Amigo Absoluto

It’s time For a new light Connection Solidarity Strength, confidence and certainty Wisdom is my part Making connection with the new time Making connection with the world Pioneering spirit For a new light It’s time by Geert Meijer 30-10-2016 Picture by Sarolta Ban

“Don't you know, If you don't step outside yourself,  you'll never discover who you are” ― José Saramago, The Tale of the Unknown Island  Photography © Denitsa Toshirova

Immortality is to live your life doing good things,  and leaving your mark behind. ~ Brandon Lee

Can you hear my soul speak Is yours in tune with mine Do you feel the same connection That so often feels divine Do I walk along a lonely path On this road of plans and schemes Or do we journey on together With kindred hopes and dreams Can you hear my heart speak Hear the words of love I hide Deep beneath my sultry skin I wish they'd make their way outside So you might hear the truth In a world so full of lies As I brought those words to life You could look into my eyes I long to let you know How I really feel At night the words upon my tongue In daylight seem unreal I wish that I could let you See behind the shades I wear I'm sure you'd feel so comfortable With the woman behind there Some people seem just like a book So open true and pure At times you seem unreadable As though hide behind a door That you refuse to open To avoid a brand new start Sometimes it makes me wonder If she still has your heart I wish you could read my body And the s...

~ In una notte bianca ~ Strinsi le mani sotto la scura veletta… ” Perché sei pallida quest’oggi? ” Perché di acerba tristezza l’ho ubriacato sino a stordirlo. Come dimenticare?  Eglì usci barcollando, con le labbra contratte dalla pena. Io corsi giù  senza sfiorare la ringhiera, corsi dietro a lui sino al portone. Ansimando gridai : “Tutto è stato uno scherzo. Se te ne andrai morirò.” ~ On a white night ~ I clasped my hands under the dark veil ... "Why are you pale today? " Because of sour sadness I got drunk up to stun him. How to forget? He came staggering out, with lips contracted by the penalty. I ran down without touching the railing, run behind him to the door. Panting, I shouted: "Everything was a joke. If you leave, I will die. " "Sketches of Anna Akhmatova ", 1911 - Amedeo Modigliani

…in the bottom of my soul, …there’s an intense and invisible grief, a sadness like the sound of someone crying in a dark room. —  Fernando Pessoa, from ‘The Book of Disquiet’

Beneath the Water © E.L. I chose to forget I drowned the memories forcing them beneath the water holding them against their will as they struggled as they fought as they clawed at me and reached their tentacles around my heart still I held them down I would not relent I would not let them breathe one breath but I suffered for their death each memory was part of mind and piece of heart my life tied to theirs each memory that I chose to forget -photo via Arts and Photography via FB Like the Night

In the early morning darkness When time was yet to come In frozen air suspended The word was fast a-sleep A warm and gentle breeze Made ripples in the waters face From east came seeds of light And touched the sleeping mind The light was innocent and bright In harmony the birds were singing But evil shadows soon were cast And songs rang out of tune Dark clouds were piling up The sun went out of sight Heavy waves raised up at sea And empty ships were drifting A storm of thunder came this way Bolts of lightning struck the earth No place to hide no place to go When rain began to fall In time the storm came to its rest The ocean settled like a mirror A precious stone could now be seen Once hidden in the sea Far from evening's silent fall I gazed in wonder at the starry night When the wind from the hiding sun Sparked flames in the northern light With broken seals of ancient book All hidden secrets were revealed And in my heart a pounding sound was fel...

By Clint Smith the drone was once a scrap of metal  the drone looks as if it might be a toy the drone is not a toy    the drone could have been something other than a killing machine    the drone could have been a house    the drone could have been a spoon    the drone could have been a swing    the drone does not know who it is going to kill next    the drone is going to kill next    the drone has learned to disguise itself as a shard of sky    the drone’s soft hum is a disembodied echo    the drone was mistaken for a star once    the drone renders itself celestial    the drone scoffs at sovereignty    the drone asks what is a border if you can fly right over it?    the drone was built by a man    the drone killed a man    & a woman    & a child    the drone killed a child  ...

