itself

 

Cyberion – Strange Signals

He moved with giant strides

He moved with giant strides

16 March 2020

Courtesy Bojan Jevtic on Klassik Magazine

 

He thought that love was a battle

One to put as task

The chains and tools that he’d rattle

In the cage she’d bask

 

Envigored by resolution

He moved with giant strides

Yet it was the wrong solution

Strong the soul she rides

 

She beckoned to him taught him peace

Of leaves that mind did rake

Offered soul and heart to appease

The lady of the lake

 

Reading of the poem:

Agnes Obel – The Curse (Berlin Live Session)

Talking birds

Talking birds

15 March 2020

Courtesy Bojan Jevtic on deviantart.com

 

Springtime dew

Drops on daffodils

Grass that sprouts

All about

My mind running wild with bees

Larks that morning frees

 

Summer breeze

Seeping through winter

Blinded herds

Haughty nerds

Of the meanings that become

Lost messages hummed

 

Symphonies

Stretching in the sun

Talking birds

Swirling words

Of the moments that I sum

With my heart’s fingers

 

Reading of the poem :

Max Richter – Dream 3 (in the midst of my life)

The invisible thread

The invisible thread

9 March 2020

Courtesy twinflamereflections.com

 

She smiled at him. He was getting more interesting by the day. She always knew that her interest in men was more of the sapiosexual kind but had not realized until this day how much this was true. It was not that he was not handsome, far from that. In fact, she would classify him quite high on the handsome scale although his features might not be the classical handsome face. Yet it was not that which attracted her. What appealed to her most was the fact that he knew so much about a variety of matters and spoke like her several languages, some of which she did not speak herself.

 

He sensed her keener interest and was visibly flattered. He moved closer to her and she nudged towards him, her left flank now touching his right flank. She could feel the heat seep towards her from under his shirt. She felt all warm and cosy and it gave her a fuzzy feeling. He looked intently at her. Her eyes shone with that particular sheen which had captivated him right from the start. Unlike his green and gold speckled eyes, her eyes bore a dark liquid intensity that he had rarely seen in the eyes of the girls he had flirted with before.

 

This one was going to be trouble for his heart if she did not respond to his wishes in the way he wanted. He knew she wanted and celebrated her freedom. Would they be able to keep this feeling despite the both of them being so fiercely independent, he wondered? Yet he knew that every time he was away from her it was like something within him was missing. He simply had to come back to her or her to him, he was not sure which one of them wandered back to the other. Like drunken sailors they seemed to rift apart and then stumble into each other again.

 

It was as if an invisible thread with a spring-like quality was holding them and brought them back to each other when they wandered away too far. He had heard a saying once that people who were meant to meet were tied by an invisible thread. If the saying was true, then he and she were apparently glued together with several servings of invisible thread. He smiled to himself. He liked the idea of being strung up as long as it was with her…

 

Love – B-Tribe