Sailing away

 

Only a tiny boat to accompany all my dear fallen orchid flowers in the afterlife

One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15836#sthash.gIxFJwCQ.dpuf

 

One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more, Death thou shalt die!

 

— John Donne "Death Be Not Proud"

 

One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15836#sthash.gIxFJwCQ.dpuf

One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. - See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15836#sthash.gIxFJwCQ.dpuf

Choosing tough words, granite, flint to break the ice

Where I lived – winter and hard earth. 
I sat in my cold stone room
choosing tough words, granite, flint,

to break the ice. My broken heart – 
I tried that, but it skimmed, 
flat, over the frozen lake.

She came from a long, long way,
but I saw her at last, walking,
my daughter, my girl, across the fields,

in bare feet, bringing all spring’s flowers
to her mother’s house. I swear
the air softened and warmed as she moved,

the blue sky smiling, none too soon
with the small shy mouth of a new moon.

— Carol Ann Duffy "Demeter"

Plough through

Canción otoñal

[...] Hoy siento en el corazón
un vago temblor de estrellas
y todas las rosas son
tan blancas como mi pena.

[...] Today I sense in my heart
a vague tremor of stars
and all roses are
as white as my sorrow.

—  Federico García Lorca "Canción otoñal"

Fall essence

I have not finished yet to talk about the Autumn. I will continue to talk about it at least until the beginning of the winter, if not longer.

The autumn here makes you pull out the coats of the closet and puts your hands in his pockets.

In his pockets you can find chestnuts, pine cones, peels of tangerines ... all things that autumn gives away generously.

In this season, if you listen carefully, you will hear the autumn speaking in the woods.

(But most of the time you can not understand him. He always speaks with dried leaves in his mouth.)

Perfect summer memories of Sicily

1. 
   

To have seen Italy without having seen Sicily is not to have seen Italy at all, for Sicily is the clue to everything

—  Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

October gave a party

The new spring/summer collection is out in the streets

The nest I've prepared for me

My native place 
Far away:
The buds on the trees.

Haiku by Santoka

The door of the henhouse after the chickens broke out

Delicate issue

Your house is close to mine

I live in a midget village. Only 11 houses plus, of course, the castle of the dentist on the red hill.

My dwelling is the one with the red shingles, the chimney and the big blue window.

Your house is the one with the walls made out of white wool and golden thread. It has a pointed azure roof, shaped 

and built with a very long ruler by a meticulous architect.

I don't like very much that sharped roof, but what it matters is only that your house is close to mine. 

 

ps: By the way, if you care to know it, the house with the leafy chimney is the one of the herbalist.

Lemons, the gold trumpets of solarity

Lemon tree

"... Ma l'illusione manca e ci riporta il tempo
nelle città rurnorose dove l'azzurro si mostra
soltanto a pezzi, in alto, tra le cimase.
La pioggia stanca la terra, di poi; s'affolta
il tedio dell'inverno sulle case,
la luce si fa avara - amara l'anima.
Quando un giorno da un malchiuso portone
tra gli alberi di una corte
ci si mostrano i gialli dei limoni;
e il gelo dei cuore si sfa,
e in petto ci scrosciano
le loro canzoni
le trombe d'oro della solarità."

— Eugenio Montale (I limoni)

Translation:
"...But the dream fails and time returns
us to the raucous towns where the sky
shows only in broken pieces pinched high
between the cornices of buildings.
Now rain tires the earth, winter dullness
heaps upon the houses,
the daylight grows grudging, the soul is grim.
When one day through a gate left open
there appears among the trees in a courtyard
the yellow light of lemons;
and the icy heart melts
as in the breast roar
their songs,
the gold trumpets of solarity."

Horses mantra

"...And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look
Behind from where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game..."

— Joni Mitchell (Circle Game)

Temple of the plenary kindness

Please, come on in

Strawberries & airplanes

Why not?

Believing in mermaids can change your life

... De Satan ou de Dieu, qu'importe? Ange ou Sirène,
Qu'importe, si tu rends, — fée aux yeux de velours,
Rythme, parfum, lueur, ô mon unique reine! —
L'univers moins hideux et les instants moins lourds?

— Charles Baudelaire (Hymne à la Beauté)

Flowers fascination

Just saw Adaptation.
Wow.
No, no... double wow!
... triple wow deluxe!

Eggs cage-free (the taste of spontaneity)

Leaving silently

A parting word?                               
The melting snow                               
is odorless.

Haiku by Bokusui           

Moonlight regatta

Springdream

(fashion magazine cuttings pasted on an endless meadow)

My multitudinous interior worlds

Come visit them!

On the yellow one there's always the sun (remember to carry with you the suntan cream!).

You can visit the green striped one (on the top left corner) only on Fridays because on the other days it's closed (the doorwoman has 6 days off per week).

If you come on the dotted one I will show you my secret machine to make snowflakes out of tofu.

On the sixth planet of the second line (from left to right) you will discover how to convert gold fishes in gold powder only with the power of your mind.

I would like to tell you also about the others globes but now I'm sorry, I've to go on my favorite planet, the one on the bottom right corner. I use to go there every time I want to dream about a multitude of innumerable other different worlds.

(cuttings from various mags pasted on my blue mind)

Celestial variations

Powder blue over us.
Enchanted by the celestial mechanics.

Looking for our terrestrial Olympus.

Bitten by the love bug

:::H A P P Y:::

Happy like a bright yellow T-shirt hanging by a thread in the sun.
Happy like a cat at the fish market.
Happy like a bear in the salmons season.
Happy like a snowman in a cold winter day.
Happy like a monk staring at Buddha silently.
Happy like the bird on that branch with a very long worm in its beak.
Happy like polka dots.

Happy like a bicycle going downhill without braking.

