International poetry Lounge
INVITATION TO ALL GICAS MEMBERS TO JOIN US for INTERNATIONAL POETRY MONTH 2014
Good morning to all our GICAS members around the Globe, welcome to our Poetry Lounge, for the next three months we would like to celebrate together as we reach our second anniversary in August with International poetry month, therefore requesting members to share your favourite and most memorable poems to add to our current collection!!!.
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Johnny JohnstonLove is such an expansive word for something so complex and splintered;
Which love, What love, New love, Old love, Young love, Puppy love, Erotic love, Silent love, Embodied love, Love of family, One’s spouse or children, Food tasted, The smell of spring gardenia’s, Sports, Passionate love, Forever love, Unconditional love, Then Grace.
Art is emotion and an individual’s expression whether mixed, torn, loving, gentile, insane, angry, silent, dark, erratic, humorous or fulfilling… If you can’t unmask yourself and truly be the artist you were created to be then you will never be able to fully escape the chrysalis drawn tight which smothers your spirit, depriving deep experiences and the understanding of how emotions, through every source author one’s hunger for Love.
Without darkness, light would be as the winds without a beginning or end and without pain, hurt, suffering and tragedy. The comprehension of comfort, joy, fulfillment, ecstasy and love would be as a still pond without purpose, or cause, reason, or verse……. Johnny 4/10/14
A LOVE LETTER – Julio Cortázar
Everything I’d want from you
is finally so little
because finally it’s everything
like a dog going by, or a hill,
those meaningless things, mundane,
wheat ear and long hair and two lumps of sugar,
the smell of your body,
whatever you say about anything,
with or against me,
all that which is so little
I want from you because I love you.
May you look beyond me,
may you love me with violent disregard
for tomorrow, let the cry
of your coming explode
in the boss’s face in some office
and let the pleasure we invent together.
My lines, I hardly call it poetry, are just glimpses between a reality and a dream… Enjoy
Gentle wind whispering in trees
and I remember your eyes again.
Adding to our Season of Poetry we need to include Leonardo Da Vinci
Artist & Author
And I would like to share the text from my book « My poetry and ART »
In Russian …
Когда шатаются причалы…
Когда качается Земля… Ты по Воде пойди устало
По вечным водам Бытия…
Напейся светом Обновленья
В твоей крови вся сила Мира
«Все Божества, все Вдохновенья»
…ты только слушай Тишину…
Translation in English
When wiggle piers …
when swinging land …
you are on the water and went tired
the timeless waters Genesis …
Напеися lit world’s records for many years ahead!
in thy blood the entire force peace
“All God, all Usadba is not”
… you only hear silence …
BOUNDARIES OF A SQUARE
Listen the piercing talks of colors.
I am in the middle of a white square,
surrounded by four dark walnut colored boundaries of obsession,…
holding an enormous cadmium yellow deep hue
and a multi edged bleeding palette knife.
I am looking for the fifth boundary.
There are twisted colors dripped over the places.
Bright and pale light across and beyond
blended with solid shadows inaudibly listens.
Deep violet sodden fingers as words around meanings.
I want mark the fifth border of a space
with the language of a winded clock,
and the bristles of a swamped brush of constraint.
I feel the gravity of phtalocyanine blue,
while standing under the flying shreds of a teeming rain.
And listening to the words asking to open the closed fist,
to sign the self that I never created.
I am spinning and fragmenting towards limitlessness.
I found languages are not the same as once I said or heard.
There are flows of colors from precisions
or leaping bees towards the constructions of dimensions
or the vestiges of an impact between a color laced thought
and a floor full of reflections.
See the burst of a vast image,
like a paddy full of spikes infused with pale white,
and see that nearby alleyway, soaked in rain and mud painted with pain.All are perhaps just memories or collective visions and drilled dense spaces. Memories can be marinated in colors too. Memories are as sharp edged bamboos dipped in black Tinta china to draw precincts. Views are transparent fishhooks fastened to massive blocks of imaginations and thoughts are beings and can translate to compound allegories. Life is a mass in the center of a space with four boundaries of choices. Trespassing the fourth boundary is finding the fifth.
Pushkin e h 2014