Spots of Time
There are in our existence spots of time,
That with distinct pre-eminence retain
A renovating virtue.
Wordsworth, The Prelude
That with distinct pre-eminence retain
A renovating virtue.
Wordsworth, The Prelude
First, I decided to not write in pentameter.
I mean, I don’t have the prestige of let’s say, a John Carter No, I chose to write a bit of poetry With rhyming couplets in all simplicity, Because the most important things to me Are the words, with, of course, a bit of melody. Arrived in Grasmere I had no clue What we were all about to do. What struck me the most Was what we did at first. Entering a temple of manuscripts We were tried by Jeff to see if we were fit To handle the precious documents with care Obviously they cost a fortune, so it was fair. Needless to say we were all in awe In front of all this treasure that we saw. A book, carefully was opened and magic Came out of it, in one word, it was : Terrific ! Sometimes Bamboozled I profundly feel When I think I know it all, but still, The perception of a new experience Sometimes baffles me more than I can sense. The moment we lived felt stolen from time. For the latter word, I am sorry I couldn’t find a rhyme… Let’s pause life which often goes by too quickly To relive this moment in all its intensity. What a breath-taking impression To experiment the process of writing in action. What a struggle it must have been To gather ink, paper, and ideas to be seen. Handwritings from 200 years ago Brought us emotions and managed to show That linearity is sometimes quickly Questioned by time’s fluidity. After all, as time goes by We, humans often try, To feel unique and in some parts it’s true That we are, except that humanity too Can be conceived as a fundamental link Weaving everything, everytime, and everywhere if you think Weaving everything, everytime, and everywhere if you think I’ll stop here with the mumbling To leave room in order to sing The opportunities we were offered To live this experience we all wonderfully shared. Téo Verhoeven
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I was no longer alone, in my room, my pod, my cocoon a brown, maroon-shelled body, shiny armor, a broken rainbow on the move stroke the edge of the blue wall swift-paced with no eyes on me, creeping before my eyes. A cockroach by the wallpaper’s white lily. White lily of the valley, velvet in my fancy, immaculate heads at the feet of the Madonna, — now surprised by a stain. I heard my voice rise: You must leave this home creeping creature of the earth home is mine to call, lilies mine to covet, earth mine to name. I, creature, know nothing from the word go nothing to the last tick of the clock but to you I speak of unbending law. ES At the unknown and alluring form
I took a quick glance Ignorant of the upcoming storm Which would move my senses into a dance My mother peeled the divine fruit From which I finally had a taste The intense sweetness left me mute Of it, nothing I wished to waste At resisting the beautiful mango My heart stood no chance Carried into a passionate tango Almost as a trance I enjoyed that piece of art But learnt after years and time My mother was guilty of the greatest crime I had been deprived of the best part To herself, she kept the kernel And for that, my sadness will be eternal -S. I wandered the mind busy as a bee
unable to sit or think calmly. The city around me was like a hive with everyone running and screaming without paying attention to me, still wandering and wandering. Without noticing it, I left the city behind me, my mind still busy as a bee; suddenly everything around me was still, as if the world has stopped. But you were there, the little star that for the last years has been looking over me. I stand, as a tree in the middle of this vineyard, and gazed at you. You started twinkling, your light enveloping me as your arms once did. Alone I stood, alone with the stars and you. I took off my shoes, and felt the ground under my feet It was still warm from the day; I closed my eyes and remembered your blue laughing eyes, shining like a star and filled with memories. My body was floating high over the city, over the lake; mirror of the moon and you were there, sat on a cloud, your arms opened, welcoming me. I sat with you, looking at the world, this giant anthill. A sudden gust of wind, a dog’s barking and I was back in the vineyard. I gazed sadly at you, still on your cloud, sad and cheering. With a little glow you showed me the way home and with a smile, I followed it, leaving the vineyard behind me. C. I have a confession to make.
My heart and my brain don’t work on the same frequencies, I’m pretty sure of that. My feelings are always under control. My hopes are tamed. My dreams are possible. I’m not gonna lie: sometimes being in my head can be tiresome. It can be painful. But don’t be sad. This is how things are and have always been for me. I know I’m logical, I know I’m rational, I know I’m sensible. I know life is not black or white and that the line between the two is there for you to play with. This is who I am. I also know that, especially because of their impossibility to be clearly defined, I love words. I love how they twist and turn; how they are never set and yet manage to express a clear and precise idea; how they can inflict pain if used as a sword but also ease doubts when applied as a balm. Words are powerful and delicate, threatening and soothing, poisoning and cocooning. I strongly believe there is nothing the right words can’t do. It should come then as no surprise that I am also an avid reader. Granted, a cynic one, but a reader nonetheless. Indeed, what are books if not one perfect word after the other? And, what are books if not one enclosed and portable world - right beneath your fingertips - waiting for you to open the first page and get lost in the labyrinth composed by masterfully and carefully picked words? Words are a door to worlds that we could otherwise only imagine. You could wonder lonely as a cloud while laying on a couch; escape the dangers of the Jungfrau thanks to the help of a Chamois Hunter; admire the dancing and laughing daffodils whilst hoping to receive a letter from a loved one, and even be a witness to the birth of a Creature that defies death itself. When so many emotions are conveyed by a simple word written with a quill; when mountains of feelings await you in the next paragraph, when beauty and terror can exist in the span of the same single breath… How can you not let your feelings run free? How can you not let your hopes be wild? How can you not dream impossible things? And how can you not fall in love with all that? I guess then that, after all, my brain and my heart have more things in common than I believed. It was all for this. - GS Some years ago, yet not so long,
I used to walk a forest path. It started near my parents’ home And oft I’d trace its twisty track. With many thoughts of poetry, And love of Nature’s many sights, I’d take my treasured MP3, And wander till the fading light. In the woods, all sounds recede – Nature swallows you up. Quite contented, I’d proceed Further and further into the shrub. All around, some birds would sing, Their chirps accompanying my way. From leaf to leaf they’d hop and spring, Performing an ever-new ballet. Oh, I’d go home so satisfied, And muse, and wander; dream! And never question the delight Those views afforded me. I’m older now, though not by much, And warmly think on those long days, And how those birds, natural sprites, Would sing my sorrows clean away. So I set out, now as before, To those familiar trails, And hope to see my friends, the birds, Who used to entertain my way. It’s not the same, it’s different now – The birds fly with the breeze; And though I try to chase their songs, They do not sing for me. -OD |