poem
Day 669, Enjoy the ride.
Day's pictures, Poetry
We don’t know what time we arrive.
Most of us don’t mind, to float on time.
The closer we get, the faster it goes.
There is regret and we enjoy the ride.
Day 668, Mask.
Day's pictures, Poetry
The man under this mask is long dead.
He doesn’t look at me, but my regrets reflect on him.
We are so alike underneath, I wish I could meet him.
Day 667, Communication.
Day's pictures, Poetry
Communication is movement,
dispersed by intention
as light throwing a shadow
and unsharp mask.
Day 658, Wandering.
Day's pictures, Poetry
Wandering through the world
with my eyes closed.
Seeking inside
for the path
that i am going.
with my stick
as opinion
reaching out.
To feel what is
on my road
that is concealed
but still here.
Day 655, Der geheimnisvolle Nachen
Day's pictures, Poetry
By: Friedrich Nietzsche, songs of prince vogelfrei
The mysterious boat
Last night, as everything slept,
The wind sighed with unknowing,
Running through the lane,
I found no rest upon my pillow
It is the moon, still, that gives me
A deep sleep, – a good conscience.
I brushed sleep away from my
Senses and ran to the beach.
Moonlight shone and I met man and boat
Calmly upon the warm sands,
Sleepy both – shepherd and sheep –
Sleepy the boat slips away from land.
One hour, maybe two,
Or, was it a year? – to me
Suddenly sense and thought
Seem to be an eternal sameness,
Amid this abyss without limits,
I do myself upon the past.
– Morning came, a boat stands
In the black depth and rests – rests . . .
What happened? She called – hundreds
Called me: what was it? Blood? – –
Nothing happened? We sleep, sleep
All sleeps – ah, so good! So good!
Der geheimnisvolle Nachen
Gestern nachts, als alles schlief,
Kaum der Wind mit ungewissen
Seufzern durch die Gassen lief,
Gab mir Ruhe nicht das Kissen,
Noch der Mohn, noch, was sonst tief
Schlafen macht, – ein gut Gewissen.
Endlich schlug ich mir den Schlaf
Aus dem Sinn und lief zum Strande.
Mondhell war’s und mild, ich traf
Mann und Kahn auf warmem Sande,
Schläfrig beide, Hirt und Schaf: –
Schläfrig stieß der Kahn vom Lande.
Eine Stunde, leicht auch zwei,
Oder war’s ein Jahr? – da sanken
Plötzlich mir Sinn und Gedanken
In ein ewiges Einerlei,
Und ein Abgrund ohne Schranken
Tat sich auf: – da war’s vorbei!
– Morgen kam: auf schwarzen Tiefen
steht ein Kahn und ruht und ruht . . .
Was geschah? so rief’s, so riefen
Hundert bald: was gab es? Blut? – –
Nichts geschah! Wir schliefen, schliefen
Alle – ach, so gut! so gut!
From:
The Peacock and the Buffalo
The Poetry of Nietzsche
Translated by James Luchte
ISBN: HB: 978-1-4411-1860-8
Day 645, Our past is burned.
Day's pictures
A child in us is ruling.
No grip on the current.
From the top down and back.
Giving us.
A pattern to follow.
We reflect with a child’s mind.
We don’t understand, we react.
We react on our past.
Our past rules, it tells us.
Our past is burned.
Into us, our brain.
This focal point… surrounds us.
We walk in line and re-act.
Not like children… they act.
Day 643, land in my head.
Day's pictures
Fly…
And land in my head.
Where I live with my friends.
The thoughts that I own.
The wishes I’ve lost.
I can invite you.
But hold your own hand.
Make sure you stand up.
Straight on your own.
If you’re in doubt.
Stay far away.
From this inside of me.
This world that is mine.
Cause know how to fly.
I have no ground.
Don’t stay with one foot.
Outside of my world.
It will tear you apart.
Break you in half.
Ruin your life.
Leave you in tears.
Cause I’m over here.
A world with no boarders.
But only the one’s.
I stated and wanted.
And do you know .
How the world is from here.
Away from the clutter.
Everything clear.
lined out below.
Seeing the picture.
What pulls us.
And pushes.
What itches.
And stings.
Your judgment will weaken.
Over what good is or bad.
It’s all just so relative.
So your back will be straitened.
End you will fly your own way.
Regardless the world.
And what it has to say.
Day 638, I am waiting.
Day's pictures
The sun over there
is going to throw me
outside of my rim
that is keeping me hidden
for the day
I am waiting
and hope for
the light
that I still feel inside
as a glow of my dreams
and a hope on the horizon
that is keeping me…
Day 635, I stare outside.
