Today there is received
The Word of Words
The clouds of the blue
The Fern Flower
The treasure lost
in the deep of the seven mountains…
Your letter makes me
Fly
above the moon
Dream
throngs of dreams
See
billion stars
Guide
million birds
to summer lands
Taking me away…
© Iulia Halatz
Art by Jackie Morris. Source: Pinterest
Whatever I consider important
The trees don’t care.
Wherever I shed my tears
The flowers don’t know.
Some days have the glitter of butterflies’ wings
Some glint like the fires of Mordor.
Some have the clear shine of truth
Drifting away…
Some the warmth of
a broken heart
Who died
And became Art.
© Iulia Halatz
Art – Wolfgang Harms. Source: Pinterest
Wolfgang Harms
Featured at Medium.com.
“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
Corfiot Moon by the author
Featured at Medium.com/Blue Ingsights
When I’m not in the right place
I take a step
look into the heart
of a stone
cloud
moonbeam
memory
and get drunk
with the shades
of night’s wish
to light the world…
© Iulia Halatz
Also published at Medium.com.
I am honored to be a Medium writer and editor.
Art – Hans Dieter
As always, I am humbled to be a Medium writer:
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.
© Iulia Halatz
https://medium.com/blueinsight/gentle-giant-1f3affedddeb
As always, I am humbled and honored to be a Medium writer.
Persephone’s Dusk
Why can’t we
sleep with the Gods?
be with them
turn their thoughts to foam
touch and revere
their lapis lazuli skin
until myths flicker in the cave
and the earth booms at their voices
The rain from Olympus
is the fog in the valley.
Life is not all lovely thorns and screaming butterflies.
© Iulia Halatz
Art – Gervasio Gallardo
As always, I am humbled and honored to be a Medium writer.
https://medium.com/blueinsight/where-one-is-decimal-the-other-is-reciprocal-2d385a3af2b3
Please find my blog, Iron Tales, at Blog Novels.
Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash.
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.
Medium.com has published my “Writers of the Imperfect Maps” in the Blue Insights publication.
https://medium.com/blueinsight/writers-of-the-imperfect-maps-276a2ce16869
The naiads have splurged with roses.
Swirls of scented air hover above their clearings.
Without petals and stars they cannot dwell
beneath the glass shine…
Day dreamers see their unfading beauty
in the sands of the fountains.
Their love is
imprecise
built on a foundation
of unicorn-green grass…
Their skeleton
is composed of myrtle and oleander
and moss-covered lungs
heave along with waters driven
by tide…
Their flesh is irrational atoms
that laugh the blood
and rhythm of life
in the veins
that sing the helplessness blues.
White hymnal doors
flung open
on Midsummer’s Eve
at the harvest of ripe and lofty words
and lady’s bedstraw
they found
in the flicker of buried treasures.
Their words shield
the scent of a tuberose
and shelter
the spoils of the evening.
They sing in the wind
“Leave this war with me!”
It is never too late
nor too soon
to wager
on a tear.
These are no Great Songs of indifference
They are the Great Songs of out-of-time
and out-of-life
that light
this new dominion
which is the old…
29 petals of all the flowers
in the world
line up to write a map
draw sounds and borders
in as many secret alphabets
as breathing proof that
Language is not like the sun,
heating and scorching
but like the moon
keeping secrets
and the arcane magic of the night
throwing stars
in the lilacs’ claws
till dawn.
Words are lamps
they shimmer in the vilest of places.
They make dreams
out of particles and matter.
The words in the
29 secret alphabets
burn for all.
© Iulia Halatz
Lilian Gish, 1929 — photo by Cecil Beaton
I am honored and proud to share my Iron Tales at Blue Insights, under ‘Blog Novels’, a section for writers who have published books they want to share on Medium.
The first Iron Tale is “What can I give you?” published in Anthology Volume I: Writings from the Sudden Denouement Literary Collective, available on Amazon.
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.
© Iulia Halatz
https://medium.com/blueinsight/what-can-i-give-you-275cb1c6351a