“Hope” is the thing with feathers By Emily Dickinson “Hope” is the thing with feathers - That perches in the soul - And sings the tune without the words - And never stops - at all - And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard - And sore must be the storm - That could abash the little Bird That kept so many warm - I’ve heard it in the chillest land - And on the strangest Sea - Yet - never - in Extremity, It asked a crumb - of me.

Upon a hill there was a city Where they gambled for the truth And greed of gain and market shares Was preached from every booth They offered fame and riches And a life for evermore 'Just leave your soul to us', they said 'Or else, walk out that door' I stumbled down the hillside In the rain and heavy storm I fell, I rose, and fell again Until the early break of morn I raised my head and there she was All dressed in white with crown of thorns She held my heart and then she said: 'I'll be a shelter from the storm.' Copyright © 2011 Göran Gustafsson. All rights reserved

Tall Tales © E.L. There are stories told around the table at the holidays when the family's all gathered every one reminiscing nostalgia wafting through the air thicker than any scent from the kitchen and I listen rarely chiming in waiting for the truth to rise up from beneath all the lies all the adornments and decorations added to our family history to my history but never will it come never will my ears do anything but burn hearing tall tales magical stories of a life lived happy, carefree full of mirth, even comedy but no horrors no darkness or shadows that wouldn't be festive to speak of that wouldn't be right to uncover the wrongs pull off the layers strip the coats of paint down to the bones revealing the skeletons the old house holds -photo by Marian Schmidt, via Mindtripworld2 via         Like the Night

By Jericho Brown Stop playing. You do remember the card tables, Slick stick figures like men with low-cut fades, Short but standing straight Because we bent them into weak display. What didn’t we want? What wouldn’t we claim? How perfectly each surface was made For throwing or dropping or slamming a necessary Portion of our pay. And how could any of us get by With one in the way? Didn’t that bare square ask to be played On, beaten in the head, then folded, then put away, All so we could call ourselves safe Now that there was more room, a little more space? Source: Poetry (October 2018)

She said: "I am too old to play With dolls," and put them all away, Into a box, one rainy day. I think she must have felt some pain, She looked so long into the rain, Then sighed: "I'll bring you out again; "For I'll have little children too, With sunny hair and eyes of blue And they will play and play with you. "And now good-bye, my pretty dears; There in the dark for years and years, Dream of your little mother's tears." Eglantine, Pierrot and Marie Claire, Topsy and Tiny and Teddy Bear, Side by side in the coffer there. Time went by; one day she kneeled By a wooden Cross in Flanders Field, And wept for the One the earth concealed; And made a vow she would never wed, But always be true to the deathless dead, Until the span of her life be sped.     *    *  *    *    *  *    * More years went on and they made her wise By sickness and pain and sacrifice, With greying tresses and tired eyes. An...

He always coughed before he ran. She often thought of the sound a car makes just before ignition, which also coughs before it runs. There seemed something purgative about his early morning jog, more than just a constitutional, beyond mere aerobic kinetics, something like an auto da fe or walking fast through fire. Something there about flight or possibly pursuit. Was he running from or running to, and to what? From what? From her? From his life? Here, take this amulet, my kiss, she says as he opens the door. You must know always that my deepest affection runs right beside you and over you like a cool wind. Tell me what you tell the wind. ~~ Sonny Rainshine

“Anything that annoys you is for teaching you patience. Anyone who abandons you is for teaching you how to stand up on your own two feet. Anything that angers you is for teaching you forgiveness and compassion. Anything that has power over you is for teaching you how to take your power back. Anything you hate is for teaching you unconditional love. Anything you fear is for teaching you courage to overcome your fear. Anything you can’t control is for teaching you how to let go and trust the Universe” ― Jackson Kiddard

