Seagulls Homecoming

Seagulls Homecoming

4 January 2017

going home8

 

The grass blends

With the breeze of icicles

Sways within its gasps

 

Frozen white crystals

Partition of the fractals

Internal rings light

 

The snail is woven

Into shell of ringing Time

Blackbirds will flutter

 

Swallows in the sun

Moving through darker mists fly

In stillness the might

 

Daffodils shimmer

Through vibrations of sunshine

Inner bears outer

 

Moonbeams will glitter

In pitch-black diamonds glimmer

Shades of Netherland

 

Iris wells dilate

Mind in Heart diluting trend

Imploding explode

 

Wings of lark propel

In ocean of starry void

All stones to avoid

 

Dreamtime will consume

Ages of wings now growing

Seagulls Homecoming

 

Reading of the poem: 

home daily galaxy com

Day One – Audiomachine

Across the Horizon – Audiomachine

HomeComing – Audiomachine

 

Ablaze

Ablaze

26 October 2016

fire diaforetiko gr fire-woman-felice-monda
Courtesy diaforetiko.gr

 

On a cold wintry night when the logs bade fire

The fog covered the moons white silvery faces

The dark shadows bowed slight from weight of desire

Like drunken addict swoons revealing his traces

 

The shadows followed light opposed to each aspire

Consume glory in spoons display your best laces

Centered twirl in the might of your glorious sire

Talk music draw the runes of transitions’ spaces

 

Dead grass called to crickets solemn dance to amaze

As the nightingales sang to dark secrets unwound

The woodlands bore thickets that circled in a maze

 

Thunder clapped with a bang lightning twirled all around

The surges broke pickets more than wood set ablaze

Knowing deadly bells rang as his face hit the ground

 

Reading of the poem: 

fire diaforetiko gr fire-woman-felice-monda
Courtesy diaforetiko.gr

Odal – Wardruna

Raido – Wardruna

Naudir – Wardruna

Aquatic

Aquatic

5 September 2016

4ea1f5e2f85b3bab8b5d465f385b546e
Courtesy pinterest.com

September

Month of the nine trees

Grows branches

Into skies

The Angels now hear the cries

The deafening tides

 

Tree trunks float

On rivers of hope

The mind copes

In sawing

The thoughts that pervade clawing

The glimmering leaves

 

Bark and leaf

Two to a third birth

We pluck them

From the hearth

They grow in wasteland marshes

The city harsh is

 

Countryside

Landscapes of the fall

Beckon slow

To soul’s call

Finest grass for the reaper

Green is the new black

 

Oxygen

Failing my two lungs

They gather

Communion

Of pairs they will be but one

Fate of the changeling

 

Uprising

In waves of morrow

Destiny

Aquatic

They move underground frantic

The stone is their tomb

 

Reading of the poem: 

siren
Courtesy pinterest.com

9 crimes – Damien Rice

Delicate – Damien Rice

I don’t Want to Change You – Damien Rice

What we were tonight

What we were tonight

29 August 2016

ghosts hand
Courtesy pinterest.com

 

Tonight slipped

From my limp fingers

Grasping none

Life unfair

Chose to pair them open air

Between the spaces

 

In dream state

I remember touch

We lock hands

In rapture

Hair electric on arm stands

Pulsing the texture

 

Remember

What we were tonight

When the light

Baleful shines

All the softness undermines

Lost scent of green grass

 

Reading of the poem: 

what byrdfountain com
Courtesy byrdfountain.com

Nothing really ends – DEUs

The grass was greener

The grass was greener

20 August 2016

crimsonfields deviantart com liberty_by_tryskell-d99kjln
Courtesy tryskell-d99kjln on deviantart.com

 

She looked across the battered fields lying scorched by the heat around her frame in veils. From afar came its glint, shining eerily under the summer sun. So infused with more than just a hint of light she felt she should run towards it for it looked so beautifully green, it was almost lime-like in its iridescent sheen. She imagined the dewdrops painting life-like shadows alongside the blades of grass, twirling with these latter in those meadows a long-forgotten dance. She could almost sense the hum of the grasshoppers, the sound of brass invading her mind with their invitation to prance.

