a favorite foto

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Mooning for Gold

Your flat moon cheek
needs rubbing like
Aladdin lauding his lamp
granting superfluous wishes
to show your public
thin visage, veneered
shellacqued and shiny
waiting for the right ones to
plant a kiss and grow
favorably in your lampglow.
Nurtured by vainglorious need
to be loved and admired
to leave a legacy of your greatness.
Flowering good ones
wilting bad.
Plundering feelings like yesterday's
news lining the dirty bird cage.
Moon-faced Janus
feigned loyalty
mock innocence issued
on a silver platter.

By Lucya Kotelewec @2011



Friday, August 26, 2011

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Contra spem spero (Hope against Hope) By Lesya Ukraiinka


Thoughts away, you heavy clouds of autumn!
For now springtime comes, agleam with gold!
Shall thus in grief and wailing for ill-fortune
All the tale of my young years be told?

No, I want to smile through tears and weeping.,
Sing my songs where evil holds its sway,
Hopeless, a steadfast hope forever keeping,
I want to live! You thoughts of grief, away!

On poor sad fallow land unused to tilling
I'll sow blossoms, brilliant in hue,
I'll sow blossoms where the frost lies, chilling,
I'll pour bitter tears on them as due.

And those burning tears shall melt, dissolving
All that mighty crust of ice away.
Maybe blossoms will come up, unfolding
Singing springtime too for me, some day.

Up the flinty steep and craggy mountain
A weighty ponderous boulder I shall raise,
And bearing this dread burden, a resounding
Song I'll sing, a song of joyous praise.

In the long dark ever-viewless night-time
Not one instant shall I close my eyes,
I'll seek ever for the star to guide me,
She that reigns bright mistress of dark skies.

Yes, I'll smile, indeed, through tears and weeping
Sing my songs where evil holds its sway,
Hopeless, a steadfast hope forever keeping,
I shall live! You thoughts of grief, away!

Author notes

This is the most "hopeful" piece by Lesya Ukrainka (1871-1913).

Incidentally, the poet herself was, from childhood, an invalid with tuberculosis of the bones. Furthermore, life as a writer under the Tsarist empire (and particularly a writer in Ukrainian - a language officially decreed not to exist) involved its own strains and traumas - she had to write under a pseudonym, and her work had to be smuggled over the border for printing - and the completed books smuggled back. And there was the constant awareness that she could be sent to Siberia for flouting the censorship in this way - and in her state of ill-health, Siberia would have been, in effect, a death sentence. I simply wanted you to know that the original author was writing out of her own profound experience -it was not simply an abstract "exercise".

translated by Vera

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Poem by Lesya Ukraiinka

"Давня весна"

Була весна весела, щедра, мила,
Промінням грала, сипала квітки,
Вона летіла хутко, мов стокрила,
За нею вслід співучії пташки!
Все ожило, усе загомоніло –
Зелений шум, веселая луна!
Співало все, сміялось і бриніло,
А я лежала хвора й самотна.
Я думала: «Весна для всіх настала,
Дарунки всім несе вона, ясна,
Для мене тільки дару не придбала,
Мене забула радісна весна».
Ні, не забула! У вікно до мене
Заглянули від яблуні гілки,
Замиготіло листячко зелене,
Посипались білесенькі квітки.
Прилинув вітер, і в тісній хатині
Він про весняну волю заспівав,
А з ним прилинули пісні пташині,
І любий гай свій відгук з ним прислав.
Моя душа ніколи не забуде
Того дарунку, що весна дала;
Весни такої не було й не буде,
Як та була, що за вікном цвіла.
1894 року.
Леся Українка

Poem by Lesya Ukraiinka (excerpt)

"On this hard and ingrate soil I'll sow
Flowers that shall bloom with colors rare;
Flowers will I plant where frost doth reign,
Water them with many a bitter tear."
~ Lesya Ukraiinka




Lesya Ukraiinka statue in the Ukrainian Cultural Garden



nature


By Paulius Nasvytis



B&W





Saturday, August 20, 2011

quote

“If anything, I fantasize sometimes about being alone. There are times when I just thought about, on my worst day, just you know, leaving our house and just going some place like checking into a hotel and just being in a quiet room by myself, just sitting in a quiet air-conditioned room, sitting down, eating my lunch, with no one touching me, drinking a Diet Sprite, by myself. Look, I just want to have one day that doesn’t depend on how everyone else’s day goes.”