Hold fast to dreams For if dreams die Life is a broken-winged bird That cannot fly. Hold fast to dreams For when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow . Langston Hughes (1902-1967)

Painting "Fatalism" Jean Toorop I'm tired of chasing my dreams on blazing lava beaches, of fording rivers and never seeing the other side. I'm tired of climbing mountains that have no peaks of crossing oceans aided only by my arms and legs. But I can't stop because if I did, the dreams would just chase me. Gianfranco Aurilio

Poker Night - Poem by Austin Lockwood Place your ante on the table so the game can begin Be prepared everyone for I'm in it to win We play for cash only, no we wont take your check Dealer, shuffle the cards and I'll cut the deck The stakes have been raised and I hold a two and four Betting on it would soon have me walking out the door Fold, I declare For if I call my wallet soon shall be bare The hand plays out The dealer lets out a celabratory shout Several hands in and I'm begining to win The game I am looking to end I go all in on a pair of aces I lay down my cards and laugh in their faces My luck tonight is hard to believe The table now clear It's time to leave Painting : Poker night -  Thomas Hart Benton - 1948

The melancholy days are come,the saddest of the year, Oh wailing winds,and naked wood and meadows brown and sere. heaped in the hollows of the grove,the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust,and to the rabbit's tread; The robin and the wren are flown,and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day. ~~William Cullen Bryant

A wall © E.L. (via FB Like the Night) The air stiffens It becomes palpable, impermeable A wall Surrounding Enclosing Entrapping Barring any escape And you become aware That you cannot breathe There is nothing to take into your lungs There is nothing to sustain you All of your body and your world feels it The collapse The falling in And loss of stability Then down you fall Inward, outward Into nothing. - Art by Tina Klitgaard Eriksen

“She was always daydreaming.  She never wanted to live in the real world; she always seemed to be separated from other children her age. They couldn’t understand her or her imagination. She was always thinking outside of the box,  breaking rules, and only following  what her heart told her was right.” ― Shannon A. Thompson, November Snow photo by Brooke Shaden

I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils;  Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed- and gazed- but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude;  And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.  William Wordsworth

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me. And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter. I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells And run my stick along the public railings And make up for the sobriety of my youth. I shall go out in my slippers in the rain And pick flowers in other people's gardens And learn to spit. You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat And eat three pounds of sausages at a go Or only bread and pickle for a week And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes. But now we must have clothes that keep us dry And pay our rent and not swear in the street And set a good example for the children. We must have friends to dinner and read the papers. But maybe I ought to practice a little now? So people who know me are not too shocked and ...

I do not love you except because I love you; I go from loving to not loving you, From waiting to not waiting for you My heart moves from cold to fire. I love you only because it's you the one I love; I hate you deeply, and hating you Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you Is that I do not see you but love you blindly. Maybe January light will consume My heart with its cruel Ray, stealing my key to true calm. In this part of the story I am the one who Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you, Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood. Pablo Neruda

The weight of the world on my shoulders the demons of hell in my mind I travel through lands filled with shadows grab every pleasure I find for I must escape all this darkness find moments of peace to enjoy for soon again the beast awakens his mission to seek and destroy. A life filled with sorrow I carry have voices that eat at my brain I travel through lands filled with nightmares and memories so filled with pain at times I must escape madness so grab at each treasure I see just so that I can still the voices that forever keep tormenting me. The weight of the world on my shoulders the ghosts of the past in my head I travel through lands filled sorrow I live in the land of the dead I grab at each pleasure and treasure escaping for just one more day to leave behind demons and voices and skies that are permanent grey. ~ Jack Skeleton

Unity means to put Your hand in my hand For ever and ever... Hand in hand means To be together For ever and ever... One hand is not enough To be or to be not, but Two pretty hands together To be or to be not... One hand can not do everything, but It needs another hand Just to be For ever and ever... A two-handed life means To be stronger In everything For ever and ever... Without having two hands, It means there will not be A stronger and better life... Let me hold your hand Just to make mine to hold yours For ever and ever... I choose your hand To be with mine, so What do you choose? two hands are better than One hand anytime, anywhere, and everywhere... ________________________________ ______________________________________ MOHAMMAD SKATI

