-
Après un rêve, on ne saura jamais quel est dans l'existence
-
As (you?) I look into their eyes and see the wholesome words,
-
Take away my breath
but never touch my freedoms
-
I hate your lies. They lock me away with no key to clutch.
-
Where are your kisses?
I yearn to find them,
-
The Earth is trembling.
You ask what young people can do
-
Her countenance is like the sun, the moon is in her eyes
-
Purity flies from willow flutes
As sacred currents flow into the sea
-
My feet are leading me over the threshold of inner-respect and through the doors to the freedom I’ve always wanted...
My feet are leading
-
Warm sands speak
true pleasures to my heart,
-
Like a firebrand
in summery heavens,
-
~
Life's journey is a testament
-
Deideshmeier dreams
and chianti frenzies,
-
Isolation,
the honesty of detachment,
-
-
~
A poet, a field, an artist met today.
-
~
Elegance is in your hand,
-
The treble, the space, the succession of lines. The Clef of F, of the leftwards mind. The music of the cognitive, intelligence's call. Meti
-
Hope for the trees
Earth called,
-
~
The flower stood the test of time,
-
-
-
~
As a child, I spent days wandering—
-
-
~
To paint is to express, what words refuse to show.
-
-
A strong woman is as kind as she is wrathful,
as nurturing as she is bellicose,
-
Flowers singing in golden spring,
Expression of brightening grass,
-
An oath to Grandmum, / this powerful woman. / A mysterious beauty / and a pillar of strength. / Soaring on wings, / these eighty-two years, / nothing can stop Grandmum / from facing her fears. / A t
-
I was free, / Kissed by honour’s lips, / Reaching with my hand / In the sweet honeycomb of promises… / I was a frozen sea, trapped, / Belie
-
Vigil, / adept in passion, / glass hearts that shatter death, / twins japing unrelated here / as one.
-
Oil runs blazing hot, / sensual-gelatinous sexuality, / It is thick golden water / for my soul, / It never leaves, swirling / in the wax, phasing and glinting / intertwined with aromas / I'
-
I hunger for the mother fruit, / sultry scents, the eyes of autumn / A sieve of juice, vaporous, / enigmatic, intoxicating to the touch / evening feeling like craving / crimson sins. / The wildes
-
I am no miracle, / no specimen / no toy of any child, / woman, beast or man. / My flame is eternal, / four score and more, / theologans often prick, / Prick my legend / my origins / my fate, /
-
Whispers greet my ears, / are they compliments or sacraments? / Insults from afar? / Jitterings in the Turkish Baths? / O Master, sacred artwork, / arising eternally, / beautifully chained / by life's st
|