The poetic trip that one takes
is looking at the moon
in laughter
through the palms
of the palm tree.
And the Orion constellation
shimmering stars down
engulfs you in light.
I stop in thought
of a better place
As the trails of stars are reminders…
The poetic trip is
When you find the air
that smells like cypresses and wild withered flowers
and the golden breeze fretting secrets
that we only know.
This poem has become a bespoke present for a beautiful person.
Here comes winter
Like a wolf
breathing snows
in the wind.
Trees gripped in icicles
whine in the moon
Carrying souls
To the fogs of a
disillusioned sun.
Painting by Julius von Klever.
She has the moon
to see the time…
Full moons come
and wane.
So do us
and our time…
Pictures by me, by the side of a mountain and the heart of the sea.
As I cannot paint
I write about the meaning of the night…
And being poor
I draw my colours
off the shadows
in the meadows
of Tomorrow.
Monsters living in a dream
colour touches on my lips
passing secrets with a kiss.
Picture: Rene Magritte, The meaning of the night.
I come in many shapes, one of them being the “extension” of a two-wheeled vehicle.
I am a keen biker and a keen photographer by my phone.
Hence the poor quality of my pictures.
Cycling is easier without the weight of a camera and if I fall, I can’t even begin to think about the damage inflicted …upon my camera :).
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.
Art by Ivan Tzarevitch.
I will look to the moon till my eyes turn blue,
Or I’ll see you.
Can you see me in the dark?
Can you put me in the light?
Night is not to be embraced,
But lived…
Moon glaring by Ivan Fedorovich Choultsé.
“Men had always been the reciters of poetry in the desert.”
― Michael Ondaatje,The English Patient
…As among dunes you can only see God or who you want. To see.
No assault to the imagination. No questions and whispers by people.
Only the wind carries wishes afar.
A poem soaring above the dunes brings the clarity of music and has the speed of sound.
And we get to see the glassy shine of Orion…
Love among deserts is never the same.
Part of magic deserts by Ivan Fedorovich Choultse.