— Claire Foster

poem by Steven B Smith


Back cover of Unruly by Steven B. Smith
published 8/20/2011 by Crisis Chronicles Press
(foto by Smith, text added by JC)

The Socioshere vs. Mother Earth
by Steven B. Smith

NO EXIT reads the movie marquee
NO RIGHT LANE says the sign by the side of the road

I’m rolling seven dice like dead man’s teeth
and counting all the dots

For the dead shall speak

I’m not a flash man
I prefer to look among the shadows

There’s a darkness between the light
and the light behind the dark

All part of Noah’s Ark

How do we describe
these thing strings of life except
incongruity

All the above
all the below
all the in between
forever and ever unmet

Faux foundation for the worry farm

Because the slats in the shadows
still slant from summer to sun
as the light through the leaf waters the vine
bringing slight sheen of rosemary green
and the olive leaf’s lean silver gleam

Front cover of Unruly by Steven B. Smith
(foto by Smith, text added by JC)

Steven B. Smith's poetry chapbook Unruly is available for $5 US from Crisis Chronicles Press,
420 Cleveland Street, Elyria, Ohio 44035. Please add $2 for postage. Or use PayPal:

Friday, August 19, 2011

Mall Rat...a poem

Mall Rat
Apple-bottomed pasty
pale muffin-tops
parade like peacocks
on a mission.
Their movements missing
eloquence.
They march on
hoping for a
melodramatic moment
to immortalize the scene
but only
shatter the silence with a
pop pop pop
of bubblegum and
impatiently
swipe the hair
off their face
looking vacuously
into the distance
seeing nothing but
another empty stare.
By Lucya Kotelewec @2009
©2009, Lucya Kotelewec Lebid, all rights reserved

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Anais Nin

February 21, 1904 - January 14, 1977

Anais Nin was born in France. Her father, Joaquin Nin, was a composer born in Cuba and grew up in Spain. Her mother, Rosa Culmell y Vigaraud, was Cuban, French and of Danish ancestry.

Anais Nin moved to the United States with her mother in 1914. Later she divided her time between Paris and the United States.



"People living deeply have no fear of death"~Anais Nin

“Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage.” Anais Nin

"We don't see things as they are, we see things as we are." ~ Anais Nin

. "The unveiling of women is a a delicate matter. It will not happen overnight. We are all afraid of what we shall find."~Anais Nin

quote


"Each friend represents a world in us, a world not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born." Anais Nin


quote


"Art must be for women like a personified ancient ritual where every spiritual thought is made visible, enacted, represented. Art must be like a miracle ... art is a miracle."
- Anais Nin

green by sonia




pink




buildings and chickens by Y. D.





Tuesday, August 16, 2011

One of my favorite quotes...

"Success is to be measured not so much by the position that one has reached in life as by the obstacles which he has overcome while trying to succeed." -- Booker T. Washington

poem by Michael Ceraolo

“Message in a Bottle” by Michael Ceraolo


The socio-scientific structural reconstructionists,
those known in ancient days as archeologists,
sifted through the sites of former civilizations
and discovered to their great dismay that,
though the bottles made from the long-gone petroleum remained,
the messages inside them had decayed to dust

poem by Lucya WK Lebid

untitled

On the brink
walking a fine line
neither here nor there
in a netherworld of being.

Between the moon and the stars
the spongey soft space
where ideas grow
and feelings fade.

Living in limbo one
day bleeds into the next,
faraway voices heard
but not understood.

In the cloudy fog of inertia
stifling the progress, I sleep.
On cat paws creeping
time escapes perception
slithers away unseen.

Signaling a new dawn
the sun spreading
color variation chaos
presents a new dilemma
of dreams unspoken.

I live in wait.
Waiting crouched ready
to pounce
to seize,to behold,
to be.

Lucya WK Lebid @ 2009
© 2009Lucya Kotelewec Lebid, all rights reserved

poem by Giacomo Leopardi

These solitary hills
have always been dear to me.
Seated here, this
sweet hedge,
which blocks the distant horizon
...
opening inner silences
and
interminable distances.
I plunge in thought to
where my heart,
frightened,
pulls back.

Like the wind
which I hear tossing
the
trembling plants
which surround me,
a voice from the inner depths of
spirit
shakes the certitudes of thought.
Eternity breaks through
time,
past and present intermingle in her image.
In the inner
shadows
I lose myself,
drowning in the sea-depths of timeless love.







