Tag Archives: poem

Buried moon

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

(Reposting an old poem)

Art – Buried moon by Edmund Dulac.

Thursday’s quote

“Light is the left hand of darkness
and darkness the right hand of light.
Two are one, life and death, lying
together like lovers in Kemmer,
like hands joined together,
like the end and the way.”
Ursula K. Le Guin (October 21, 1929 – January 22, 2018),
The Left Hand of Darkness

 

Art by Édouard Manet.

Happiness

…Happiness is the uncle you never
knew about, who flies a single-engine plane
onto the grassy landing strip, hitchhikes
into town, and inquires at every door
until he finds you asleep midafternoon
as you so often are during the unmerciful
hours of your despair. – Jane Kenyon

Happiness is immaculate
and wordless
Happiness is the fire person
Burning for your path
Lighting like the moon
dense and bright and alive
Hoovering on the alphabet blue
of the world
Uncovering a soul into desire
Pulling out a Love
that dissolves and finishes…

Happiness is the love
carved into the bark
that kills pitfalls and
feeds the unicorn-green grass.

Happiness is a father
that lived oceanless
for a daughter to grow
tied to the oceanside.

 

Art by Hansol Choe.

Divergent

“We’ve built a world where the only option is hubris. Where the future belongs to anyone willing to act like the gods of our myths.” – Seth Godin

When we strip away self-doubt and artifice we embrace the purity and freedom to feel and write as gods would do.
It is about running and battling with the beauty and the naïveté of the world at our side.
Freedom means courage…
Purity means courage…
Naïveté means courage…
Courage to strip away your soul and let it bloom before Spring is climbing up the trees.

Lately I have become part of a community that starts fires in a cold world, a community that grows blooming trees out of lackluster soil, that takes freedom, purity and courage to the other realm…There are many ways to say: “I love you”, many ways to say: “I am grieving”, many ways to say: “Thank you”.

I have found them all on A Global Divergent Literary Collective, where the Thank You’s, the Love You’s, the Miss You’s leave marks on shattered hearts and float towards our soul’s skin and pierce veil after veil to get to the truth. These are words that become warm at the reading…

I am humbled and honored that one of my pieces has been published on Sudden Denouement community. I feel free to borrow more of the purity and clarity of the world to write diverGently

Art by K,Kanehira.

November

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.

 

Gentle giant

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.

Steal the sun

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.

 

Cobweb dance

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.

 

Moon and Mine

“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.