Horned = crescent-shaped (literary); furnished with a horn or horns.
“Our dreams are a second life. I have never been able to penetrate without a shudder those ivory or horned gates which separate us from the invisible world.” – Gerard De Nerval
Art by Rob Gonsalves.
“Who are you, Martin Eden? he demanded of himself in the looking-glass, that night when he got back to his room. He gazed at himself long and curiously. Who are you? What are you? Where do you belong?” – Jack London (Martin Eden)
You belong with the legions of toil that must grub in the dirt for the sixpence. You belong with the legions that dare lift their eyes to contemplate the moon to substitute food for the dance of imagination. You belong with the vulgar and with the spirited being what carries the tinge of heaven in a smile.
You belong with all that is hard, low and unbeautiful, yet you dare live with the stars and make stardust trails. You belong by rights with the legions of strive, nevertheless in one corner of the mind there is an inverted eye that yearns for the lunarian shape-shifting beauty.
You belong by rights to creativity and labor. Creativity is vision or as Samuel Butler vanguardly put (almost two centuries ago): “When a man is in doubt about this or that in his writing, it will often guide him if he asks himself how it will tell a hundred years hence.”
Creativity is strategy. Strategy must vary as does the moon.
We are not so busy looking at the moon that we do not see the sixpence at our feet. Nor are we so engulfed in drudge that we do not see the sky. We’d better see the moon and the sixpence all at once. Our dreams and our toils should answer all our questions in the change of crescents to vanishing waning moons.
© Iulia Halatz
Art by Inma Gonzales Vazquez.
Trail me away
with questions
and the weight of your love.
Abyss is not yet invented
Just seen in shadow moons…
Cast me away
with a thought
replenishing with haze
in mid mountain mornings…
I carry feelings
in my pockets
and stories of you
to guard my garden of lilies…
Every night
I wash myself of you
until another one comes written…
Reposting an old poem from 2015.
Art by John William Waterhouse.
Stitch = one in-and-out movement of a threaded needle in sewing, embroidering, or suturing.
“The magic is only in what books say, how they stitched the patches of the universe together into one garment for us.”
― Ray Bradbury
Art by Jacek Yerka.
The Sea is a fickle lover
One day sweet as
honey dew
The other bitter
like sin…
that makes you
fall harder
as if hit
by a ton of bricks
made of water glass
Sincerity.
It loves you back
with ardor
You have been dissolved…
Both limbs and heart
know no more
than
liquid love
that once was only
words…
Dawn hovering over the Black Sea until the first rays break into so many winged good news:
“The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing which stands in the way… As a man is, so he sees.”
– William Blake (28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
Art by Vincent van Gogh.
Longing = a yearning desire.
“One of the deepest longings of the human soul is to be seen.”
– John O’Donohue
Art by Ferdinand Knab.
Numbers are gold
They measure the silence
of centuries
and never pin down
to feeling.
Put Love in a number
It would be 0, 1 or 10.
Put Hate in a number
It would be seven.
Numbers follow
the horizon
and leave us alone
with even, naught and odd.
Numbers are perfect
They order the chaos of galaxies
and split away fear.
Inspired by Mick E Talbot.
Art by Remedios Varo Uranga.
We are the only people
in the world
and we hold
the keys to all
gardens and dungeons
beneath a wall…
We live on
Moon’s compassionate light
and greenish profoundness
of Spring.
We may not die
but if we do
your smile will freeze
the light blue
in my eye
and shovel back the trench
to where I quench
my thirst for throbbing hearts
and burning dreams
deposited in chests
that heave entwined.
Art by Ivan Avgustovich Veltz.
Pierce = entering or cutting through with a sharp pointed instrument.
“Words can be like X-rays if you use them properly — they’ll go through anything. You read and you’re pierced.”
– Aldous Huxley
Art – Beauty and the Beast by John Dickson Batten.