I am honored and thrilled to have my poems featured in a new collection of poetry and prose – Darker Objects, Coming Fall of 2023 from Indie Blu(e) Publishing.

I am honored and thrilled to have my poems featured in a new collection of poetry and prose – Darker Objects, Coming Fall of 2023 from Indie Blu(e) Publishing.

“He suddenly recalled from Plato’s Symposium: People were hermaphrodites until God split then in two, and now all the halves wander the world over seeking one another. Love is the longing for the half of ourselves we have lost.”
― Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being
Art – Sir Claude Francis Barry, Over the horizon – a Jersey nocturne

“O, the month of May, the merry month of May,
So frolic and so green, so green, so green!
O, and then did I unto my true love say,
Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my Summer’s Queen…”
– The Merry month of May, Thomas Dekker
Art – Emma Augusta Løffler

“April. It teaches us everything. The coldest and nastiest days of the year can happen in April. It won’t matter. It’s April. The English word for the month comes from the Roman Aprilis, the Latin aperire: to open, to uncover, to make accessible, or to remove whatever stops something from being accessible. It maybe also partly comes from the name of Aphrodite, Greek goddess of love, whose happy fickleness with various gods mirrors the month’s own showery-sunny fickleness. Month of sacrifice and month of playfulness. Month of restoration, of fertility-festivity. Month when the earth and the buds are already open, the creatures asleep for the winter have woken and are already breeding, the birds have already built their nests, birds that this time last year didn’t exist, busy bringing to life the birds that’ll replace them this time next year. Spring-cuckoo month, grass-month. In Gaelic its name means the month that fools mistake for May. April Fool’s Day also probably marks what was the old end of the new year celebrations. Winter has Epiphany. Spring’s gifts are different. Month of dead deities coming back to life. In the French revolutionary calendar, along with the last days of March, it becomes Germinal, the month of return to the source, to the seed, to the germ of things, which is maybe why Zola gave the novel he wrote about hopeless hope this revolutionary title. April the anarchic, the final month, of spring the great connective.” – Ali Smith
Art – Claude Monet, Spring in Giverny, Morning Effect

“We can’t possibly have a summer love. So many people have tried that the name’s become proverbial. Summer is only the unfulfilled promise of spring, a charlatan in place of the warm balmy nights I dream of in April. It’s a sad season of life without growth…It has no day.”
― F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise
Art – William John Hennessy – A Spring Fantasy 1880

“Each must look at himself through a black glass, at others through a rosy one.” –Alphonse Mucha
Art – Alphonse Mucha

What narrative do you want to convey about yourself this year?
How would you describe what you want to be if you had a blank piece of paper in front of you?
Do not forget:
Hope is the sixth season. Love is the fifth.
Tsuchiya Koitsu – Winter

“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”
― William Shakespeare
Art – Shakespeare at dusk, Edward Hopper, 1935

“Seas move away, why not lovers? The harbours of Ephesus, the rivers of Heraclitus disappear and are replaced by estuaries of silt. The wife of Candaules becomes the wife of Gyges. Libraries burn.”
― Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient
Michael Ondaatje’s words are plain wizardry about visible wars and the invisible, the ones we battle everyday with us, shadows, dust and smoke. Nobody has molded love and life in such astounding stories.
He was born on the 12th of September, 79 years ago, in Sri Lanka.
Art by Vincent van Gogh.