 

An arm brushing past hers tore her thoughts away from that beautiful island and its mighty sway. The field around her was buzzing in glee with grey-faced workers in neat rows of three attempting so desperately to instill some life back into the withered plants going downhill. The water ran from their giant cans dark, muddy and lifeless, not even a spark. She watched them smother rather than water the field as more sand and dirt was all the cans would yield. Here and there some poppies had survived, their wild nature breaking free revived by the view of the skies from the murky lands ties.

 

It was the bluebells that withered the most. Their head hung, their face downcast, they looked like this time they would never last. The secular trees of themselves a ghost looked over the horizons, a sight only they could boast and realised that perhaps this was the last year they would play host to the hundreds of bluebirds that on their branches found outpost to watch the first sunrise. Suddenly a ray split the skies and onward came rains of the most frightful might. To the field workers they were though the most beautiful sight as they gathered out of ranks not bothering how offering to the rain their weather-beaten brow as it washed away the mud. The oldest of trees came down with a thud and as the land under it drank the rain a damp and soon mossy stance took over its grounds again and again and again.

 

She looked across the reddened field to the brink of where her sight would yield. She looked back to the moss growing on that new land. Its glint was known to her not a new brand. Both far and near she could see it so clear.

 

The grass was greener.

 

Reading of the short story: 

greener deviantart com 4
Courtesy deviantart.com

Green…The Colour of Evolution – Yakuro

 

Angel Tears

Angel Tears

30 July 2016

Angels tears carlos queyedo raphael
Courtesy Carlos Quevedo on deviantart.com

 

Falling rain

Covers my meadows

Black prairies

Grass withers

Scorching sunlight seeps within

Land of the fairies

 

The woods speak

Their voices wooden

Like ship mast

Now downcast

We carry our crew like rock

Flags of soul breach seas

 

Feeble mock

Their hearts set in stone

Marble walls

Angels’ Tears

Within the dark veins strewn thin

In loss of the Love

 

Reading of the poem: 

angelstears carlos quevedo
Courtesy Carlos Quevedo on deviantart.com

Troth – Thomas Feiner

Intrépide damoiseau à la poitrine imberbe / Intrepid young squire with a clean-shaven chest

Intrépide damoiseau à la poitrine imberbe

(Poème écrit sous forme de Sonnet Occitan et Alexandrin traduit en anglais ci-dessous ou ici)

6 juillet 2016

flower david galstyan pinterest com 13
Courtesy David Galstyan on pinterest.com

 

Ils parlent de justiciers de forces vives suintées

Par les pores de douleur pour une mort prérequise

Comme les glas par milliers de cloches noircies tintées

Font vibrer la noirceur enterrée en l’église

 

Pour les cœurs épurer de vieilles rancœurs teintées

Raconte-moi malheur rajustant l’entremise

De ces heures à sonner réunions éreintées

Enfouie dans la pâleur de ces choix de vie grises

 

J’aurais d’un entretemps fait feu vif de tout bois

Elagué les copeaux comme menues brindilles d’herbe

Réflexions pour longtemps font mémoire bon aloi

 

Comme le cours des ruisseaux délave de fleurs la gerbe

Ainsi venu printemps fait briller l’effort croît

Intrépide damoiseau à la poitrine imberbe

 

Lecture du poème: 

flower david galstyan pinterest com 15
Courtesy David Galstyan on pinterest.com

 

Intrepid young squire with a clean-shaven chest

(Translation of a poem written in Alexandrin and Occitan Sonnet form. Original above or here)

6 July 2016

flower David-Galstyan-06-www.ArtPerson.org_
Courtesy David Galstyan on artperson.org

They talk about vigilante of bright strength oozed

Through pores filled with pain for a prerequisite death

Like thousands of knells from black tinted bells chiming

Make vibrate the darkness lying buried in church

 

To purify hearts of old resentments tainted

Tell me misfortune adjusting intervention

Of those hours that are ringing tired reunions

Buried in pallor of those choices of gray lives

 

I could have from passing made bright fire from all wood

Then pruned the shavings like some slender blades of grass

Thoughts that are churned well make good quality memories

 

As the course of streams washes out the sheaf of flowers

So when it comes does spring shine all efforts and grow

Intrepid young squire with a clean-shaven chest

 

Reading of the poem: 

flower David-Galstyan-Fly-5
Courtesy David Galstyan on pinterest.com

 

Jealous of the rain – Michael Nyman

Diary of Hate – Michael Nyman

Memorial – Michael Nyman

A la folie – Michael Nyman