Day's pictures
This old window is the perfect place. It is cold here; the warmth is in the other room. I will sit, and think, look outside. Fog is hanging over the place where there is life, it is all white through this old glass that bends the lines of what is straight. This white from the snow calms me down, it blends in the horizon of my thoughts, I stare outside. It is quiet now.
Day 634, Skeletons.
Day's pictures
I like this picture mainly because of the stillness it shows to me. Alt these thin trees standing there motionless, one slightly more in focus pretending to be you. I imagine walking there, thin air freezing cold. The snow is halfway frozen, and it is the only sound I hear when I go. When everything green that was alive is dead and on the ground, you see the skeletons lying around. The trees stand in silence and morn its loss, I look further and ignore the signs, this animal ones was alive. I slowly walk on forward in time. I wasn’t there when it fell down and died. Last summer it was green here and the sun shined on me. Skeletons are covered by summers day light.
Day 632, The need to be alone together.
Day's pictures
Pareidolia is a psychological phenomenon in which the mind responds to a stimulus, usually an image or a sound, by perceiving a familiar pattern where none exists. (Seeing faces in objects for instance)
For some reason I see, in this picture, several little people standing on a ridge and one big fellow looking far away in a certain direction. They seem to belong together, wonder what they are looking at, or what that one on the right is thinking about:
The need to be alone together with no one so close to belong somewhere single and go my own way of love for the one outside my reach out to myself at night lying there in my memory with love from the past that was good to hold out with no breath in my neck I can turn around and go to the one that I love and learn to hate this being alone I sometimes cry for no reason I feel great walking proud my own way and I see those eyes floating shooting lightning in my heard burning pain and pleasure all at once in my days single and never alone going up while falling on my knees kissing feet pulling strings in my brain to maintain my own smile alive to get one inside this life I betray my own pride and still go the road that I so much like and also need is what I tell when I lie awake the nights before I sleep alone together with a dream by my side.
Day 624
Day's pictures
Warning by
PURE at heart we wander now:
Comrade on the quest divine,
Turn not from the stars your brow
That your eyes may rest on mine.
Pure at heart we wander now:
We have hopes beyond to-day;
And our quest does not allow
Rest or dreams along the way.
We are, in our distant hope,
One with all the great and wise:
Comrade, do not turn or grope
For some lesser light that dies.
We must rise or we must fall:
Love can know no middle way:
If the great life do not call,
Then is sadness and decay.
George William Russell
Day 623
Day's pictures
Colours in lamplight
Colours in lamplight are previews,
scarcely eschewed as wave-length turbulence
tuned to closeness and friendship.
Colours in firelight are skin-warmed
glowings, harbouring contentment,
revealing intuitive insight.
Colours in moonlight are barely shown
shy smiles recalled with eidetic
intensity from reservoirs of sight.
Colours in candlelight are filigree
reflections, decorative shimmers
of sympathetic enchantment.
But in the hard light of day
they become flagrant solidities
that get in the way of our true feelings.
Ivan Donn Carswell
Old friends as memories
Poetry
I close my eyes and see descriptions.
Partially finished disappeared in time.
Gone, but alive.
Left behind ways.
Worn down paradise from many days
with each other, of what went before.If I could look
through the door back
join in again.
Perfume and imprint
the hours will
halt, and stand silent still.I open my eyes, time travels on.
Now, today, I will refine
the memories for later
my friends, the smell, what I inhale
of now I shall take
forwards in time something to long.
To the paradise before that I have nowI close my eyes, for one more time
For you, my friends
From now and before.
The original Dutch version I made before.
Day 621
Day's pictures
A Winter Eden
A winter garden in an alder swamp,
Where conies now come out to sun and romp,
As near a paradise as it can be
And not melt snow or start a dormant tree.
It lifts existence on a plane of snow
One level higher than the earth below,
One level nearer heaven overhead,
And last year’s berries shining scarlet red.
It lifts a gaunt luxuriating beast
Where he can stretch and hold his highest feat
On some wild apple tree’s young tender bark,
What well may prove the year’s high girdle mark.
So near to paradise all pairing ends:
Here loveless birds now flock as winter friends,
Content with bud-inspecting. They presume
To say which buds are leaf and which are bloom.
A feather-hammer gives a double knock.
This Eden day is done at two o’clock.
An hour of winter day might seem too short
To make it worth life’s while to wake and sport.
Robert Frost
Nochrisis 