Thursday

another of Jorge's gorgeous pix (Jorge Santos: http://web.newsguy.com/jsphoto/))

Jorgey is a friend of mine from Brussels, an underwater photographer, extreeeeeemely modest, who always thinks his photos could be better... Anyway, I sometimes write poems that try to portray his gorg photos and here is one of them.



Nudibranch (sea slug)

He appears,
silent as a snowflake,
sliding over beaten bed rocks
teasing sponges and corals
with his yellow tips waving
in the deep sea breeze
nature says,
beware of colours blinding,
as he tempts us to our knees
to kiss his velvet pout
leaving trails upon our lips,
although soft on the outside,
inside, they may be as hard
as quarter inch nails .

Wednesday

inspired by Paul Watson's documentary "Rain in my Heart"

http://www.guardian.co.uk/media/2007/nov/26/television?gusrc=rss&feed=media

* * *

reality, please let me have
another glass, let me,
walk through the house
with eyes closed, arms
outstretched, tottering yes
but, losing control by choice,
feeling heavy, yet light
as I scramble upstairs
on all fours, hands,
sinking into dusty softness
crawling over the
neverending landing
to the room where,
curtains are closed,
my safety zone
and at last,= I clamber

into bed?


* * *

Sunday

Front 242 ("Don't Crash")

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N5A-TmADhqk


hi Patrick, Jean-Luc, Richard! Belgiums' only real electronic rock band!!wayhay!!

hail

* * *

like a dramatic final chord
of a Wagner overture,
the viscous pounding of hail
on the fluted tin roof stops.

Wet silence follows, stones,
sliding like bowls,
over shiny terracotta tiles.
A necklace of diamonds
prêt-à-porter, clings
to the washing line
as, windows weep, and
fluffy blackbirds preen
a jumble of drips jive,
à la rhythm 'n blues,
as we inhale,
damp nature.


* * *

nb. A view of a hail storm from a terrasse with red terracotta tiles.



Message 2 - posted by dazzlinglucinda (U2795209) , Mar 17, 2006
Dear VJI remember this poem from when I first joined Poetry CornerPret a Porter still ready to wear.Bring back the Golden Oldies I say.( I remember it so it must be good)Lucy

Message 3 - posted by Pip (U222487) , Mar 17, 2006
Much enjoyed the re-visit VJ. 'prêt-à-porter' has a very rainy sound! You capture the moment in 'Wet silence' I believe I commented before on the visual splendour of 'necklace of diamonds'.Great music and images in this VJ. Thank you for sharing.all the bestPip :0)

Message 4 - posted by mazann (U2443065) , Mar 17, 2006
first time ive read this but found it to be really good i think you have a knack with words that others like myself can only aspire to well done

Message 5 - posted by didyouever (U2468519) , Mar 17, 2006
I find it totally original to have portrayed a rainy day with so much reference to jazzy musical styles, it's all a bit "Breakfast at Tiffany's" innit? Most original. Rain will never be the same again for me.Didyouever

Message 6 - posted by Mercedes (U1754896) **, Mar 17, 2006
A beautiful poem VJ - I remember when you first posted this.Emma

Message 7 - posted by Pip (U222487) , Mar 17, 2006

Message 8 - posted by wordplayer (U3374351) , Mar 17, 2006
Hi VJa beautiful descriptioni like this poem very muchwordplayer

Message 9 - posted by Ann B (U1755036) , Mar 17, 2006
My priviledge to read it first time around - I can see and hear it- well done! Ann

Message 10 - posted by VJ (U2493142) , Mar 17, 2006
I am going to be naughty and do a general thank you as I am saving all my words for replying... 8-) Thank you all so much.I love hail stones and the aftermath. On my terrasse here I have this little fluted roof and the sound is deafening and I always go and stand under it to get the full effect.Valeriexx

Message 11 - posted by didyouever (U2468519) , Mar 17, 2006
VJ, Please!What is this 8-) You're always doing?Are you confusingthe number 8with the cap let Bmight I ask?Excuse this pain in the ***

Message 12 - posted by VJ (U2493142) , Mar 17, 2006
it's because I have big eyes dids just a silly smiley, I used to say "smile" each time on the old board as there were no icons so I changed it to this. You could NEVER be a pain 8-) ))))

Message 13 - posted by Taurus (U2765330) , Mar 17, 2006
VJ,This isn't only good, It's Excellent.Toby
This is a reply to this message

Message 14 - posted by didyouever (U2468519) , Mar 17, 2006
Thanks for that last comment.So, it is a smiley SIDEWAYS, now I get it! I thought you were mixing up the symbols for the 'cool' emoticon.Ah well.Live and learn.Didyouever take a turn

Message 15 - posted by didyouever (U2468519) , Mar 17, 2006
PS sorry, I've also lectured you on this on another thread!