Giacomo Leopardi

poem by by swadesh mithra

Ravens of falling helium
I’m rust ..
I’m shuffling cards
Of black numbers
Black skins of a television ghost
Inflicted with grease like eyes
Listen ..the suburban winds come
Stained all glass of all damn obsessions
Towards the tablet montone
All hearts,chains, stifling hairs..
Snarls of goats all around
Funeral stockings..we burn burn the helium
Get me up and paint my pocket
Kill the claws
Fetch the motorhead
Postulate all regulations to die
..don’t have a snake
No no balls to nightless rubber straws
Hashish and a railroad gypsy day
I’m crab dragging myself towards the television hues
Darkness turns into relaxing grease..grease and
Methane shoes..pentatonic ulcer..
I’m crab dragging myself behind the truck
With all deadheaded prurience
Plunged into yellow lust
Lagger & lust

by swadesh mithra

poem by Taras Shevchenko


A Reflection

The river empties to the sea,
But out it never flows;
The Cossack lad his fortune seeks,
But never fortune knows.
The Cossack lad has left his home,
He's left his kith and kind;
The blue sea's waters splash and foam,
Sad thoughts disturb his mind:

"Why, heedless, did you go away?
For what did you forsake
Your father old, your mother grey,
Your sweetheart, to their fate?
In foreign lands live foreign folks,
Their ways are not your way:
There will be none to share your woes
Or pass the time of day."

Across the sea, the Cossack rests --
The choppy sea's distraught.
He thought with fortune to be blessed --
Misfortune is his lot.
In vee-formation, 'cross the waves
The cranes are off for home.
The Cossack weeps -- his beaten paths
With weeds are overgrown...

Taras Shevchenko
St. Petersburg, 1839.
Translated by John Weir Toronto

poem by lucya kotelewec

a prisoner of consequences
lying in ambush on news
to devour and spit out
waiting for the winds to change...
to blow in the direction i need to see...
to see the horizon the hope, to feel the energy,
to feel my pain to actually feel
i look within my emptiness
i am oblivious to the obvious, oblivious to my agony.
to obviate the sublime
wondering when will this outlook of emptiness end?
discombobulated,disengaged,disinterested by
the sameness of nothingness.
breathing in the musty air of millions
anxiety attacks my soul sucking the spirit out of me
and i lay listless looking,looking,looking...


--
~lucya kotelewec
© 2011Lucya Kotelewec Lebid, all rights reserved

poem by John Updike

Perfection Wasted by John Updike
And another regrettable thing about death
is the ceasing of your own brand of magic
which took a whole life to develop and market------
the quips,the witticisms, the slant
adjusted to a few, those loved ones nearest
the lip of the stage, their soft faces blanched
in the footlight glow,their laughter close to tears,
their tears confused with their diamond earrings
their warm pooled breath in and out with your heartbeat,
their response and your performance twinned.
The jokes over the phone.The memories packed
In the rapid-access file. The whole act.
Who will do it again? That's it: no one;
Imitators and descendants aren't the same.

The art of Life....

The art of life...
"To touch the cup with eager lips and taste, not drain it;
To woo and tempt and court a bliss - and not attain it;
To fondle and caress a joy, yet hold it lightly,
Lest it become necessity and cling too tightly;
To watch the sun set in the west without regretting;
To hail its advent in the east - the night forgetting;
To smother care in happiness and grief in laughter;
To hold the present close - not questioning hereafter;
To have enough to share - to know the joy of giving;
To thrill with all the sweets of life - is living."

Poem by Max Ehrmann

"Desiderata by Max Ehrmann

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible, without surrender,
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even to the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons;
they are vexatious to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain or bitter,
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs,
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals,
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love,
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment,
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be.
And whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life,
keep peace in your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy."

quote

The whole point of the physical experience is the expansion beyond that which is. That's why eternity is eternal. That's why there is something more than now, because the now will foster the desire that the Non-Physical Energy will answer. That's why there is eternally more. Always has been, always will be. --- Abraham

poem Anne Sexton

When Man Enters Woman
- Anne Sexton


When man,
enters woman,
like the surf biting the shore,
again and again,
and the woman opens her mouth with pleasure
and her teeth gleam
like the alphabet,
Logos appears milking a star,
and the man
inside of woman
ties a knot
so that they will
never again be separate
and the woman
climbs into a flower
and swallows its stem
and Logos appears
and unleashes their rivers.

This man,
this woman
with their double hunger,
have tried to reach through
the curtain of God
and briefly they have,
through God
in His perversity
unties the knot.

Ali Abdominal 's poetry

‎'Mother me out!'

The alley ended in the night
You were going too fast
And the child...his words...couldn’t keep instep with you
Those days..... up there.....in place of the moon
a woman......sat squatting.....holding a pie

These days, Mother! ....I take it out on the apple
And each day I leave the house to fall in love
but to no avail

The alley ended in me

and tonight of the house I wanted to buy her
just the image of a small window remains open
See! I’m closed down
I have thrown out the windows of the house
Going to buy some salt for the wound I have
and matched some jigsaw pieces of the sea
so you come back from afar

Gone from our mother’s hand,
following the end of the thread that passes through your
sewing machine we are …Fate!

we have not walked at all
we have only trampled up
these footpaths

....
Author Ali Abdolrezaei
Translator Abol Froushan

randomness...






moments...











Exotic Birds