Medium editor

Thank you to all the writers, the readers, the followers, and to all our angel bees who are helping us to spread the contributions outside of Medium within different Facebook and Quora groups.

Blue Insights Medium Publication Editors
(Ivette Cruz, Gurpreet Dhariwal, Iulia Halatz, Maii, MDSHall, Isaiah McCall, Victoria Ponte)

https://medium.com/blueinsight/grateful-for-our-team-of-angel-bees-56f046b2fb37


Photo by George Hiles on Unsplash

Writing

Writing is
quieting the burns
from people’s thoughts and deeds
And dissolving
all knowledge
that this will
ever happen…

© Iulia Halatz

In reponse to to the Medium/Blue Insights Cultural Prompt for April 2021 “Being Human”

Art by Andrea Kowch.
SOURCE – Facebook

Hello April!

“You can cut all the flowers but you cannot keep Spring from coming.”
Pablo Neruda

Photos by me taken in the Herăstrău park, Bucharest.

Winter Glass

Up the arduous sky
The wind made powder
of tinted clouds
Whose dreams of winter
endure too long
in the realm.

Cold has gone cool
with wings of white doves
beating
the thin brisk air
to keep the snowdust
at bay.

© Iulia Halatz

Art — Phillip Koch. Source — Pinterest


Also featured at Medium.

Love in line

Love drips
out of my lines.

There is not ink
But sweetness and joy
protruding in small afternoons

befuddled
in glimpses of light
dancing on leaves
and ruby flowers…

When skies glance
at the coolness of moonshine
and butterflies kept in a dream
smile till dawn,

Do not forget…

As long as you feel
the brush of the evening’s wind
coiling like a wild animal

You are as young as
the new roses this year…

Art – Dani Soon – Source – https://dionisopunk.com/

Happy World Poetry Day!

“These verses have become a thing and one can take them off the page and throw them at a window, and the window would break. That’s what words can do!”  
― Daniil Kharms, Today I Wrote Nothing: The Selected Writings  

And a selection from my writings:

What can I give you? I am the blue
as imagined by a blind
and the roots of knowledge
as watered by a scholar.

I am the yellow
wind and the mauve
respond of light
perched
in the ubiquitous trees
tethered in the clouds
that barely scratch
the sky.

I am the green
storm and colorless waves
that wished upon a mountain
to break water in tryst
with the sun.

Not by blindness
we can reorder colors
but by the painting of a soul
in a moment tender
as the liquid moon
is quivering above the forest.

………………………………..
Knifed

I aim at dreams
knife them
as trophies on my wall.
I can always
take one down,
quench the thirst
of a turbulent wound
with
tainted endearment
from the poisoned well

We dug and drained
under the wing of
One night.
I’m in love
with a stabbed dream.

Under my skin
Rumors of thyself
move clouds upon the moon…

© Iulia Halatz

Olga Wisinger-Florian

As always, I am humbled and honored to be a Medium writer.

In Our Woods, Sometimes a Rare Music

Every spring
I hear the thrush singing
in the glowing woods
he is only passing through.
His voice is deep,
then he lifts it until it seems
to fall from the sky.
I am thrilled.
I am grateful.

Then, by the end of morning,
he’s gone, nothing but silence
out of the tree
where he rested for a night.
And this I find acceptable.
Not enough is a poor life.
But too much is, well, too much.
Imagine Verdi or Mahler
every day, all day.
It would exhaust anyone.”
― Mary Oliver, A Thousand Mornings

Stanley Spencer

A more poetical “Less is more”. The poetry of music is undermined by its continuity…
The song of the thrush is perfect, mysterious, and atoning for all the sadness and grimness of winter…
In my culture there is an old saying “miracles last for two days”. Banality cuts deep also into the birds’ song not just into a fabrication of people that is classical music.
Spring is the Renaissance age of the entire year when the marvels of the new earth dictates the rhythm of life.

Marsh-fire

“You’re a fire person. What you’re most like is marsh-fire; (…) you got witch-oil in your soul.”
Philip Pullman, Northern Lights

Art by Michael Cheval.

Steal the Sun

Steal the sun
With gilded sincerity.

Place it in your heart
with silvery fingers.

Touch lives with the same warmth.
If you do not have money to decorate your life with precious artifacts, decorate life with precious deeds and meaningful words. Words that speak to hearts and make them see the precious artifacts they are.

©Iulia Halatz

Art – Serena Malyon,The Veil of Night

Also featured at Medium.com.