Venice's Sunset

There is nothing we can do for those lost years; and there is no tomorrow.

We were bound to this state; We stole time from Venice's Sunshine, tieded to bridge after bridge.
We walked Venice...

We were able to love, in an infant past, planted in the fields that were ours, for hundreds of images; until a moment arrived before the Sunset in Venice; in one ill fated moment, past entered like a bold thief through a glance; as the present flew out through a single turn of your body.

The writer continues to write his narratives:  We have returned...

 ~ Travel Tuesday 360 ~

The Persistence of Memory

This city, like a string drawn between yesterday and tomorrow, you know all you have lost and left behind.
You cannot see what lies ahead clearly.
But a horizontal gravity thrusts you into the thick of tomorrow, to an enchanting unknown in an unfinished poem you are about to begin.
Then it will take charge of its course.

People called me a dreamer when I said that there is a type of love; stretched from dream to reality...

Have things I remembered ever happened?

In Poetically well built memory, formed from the heart's compulsions;
we are consoled not by finding ourselves returning to the city that we love,
but by losing all sense of time.

The Museum Of Innocence

Beauty and memories are inseparable; we often find love in memories.

Orhan Pamuk - The Museum of Innocence

Winter

That winter I traveled, but I never arrived...

It Snows Only Once In Our Dreams

I started reading Orhan Pamuk's writing last year in a time of deep sadness.  During those dark period, a thought of such a book - a book I looked forward to read was a consolation that helped me through...

here is Pamuk's Snow

I Sing You A Lullaby

As you asked me, I stand now in the place where you sleep.
Our friendship, love, company the farewell before those who have come; 
our butterflies holding your hands in your final journey.

Every year, when the leaves change their colors; the Autumn comes
I shall hear you whispering my name in my waking dreams...

Look Not In My Eyes

Narcissus is a genus of mainly hardy, predominantly spring-flowering, bulbous perennial plants in the Amaryllidaceae (amaryllis) family, subfamily Amaryllidoideae. Various common names including daffodil, jonquil and Lent (or Lenten) lily are used to describe all or some members of the genus.

watercolor on paper

One day Narcissus, a hunter from the territory of Thespiae, was walking in the woods when Echo, (a mountain nymph) saw him, fell deeply in love, and followed him.

Narcissus sensed he was being followed and shouted "Who's there?". Echo repeated "Who's there?". She eventually revealed her identity and attempted to embrace him. He stepped away and told her to leave him alone. She was heartbroken and spent the rest of her life in lonely glens until nothing but an echo sound remained of her.

Nemesis, the goddess of revenge, noticed this behavior and attracted Narcissus to a pool, where he saw his own reflection in the water and fell in love with it, not realizing it was merely an image; unable to leave the beauty of his reflection, Narcissus drowned, and in its place came a narcissus flower. 

The pale flower is still found near river banks so that it can be reflected on the water.

Narcissus is the origin of the term narcissism, a fixation with oneself.

Narcissus is a painting by the Italian baroque master Caravaggio, painted circa 1597–1599. It is housed in the Galleria Nazionale d'Arte Antica in Rome.

linking to NF Blo-Ma

          NF DAM
Click FFF to see more flowers

Hurt

A good friend was dying in the hospital, I went to see him.
there was such sweet sadness, there was love; and there was happiness in love.

I felt the form of sweet sadness, just like music...  

The Return

I didn't know the water
but I planted words at its edge...
the words said what they said, then I left
I kept nothing but the rhythm, the rhythm in its wave.

On the path to the sky
the sky of my song
I was the daughter of the wind, traveling and residing
among the people of the sea...

One day, I heard the words which I planted at the edge of the water speaking
I felt the pulse of the alphabet in the echo
I forgot who I was so that I could be...

Now I return from a window, looking out in two directions
can I return as I left?
only knowing that the words I planted had grown into trees.

It is Autumn.

The Lover's Wounds

In Greek anemōnē means "daughter of the wind",  The name "windflower" is used for the whole genus as well as the wood anemone.

Besides the "windflower", I love how the Canaanites called anemones, "the lover's wounds".

Aphrodite (Venus) said: "my grief for Adonis will be remembered forever, and every year will see, reenacted in ritual form, his death and my lamentation; and the blood of the hero will be transformed to a flower."
As she spoke, she sprinkled his blood with sweet nectar, which made it swell up, like a transparent bubble that rises from muck; and in no more than an hour a flower sprang out of that soil, blood red in its color, just like the flesh that lies underneath the tough rind of the seed-hiding pomegranate. 
Brief is its season, for the winds from which it takes its name, the anemone, shake off those petals so lightly clinging and fated to perish.

click here to see more flowers

Give Me Another Poetry

no one has arrived

perhaps the poets lost their way

their language runs in the sea

Private Rendezvous

The past approaches you.
a magical albatross gently descends and wraps its wings around you;
and gathers you in like one of its young.
you fly together along the winding coast that shifts between white and blue...
you both alight painlessly in the path of the ancients that stand like angels upon the road.

But loud voices suddenly wake you:
what are you doing here, have you home or family?
you realize that you were dreaming.

I have a splendid dream that precedes poetry,
as if a kiss were the private rendezvous...

Deep Blue Sea

I went to the sea, although I didn't know how to swim
I walked and walked far into the sea
then, I started sinking...
everything fell in a tremendous shower, dissolving me.

linking to creative challenge

                                                  NF Abstract                                             

I Met Her In Avila

linking to Weekend Reflections

I Dreamed A Dream

Romeo: I dreamed a dream last night.
Mercutio: And so did I.
Romeo: Well, what was yours?
Mercutio: That dreamers often lie.
Romeo: In bed asleep while they do dream things true.

― William Shakespeare 

Happy New Year! Weekend Reflections #222

 ~ love & kisses ~  :)

linking to Weekend Reflections

There Is Only Silence

Sweet And Heady

Lilac wine is sweet and heady, where's my love?
Lilac wine, I feel unsteady, where's my love?
Listen to me, why is everything so hazy?
Isn't that she, or am I just going crazy, dear?

A Bottle Of Memory

 

in pale moonlight

far away city

the scent of your black robe