Blue Insights Newsletter — 2020–08–05

As always, I am honored and humbled to be a writer for Blue Insights at Medium.com.

“August has started and I hope you are having the best summer you can hope for despite all the harsh blows we all have been living in 2020.
Please, take the time, where ever you may be on the planet, to enjoy reading the latest Blue Insights Newsletter.”

Read the full article at Medium.com.

Photo by Luis Vidal on Unsplash.

Fears

“I’m full of fears and I do my best to avoid difficulties and any kind of complications. I like everything around me to be clear as crystal and completely calm.”
Alfred Hitchcock

Isaac Levitan – Corniche. Southern France, 1895

Tis moonlight

“‘Tis moonlight, summer moonlight,
All soft and still and fair;
The solemn hour of midnight
Breathes sweet thoughts everywhere”
Emily Bronte

Art – Albert Clouard.

Love is The Fifth Season

Love is the fifth season
It starts in March
With shines of longer days,
guarding the waters more.

It moves along with
greens and joys of May.
It flourishes above the lilacs
And with you I sleep
Amidst lilies-of-the-valley…

It drifts down July dusks
Colored in bluish touches.
……………………………………………
October is the beginning of times
Cutting edges and bringing back
Memories of youth.
Now it is the season to embrace
The truth…

This is an old poem from year 2015.

Also published at Medium.com.

© Iulia Halatz

Art – Viktor Vasnetsov

The Wild Swans

” ‘Do you see this stinging nettle in my hand? Those you must gather, although they will burn your hands to blisters. Crush the nettles with your feet and you will have flax, which you must spin and weave into eleven shirts of mail with long sleeves. Once you throw these over your swan brothers, the spell over them is broken…’ ”

From The Wild Swans by HC Andersen.

Illustration – Florence Harrison

What’s the most epic book ever written?

The Story of San Michele by Axel Munthe

“A man can stand a lot as long as he can stand himself. He can live without hope, without friends, without books, even without music, as long as he can listen to his own thoughts.”

“We know that we are going to die, in fact it is the only thing we know of what is in store for us. All the rest is mere guesswork, and most of the time we guess wrong. Like children in the trackless forest we grope our way through our lives in blissful ignorance of what is going to happen to us from one day to another, what hardships we may have to face, what more or less thrilling adventures we may encounter before the great adventure, the most thrilling of all, the Adventure of Death.”

“Happiness we can only find in ourselves, it is a waste of time to seek for it from others, few have any to spare. Sorrow we have to bear alone as best we can, it is not fair to try to shift it on others, be they men or women. We have to fight our own battles and strike as hard as we can, born fighters as we are.”

“To my amazement, I have heard that there are people who have never seen a gnome. I can’t help pitying these people. I am certain there must be something wrong with their eyesight.”

Answer featured in Quora Digest.

All Roads Lead To Rome

written by: Iulia Halatz

All words lead to Love
And the poetry in the afterLove

I wish I wrote poems
For the dreamers of barren lands.
They do not go to Rome
They go to places
That cannot be.

Maybe love is a colourless, odourless
stainless haze
We see through
with the eyes of
the bricked sky,
pathless oceans
walled shrubberies
streeted lunarian trails
breathing and tingling
scents
In the perfect nightmare
of flowers…
Vines reward our sun
with the sweetness
of grapes
wedded in perpetuity with
the linear shades of amber.

From a Good Place
Where joy is an illumination
To the Place that Cannot Be
They would have worn
The silver claw
of the Moon
above their heads
nightly
daily
musingly
vibrantly…

Also published at Spillwords.com and featured at Quora Digest.

Buried moon at Medium.com

Buried moon, buried moon
Who to talk about at noon
When dreams are plundered by light
And powdered in gold and charcoal dust.

Crescent fairies are sad in the rouse
and at falter to surmise
the scanty slumbering traces
that led stupors into trenches.

The owners of the light
Do not know its might
and the pleasure of the sun
to astound and burn above…

Buried moon, buried moon
I want you soon…

As to play my feral dreams
around the all surviving tunes!

© Iulia Halatz

Published at Medium.com.

Art – Buried moon by Edmund Dulac.

The Moon

I wrote this in 2017.

The Moon

In the evening
with my eyelashes
I kill all the events of the day
I choke perceptions and
reveries green
That could be real
Pending dream.

In the evening
with my fingers

I spin yarns
For your sweet bedlams…

Also published at Spillwords.com.
Also featured in Quora Digest.

Art by Yajuro Takashima.