Happy like a dog in a charnel house.
Happy like a swinging rocking chair.
Happy like a mushroom seated over the wet musk soaking.
Happy like the walls full of music of the composer.
Happy like a bee in a flowers field.
Happy like a lizard over a sunny rock in august.
Happy like a foot fetishist in a shoe store.
Happy like a sailor in a starry night.
Happy like a kite in the wind.
Happy like a brush in the hands of Picasso.
Happy like a Stakhanovite at work.
Happy like a mouse in the cellar of a dairy shop.
Happy like a biscuit soaked in mascarpone cream.
Happy like the mirror of Jean Seberg.
Happy like my lungs in mountain.
Happy like a claustrophobic in the Gobi desert.
Happy like a woodworm in the mahogany.
Happy like a knick knack wiped with a feather duster.
Happy like nutcracker cracking nuts listening to Tchaikovsky.
Happy like a balloon full of Brunello di Montalcino.
Happy like a parquet floor just been waxed.
:::H A P P Y:::

Move like this

Dance, dance, otherwise we are lost.
Pina Baush

On Wednesday, on Thursday, on Friday, on Saturday, on Sunday, on Monday, on Tuesday, and again on Wednesday, 

Thursday, Friday and so on and on... DANCE!

On the red bricks of the sidewalk, on the tiles of your kitchen, into the puddles, on the bed, in the shower, when you're in line, 

washing the dishes, going to the post office, on your porch, on the platform, on eggshells, over the years, 

on your own grave... DANCE!

Monday of rise and marvels

A proactive way to kickoff the new week is for sure by taking a walk on the Holy Mountain of Flowers 

under a rose sky, and cotton wool clouds.

Spectacular!

Let's get on top, there we'll drink from the source of the New Week sparkling spring days and a cup of bonjours.

What a moon

What a moon

the thief arrests a while

to sing a little song.

Haiku by Buson

Damned bus

Clackety-clack, clackety-clack, clackety-clack, clackety-clack, choo-choooooooo

(Photo from the book The Near and the Middle East)

Always In My Heart

♥

Luckily for us, love is portable :)
Wherever you are... it follows you.

♥

First two collages of the Always In My Heart Project  ♥


(Photo from the book The Near and the Middle East)

Where is your home?

Home is where one starts from.

T. S. Eliot

A place to be transparent, careful, pensive, creative, opaque, active, authentic, slaphappy, inebriated, gloomy,
melancholic, broody, nostalgic, pure, genuine, finished, bewitched, defenseless, blessed, lucky, thrilled,
deeply loved, trusted, easier, sappy, blithe, foolhardy, unlimited...

I was just passing by for a little lovenight kiss

Good night of twinkling

Things you people wouldn't swings

Because of unreportable sadnesses

The Poet’s Occasional Alternative
by Grace Paley

I was going to write a poem
I made a pie instead it took
about the same amount of time
of course the pie was a final
draft a poem would have some
distance to go days and weeks and
much crumpled paper

the pie already had a talking
tumbling audience among small
trucks and a fire engine on
the kitchen floor

everybody will like this pie
it will have apples and cranberries
dried apricots in it many friends
will say why in the world did you
make only one

this does not happen with poems

because of unreportable
sadnesses I decided to
settle this morning for a re-
sponsive eatership I do not
want to wait a week a year a
generation for the right
consumer to come along

Healing art

A single tender daisy for every barbed tip.

That's how it works.

Ivy in me, or as I lock on to

I dance on your walls gracefully.

Night and day, day and night.

There I live. There I'll die.

That's what I mean when I speak about devotion.

Out of curiosity

Let's talk about the horse who lives on your shelf near the window.

How did you persuade him to grow up and get old in that poky corner of your house?

I'm curious about it.

For sure you please him with the best straw, and you polish him every day with Swiss products early in the morning, when everyone sleeps and none can see.

Certainly he runs away from the shelf anytime he needs to stretch his legs but, you can swear to it, he'll be back at lightning speed because he's very diligent, I can tell that for sure and I know what I'm about.

He's a very beautiful horse indeed. Everyone will agree.

I love over all the way he keeps his ears so straight and the sunny expression of the muzzle.

Furthermore I admire the fact that he's not scared by the thunders or the bogeyman.

Probably to stand still he counts endless numbers. How far could he be arrived? 2395836386488993933030 or more? 

I will whisper you something in the ear: your horse is precious for you, but he's valuable also for the pedestrian who curiously peeks into your window.

A horse on the shelf near the windowpane is take-away happiness for the world.

Tuesday's rest for tired souls

To restore your bleary soul on Tuesday you need a porch and a hammock.

If you have only the porch, you'll need to buy a hammock. Preferably a colorful one.

You can buy a hammock made with long long shoe laces intersected, or rent out the hammock that I weaved this night, silently like a spider, in the upper corner of the wall. It's made with strings of lutes and it plays a beautiful melody if you hang it against the wind.

If you already have a hammock, you are very close to your own happiness. Yessss, sure. But, if you don't have a porch... bad news, you can't build a porch on a day like this in which you need only good rest. You'll have to steal the porch of some of your friends (or better, you can steal the porch of some of your enemies...What better way to pester them on a Tuesday afternoon?).

There you are, oscillating on your hammock, restoring your weary spirit with the sparkling air of the February's porch. You deserve it.

Eskimo folk poetry

In your plumed masks live the spirits of the land.

For every whale captured a new prayer has been recited, an heartfelt thanks has been sent to the sea.

Dance in circle until the night will end and while you'll fall asleep more tales will be told.

Not far away a glacier cracks and a draft comes in under the door to make you shiver. 

(mask from the Arctic Studies Center)

Tangle of nerves, blod vessels and tendons

Moving as less as I can, under a turtle dove colored sky, I keep on masticating.