Message 16 - posted by VJ (U2493142) , Mar 18, 2006
blush blush8-) thanks toby Jug, Valeriexx

Message 17 - posted by anipani (U2224939) , Mar 21, 2006
this was new to me,and worthy of recognition, can't let it get buried, so i am pulling it back up, hope you don't mind but i had to send a round of tumultuous applause. must have missed it on the thread before. i love the choice of sounds in the words, pret-a porter is just GORGEOUS. i am deeply envious of your talent, best wishes anne

Message 18 - posted by sibford (U3131584) , Mar 21, 2006
Hi Valerie, I think this is an absolutely beautiful poem.I must say I have never liked hail,since I was a very young child and was caught in a freak hail storm but now I have read your poem I will try to regard hail in a different way!! Your poem has made me really think of its beauty instead.Love&Best Wishes Rose xx

Message 19 - posted by VJ (U2493142) , Mar 21, 2006
Gosh thank you so much Anne and Rose for your thoughts and comments. Glad you enjoyed,Valeriexx

Thursday

Franz Schubert

One of my favourites:

Franz Schubert string quartet No 14 in D minor D.810, Death and the Maiden (II Andante con moto=14'24")

For Sam...

Wednesday

Helena says: " no to airbrushing "


ahh those were the days when plumpness was a virtue...

* * *


Take us back
to the sixteen-hundreds
when folds of flesh
were plumply desirable
and ample mouthfuls of
orange skin were held
in great esteem.


* * *

Monday

Rembrandt





















* * * *

His playful face
lights the musty room
He knew (he must have) that these
knowing eyes would be
making bordering on madbad
love to strangers still today.
Her breath, drawn
into his majestic pure strokes
simple clarity leaves her gasping for air
for the longing in those eyes
captured forever makes her yearn.
Master of touch, skinless cheeks of crumbled
bones matted into wriggling earth
no matter! she would
dig like a dog with bare hands to find,
to slide her tongue over every finger, inhale...
smile
embrace his genius,
gently like a hushed waterfall
gushing into the dead sea
together he
and me.


* * * *


When I first saw this painting in the Rijks Museum in Amsterdam, I think I fell in awe.

Sunday

Marie my cat

















* * * *

Seeking out the tiniest ray of sun
sprawling spindly legs, yawning arms

and pointy toothed grins,
she spots a movement.
No different than any other predator
slowly does it, combat like
excited instinct, takes over.
The fly seems to cock his head as he knows
slanting eyes are upon him,
and instead of retreat, zooms in, silly thing.
Then with a jump worthy of an olympic games
with panache that even Nureyev would be proud of,
she accurately paws the fly from the sky and
the battle begins, with a fearsome buzzing
from deep inside her pink muzzle.
She, with a cross eyed look is puzzled.
Where's he gone?
And as the buzzing gets louder
she, no longer able to bear the tickle,
releases her toy and out he roars, this time a little wiser
he rockets to the ceiling waiting for her to tire.
And to this day, the fly ponders
on whether he prefers this feline siege, or
the swinging swoosh of the evil fly swatter.



* * * *






Friday

"Tiggers don't like honey"

In memory of dear Malcolm Henry James, author of "Missykad", his first novel published at the ripe old age of 71. Miss you MHOYHIB.
* * * *


Light, he who once encouraged you to grow
now leaves you standing stark,
giant arms waving tiny fingers
hurrying on the night to hide
your once vibrant head of leaves,
in his shawl of deepest, softest dark.

Such a familiar hilltop sight,
open wounds-
tombstones of nature.
If only I could dress you again
prettily, as you deserve.


* * * *

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