"As I stumbled into confusion about what was real and what was not, the strangest thing happened: The world disintegrated. Reality collapsed, or my perception of it. It ripped apart like a dry skin under pressure, giving way to something I can only describe as ineffable dimensions, depths upon depths." -Stefan Emunds Artist: Unknown Aesthetic Umbra

A poem is only a mouthful of air until it is read. Imagine it. Craft it carefully from your heart’s flesh. Seal it in a bottle of clear, pure words. Set it adrift on the ocean of time, life’s restless surge, until a few congruous spirits pluck it from the sea-wrack and recognize a message that illuminates their souls. Readers find writers; never the opposite Mike Essig

The only road I've ever known, It's a lonely road, Don't know where it goes. Still alive but I walk alone, Sometimes I wish someone up there would find me. My shadow's the only one that walks beside me, I fall, You and I collide, Just you and I tonight. Lauren Ellis Leung Image credit : Grant Thomas’s Beautiful Photography

Looking out onto this sea A Silence sweeps over me Alone upon this beach I sit and cry Remembering all the good times Knowing I'll never see your face Knowing I'll never feel your touch Knowing I'll never hear your sweet voice I cry some more Wishing you would come back Wanting to turn back the clock On this empty beach I sit alone and cry ~~Brenos Spider

Come into my magic garden safe behind an old brick wall. Lawned pathways will invite you, can you hear them as they call? There is beauty all around you, if only you can see. If not, smell exotic fragrance, from the Frangipani tree. Jolly jingling dancing bells like gems, reflect on water still. Nature blushed with many colours from the Master Artists skill. Every type of bird a twittering, tweeting, sing song melody. Safe, inside my magic garden, from all foes that there might be. Such sweet serenity I'm assured,  would your sense intoxicate. As you enter, my magic garden, sieved through - ~~ Jacqueline Williams

One plus one equals two That used to be us I knew things weren't going to go out as we planned We tried to make it happen but instead we got One minus one equals none I thought I saw the real you But I saw the devil in you And to think I would share my last breathe with you But instead I have to say is forget you One plus one was us But now I got One minus one is enough ~~ Poem by Andrea Jackson

I take a deep breath and begin to blow, And soon the bubbles begin to flow. From my wand, the bubbles now stream; The sunshine makes the bubbles gleam. Each bubble forms the most perfect sphere. My eyes see colours in something so clear. A colourful rainbow can now be seen: There’s orange, purple, blue and green. At the stream of bubbles, I stand and stare, As they float silently downwards through the air. In each of the bubbles, the world is reflected; By gravity, to the ground, each bubble’s directed. I’m expecting the bubbles to burst on impact, But, on the ground, many stay fully intact. Across the ground, the bubbles bounce along: They seem to be saying ‘We are strong! ’ The bubbles I blow are both big and small; Sometimes I blow and there’s no bubble at all! Watching the bubbles form and take flight, Fills my heart with a sense of delight. On the ground, a big bubble lands: There for a moment, it silently stands. Its existence on Earth comes to a stop,...

Does the sun ask itself, ‘Am I good?  Am I worthwhile? Is there enough of me?’ No, it burns and it shines. Does the sun ask itself, ‘What does the moon think of me?  How does Mars feel about me today? ’ No it burns, it shines. Does the sun ask itself, ‘Am I as big as other suns in other galaxies?’  No, it burns, it shines. - Andrea Dworkin, Our Blood

