It was November ~ the month of crimson sunsets, parting birds, deep, sad hymns of the sea, passionate wind-songs in the pines.
– L.M. Montgomery
It was November ~ the month of promiscuous trees, turbulent moons dressed up in haze, opal leaves layering the smock of earth.
Art by Charles Vess.
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.
Art by Jan Schmuckal.
You are the mellow vines
ripe at the touch of Autumn.
You are a blue alphabet
falling from the sky…
You are the amber leaves
lured in the sleep of Winter.
You are the macadamized trance
of flowers
when Spring is climbing up the trees.
If you are not the fragrant moon
to bread stars from shimmering flour
You are the color of fire
that burns in everything you see.
Art by Michael Cheval.
“Wear scarlet! Tear the green lemons
off the tree! I don’t want
to forget who I am, what has burned in me,
and hang limp and clean, an empty dress.”
― Denise Levertov
Art by Daniel F. Gerhartz.
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.
HE loves me
He keeps my tears
at bay
in a corner crystal ball
and my heart in a field of molten flowers*.
I want to loose the yarn
Again he pours
crimson dew on my weary tales
whilst I am not looking…
It warms like midnight kisses…
My mind smells
the sweet cinnamon
glueing his words together
My eyes see naught
But my garden lilies caught
in cobweb intoxicating grip
and exhilarating dance…
*Source of inspiration – The B-52’s.
Art – Cobweb Dance by Charles Courtney Curran.
“Who are you?”
I asked.
I am a piece of heaven
that reveals the most
to ones in love…
They see the sea
and the tiptoeing stars
barely touching the milky lanes.
Under constellations
Their faces glitter
with words released
yet not spoken…
They are the children
of the stars…
that take away the meaning
of twilights and dawns.
The dust of stars
speaks more
than the sun.
© Iulia Halatz
My last sea holiday this year has been putting ideas in my heart. Yet, again.
Pictures taken in Corfu.
I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.
–Friederich Nietzsche
I am a cloud, and a siege of tornadoes: but he who is not afraid of my swirl, will find banks of rainbows beneath my grey.
I am a gale, and the yearn to push boats ahaven: but he who is not afraid of my blow, will fly with the skylarks.
I am a sea, and a green of waves: but he who is not afraid of my abyss, will swim away with the mermaids.
I am the night, and the thrill of dark dreams: but he who is not afraid of my nightmares, will fall sleep with the daffodils.
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…
“I’ll be looking at the moon,
but I’ll be seeing you.”
― Michael Ondaatje
Art by Yajuro Takashima.
Iulia Halatz
She says: “Be the one who cares, make words so disruptive that they create new worlds, hopes and dreams. Even if we are unhappy dinosaurs and find shelter in an Iron Tale or ruminate about feeling too much, whilst declaring colorless apparel, we should take power and strength from our stories.”
Her published poems can be found in The Sudden Denouement Anthology Volume I.
With you I have hovered
Above the sea
In storm
I smelled the tropical dew
Of winter flowers…
I have seen clouds
Dissolute like dreams
Of perpetual summers…
With you I stopped
Breathing
Over the color of a
Rose.
Red like choking
Pain.
Art by Howard Pyle.
