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

Day 622

Day's pictures

A Thunderstorm In Town

She wore a ‘terra-cotta’ dress,
And we stayed, because of the pelting storm,
Within the hansom’s dry recess,
Though the horse had stopped; yea, motionless
We sat on, snug and warm.

Then the downpour ceased, to my sharp sad pain,
And the glass that had screened our forms before
Flew up, and out she sprang to her door:
I should have kissed her if the rain
Had lasted a minute more.

Thomas Hardy

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 617

Day's pictures

“Just to love! She did not ask to be loved. It was rapture enough just to sit there beside him in silence, alone in the summer night in the white splendor of moonshine, with the wind blowing down on them out of the pine woods.”

L.M. Montgomery,

Why’er

pictures, Poetry

You bend
Round
what is straight
Down

You’re cold
Steel
It is plain
Flat

You don’t
Weight
What is the same
Depressed

You’re mine
Gold
It is simple
Grounded

Day 616

Day's pictures

The Snow Man

One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter

Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.

Wallace Stevens

Stars

Poetry

Stars

The stars are glowing their distance into my imagination.

O could I… O could I go there, please fall.

Fall down to me o distance, you star.

Your incentive of unlimited fantasy, you star.

Please fall down to me, I cannot fall to you.

Please come to me and let me wish.

Let me wish to be there, be you.

Let me glow and be distance.

Let my falling down give hope.

Let me shine amongst billions and shine my lite to millions.

Let me reach out to other worlds.

Where they look up and wonder why.

Why is that star, that star over there, glowing so bright.

So fulfilled in this night here down under the stars.

Day 615

Day's pictures

Still I Rise

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

By Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou born Marguerite Annie Johnson; April 4, 1928 – May 28, 2014) was an American poet, memoirist, and civil rights activist. She published seven autobiographies, three books of essays, several books of poetry, and was credited with a list of plays, movies, and television shows spanning over 50 years. She received dozens of awards and more than 50 honorary degrees. Angelou is best known for her series of seven autobiographies, which focus on her childhood and early adult experiences. The first, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969), tells of her life up to the age of 17 and brought her international recognition and acclaim. (Read more)