Having met you later in life, there are no memories of young romantic love, high school roller skating parties, college weekdays longing for your touch. No memories of experiencing together life’s first tastes of freedom or the innocence of believing that we had all the time in the world. I never knew your young body nor you mine; those days when I looked radiant in the morning. When life finally brought us together We stood before each other In the stark reality of all we had become. Too mature to hide Yet secretly wondering If the other would stay And if love was worth the trouble After all this time. Piece by piece We removed the layers of life Shedding off what no longer served us Until we discovered a place deep inside, Beyond judgment, expectation, Or what anyone else thought Where we found only pure light. Smiling, we instinctively knew We had everything we needed For the rest of the journey. Now With you by my side I can see the light in your eye...

life is a series of snapshots that fade to black and white a pictorial of faces and places a rich tapestry of fond memories captured in our minds our thoughts, our emotions put in neat little files stored in the crevasses of our brains and when we are low or feeling nostalgic we remember our better days sad memories linger there as well some hurt, some pain we need to be reminded why lessons learned from bad decisions guarded now from innocence lost and then those special photographs of those we've loved and those we've lost the beautiful memories that bring a tear ones that make our hearts smile and remind us it's been good to be alive... ~LyniGirl – 3/9/15

Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, And though they are with you yet they belong not to you. You may give them your love but not your thoughts, For they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far. Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness; For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable. ~ Kahlil Gibran

There is a flower that resembles A flitting moth in fleeting flight So fair its name has launched an island To natives' ever new delight It is a flower that compares with White doves in panoramic sight It's purer than fresh snow in winter Fair inspirations to ignite There is a flower kings and nobles Into their palaces invite To beautify their lavish ballrooms From breaking dawn to deepest night As lovely as is the white orchid I'll never own this bloom outright Yet as I dream in my small chamber Faith blooms in ever spreading light. Liilia Talts Morrison

Today my heart is obscurely tenebrous, It no longer dances to your a cappella heartbeats, Neither does it tune to the acoustic of your heart, It has ceased skipping a beat in a fashionable art. Today the virgin forest in my heart is murky, The trees bow in retardation for a snooze party, The rowdy rackety crickets have broken limbs, The fire flies are devoid of signature fire on their backs. Today the once dreamy ocean in my heart is calm, Its soothingly beguiling waves isn’t your balm, The coral reefs are deeply engrossed in a death sleep, Sea demons are surprisingly afraid of the storm’s sweep. Today the roses in my heart are dried and shriveled, Its thristle thorns prickle can leave one crippled, Their ambrosial scent has faded away dramatically, For the roses are no longer minty, but dried stigmatically. Copyright © 2018 Samuel Otieng

"Even for a moment do not think that you are the body.  Give yourself no name, no shape.  In the darkness and the silence  reality is found." – Nisargadatta Maharaj image credit: PurpleForest rise by  Dirk Wüstenhagen

"I no longer wait for a special occasion; I burn the best candles on ordinary days. I do not wait until the house is clean; I fill it with people who understand that even dust is sacred. I no longer wait for everyone to understand me; it is not their task. I no longer expect perfect children; my children have their own names that burn as brightly as any star. I do not wait for the right moment to be right; the right moment is always now. I no longer wait for the companion who will complete me; I am grateful to be already supported so warmly and tenderly. I no longer wait for a moment of tranquility; my heart can become quiet no matter when it is called. I no longer wait for the world to be at peace; I release my fist and I breathe peace in myself and around me. I no longer expect something big; to be awake to carry my grain of sand is enough. I do not wait to be recognized; I know that I dance in a sacred circle. I'm not waiting for forgiveness anymore. " ~~  M...

I remind myself that love was worth the price as his ghost whispers into every wind and the spray of the sea against my skin is the only kiss, the only touch left to me -© E.Lucas   - Like the Night -photo via Felicity's Kiss 

So exuberant and big and yet so delicate They amaze me every time again the flowers that have given me so much color in my life Poppies, cornflowers singing birds, buzzing bees what a blessing it is to see what we get in life Just to look around you to enrich your life Are you sad or lost you do not know anymore how you get everything out of life then stay standing for a moment and let nature give you the signal Relaxed or active you are always sweet to me a friend forever I want you the most never lose    Nicolasina Clement                         

When you first began life’s marathon, were you courageous from the start? When you stood there at the starting line, were you committed head and heart? Must you believe you’ll achieve your goals, from the moment you begin? Must you fully commit, to achieve great things, if you ever hope to win? Were you often left with doubts, about the limited things you knew? Were you apt to second guess yourself, as so many people do? Which decisions did you make back then, that you clearly now regret? Which choices did you make in life that you’d prefer now to forget? Why did you choose the path you’re on, the direction, course and pace? Why did you decide this was your dream, for your marathon, life’s race? Ever think you might have missed the mark, achieving your destiny? Ever wish you would have changed your life, and you answer possibly? If you knew then, what you now know, what difference would it make? If you could change your life today, what are the steps that you would take? ...

The birds have flown their summer skies to the south, And the flower-money is drying in the banks of bent grass Which the bumble bee has abandoned. We wait for a winter lion, Body of ice-crystals and sombrero of dead leaves. A month ago, from the salt engines of the sea, A machinery of early storms rolled toward the holiday houses Where summer still dozed in the pool-side chairs, sipping An aging whiskey of distances and departures. Now the long freight of autumn goes smoking out of the land. My possibles are all packed up, but still I do not leave. I am happy enough here, where Dakota drifts wild in the universe, Where the prairie is starting to shake in the surf of the winter dark. Thomas McGrath, “Beyond the Red River” from Selected Poems 1938-1988. Copyright � 1988 by Thomas McGrath. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, www.coppercanyonpress.org.

The More Loving One by W. H. Auden Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, I can go to hell, But on earth indifference is the least We have to dread from man or beast. How should we like it were stars to burn With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me. Admirer as I think I am Of stars that do not give a damn, I cannot, now I see them, say I missed one terribly all day. Were all stars to disappear or die, I should learn to look at an empty sky And feel its total dark sublime, Though this might take me a little time. ____________________________ Painting: The Evening Star by Camille Corot via Art, Literature & Life  

"Everything is determined by forces that we do not control. Everything is determined, for the insect as for the star. Be it humans, vegetables or star dust, we all dance to the rhythm of a mysterious air played by an invisible flute player. "   Albert Einstein  painting by Tifenn Python 

"To the painful treatment of the thorn, To the fatal discouragement of the rose, And to the corrosive action of death I see myself thrown, and all this ruin Befalls not for any other cause or reason But for loving you; simply loving you." - Miguel Hernandez, from “Unending Thunderbolt,” written c. October 1933 Painting by Meghan Howland

“The same stream of life that runs  through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.” ― Rabindranath Tagore Painting: The Flowered Terrace by Henri-Edmond Cross Date: 1905 FB: Art, literature & life

“I love to watch the fine mist of the night come on, The windows and the stars illumined, one by one, The rivers of dark smoke pour upward lazily, And the moon rise and turn them silver. I shall see The springs, the summers, and the autumns slowly pass; And when old Winter puts his blank face to the glass, I shall close all my shutters, pull the curtains tight, And build me stately palaces by candlelight.” ― Charles Baudelaire, Les Fleurs du Mal Painting: Night Landscape by Pierre Bonnard Date: 1912

As I stand on the shoulders of time and revisit my life I remember there used to be magic in us in the way I would think of your fingers belonging interlaced in mine. In the future we would together one day find in all the place we  would travel never alone and always together in all those lazy Sundays of     every week     every month     every season when all we needed was a meaningful kiss for a reason to never get out of bed to never let go of each other again. I am old and you are gone and there is no more time for us to live that life. Madalina Coman

Love you He was not a poet Or a man of words He kept his love you’s true, few and simple Functional but effective For sinking ships For desolation To encourage hope Then, this love you So unexpected Made her draw her breath and heart race; For it was true It was meant. The blush in her cheek And smile on her face Gave her away To the moment. Written by Little poet Autumn 2018 via FB Little poets place of poetic pleasure and pain