ARTISAN OF WORDS (One)

The Painted Trucks of India

2012-01-30T00:59:00.001+01:00

Indian roads have marvellous handpainted trucks that brighten up mundane living. The artists use colours imaginatively, and the motifs can be mythological, Bollywoodian, Nature or just about anything. Wonderful!

Street Art: Victor Hugo, Paris

2012-01-29T01:09:00.001+01:00

A fabulous interpretation of Victor Hugo. The artist has, it seems, rubbed the dust off the walls with considerable dexterity. This work of art is to be found at the Place des Vosges, Paris. The museum of Victor Hugo is to be found at 6 Place des Vosges 75004 Paris.

My Solitary Self: Poem

2011-11-20T19:20:00.002+01:00

My Solitary Self

I asked my solitary self, shy, splendid and sad
What to do wth the rest of my life;
My solitary self, debating with being and existing
And unravelling sundry strife.

My solitary self, aloof at times
Decided to ask my soul when and where
My brain and body could join in
And finally all griefs to share.

Wisdom, wherever it lies,
Perplexed by this intellectual discussion
Asked my solitary self to flee
All complicated abnegation.

So, alone with my solitary self,
Again I let my mind wander winsome and wild;
Slowly walking on mile after mile:
And then I saw my solitary self smile.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Stone Face in Niche in a Wall, Nevers

2011-10-07T19:04:00.004+02:00

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Interesting angle to this face, cunningly hidden in a niche in a wall.

Sacred Was This Longing: Poem

2011-08-24T23:23:00.002+02:00

Sacred Was This Longing

Sacred was this longing; like a flame
Whitehot and purified: flaring towards freedom
Nebulous but euphoric in a mad quest for liberty;
To rebel, to fight and even maybe lose
With that sacred faultline of losers the world over:
Cracks in the surface, waiting, waiting for a kinder destiny.
Sacred was this desire: wrapped in life's energy.

It was what enabled the city lights and country earth
To course in my life's blood. When I raised my head
To look at the stars they were attainable;
When I looked at the horizon it seemed so near
I had touched rockbottom but now I could fly alone
Touched, brushed, cleansed by

This sacred longing

Copyright: Rani Turton

Doorhandle, Paris

2011-07-20T14:44:00.007+02:00

Artists who imagine and create everyday objects like this one are geniuses indeed.

Strum, Strum Gently And My Heartstrings Sing: Poem

2011-07-09T23:34:00.002+02:00

Strum, Strum Gently And My Heartstrings Sing

Strum, strum gently and my heartstrings sing
A song that comes from deep within
Words that coin their own phrases
And that is how I begin

A terrible ballad of love
I can speak of emotional hiatus
Begin at the beginning and then
Let this song sing about us

Strum gently and let the world fade away
The time I have with you will soon end;
There is a meaning to this interlude,
I have a liftime this heart to mend.

Strum, strum gently, do not pause when
The words do not come;
Thus my heart will continue to beat
And I to this love will succumb.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Father's Day Is Almost Done: Poem

2011-07-03T18:47:00.002+02:00

Father's Day Is Almost Done

Father's day is almost done;
His hair shines silver in the light:
His hands, frail, hold a book,
His smiles to see a bird in flight.

He walks slowly as though
To still time in it's flight;
The sun will set, will set
And it will soon become night.

Father knows life is fragile.
With every passing season;
He unravels thread by thread
Hiis life's passion and it's reason.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Seashell bat, Sables d'Olonne

2011-06-29T19:23:00.005+02:00

Very fascinating art! A bat made entirely out of shells on the walls of a house.

Rose, Your Glory Turned To The Sky

2011-06-20T13:31:00.004+02:00

Rose, Your Glory Turned To The Sky

Rose, your glory turned to the sky
The sun on your face; the wind's caress
As you whisper as only roses can
The rain, the rain falls softly on your skin.

Rose, your glory turned to the sky,
Perfection, almost pity as the tempest comes
And scatters your petals far and wide

Your perfume comes, goes,
Remains on my hand.
Rose, your beauty is known by
Poets, lovers, artists
From every land.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Mind, Losing Control: Poem

2011-06-12T22:37:00.000+02:00

Mind, Losing Control

Mind, losing control, asking why.
Mind, wandering from hemisphere to hemisphere
And trying to find a place
A kind of santuary.

Disturbed and often weary.
Eroded by life's wear and worry.
Mind, losing control, fatigued
Strumming the strings and softly singing

Of life's lonesome starlit trek;
Of scorching sunlit trails:
Of eclipes on moonlit nights
Of bards, emperors, and knights

Of the toil and tears and all those years
Trying to be and become; of wanting,
Waiting, and wishing when
The body was still young

Mind, losing control, asking
Why the fire dims and embers at times
Want to blaze bright and consume
The ideas, the desires and the poetic rhymes?

Copyright: Rani Turton

Painted Picture On A Truck, India

2011-06-10T22:12:00.005+02:00

Indian lorries or trucks have lovely hand painted signs and pictures on them. A real feast for the eyes.

The Sometimes Song: Poem

2011-05-09T21:57:00.003+02:00

The Sometimes Song

Wait a while. The mind's confusion and slow steps
May quicken: when the sun comes out from hiding
And weariness itself wearily walks itself away.

Then, sometimes, in the silence of the stars
I can hear your voice. I can hear and taste and see
The years that brought me to this misery.
Sometimes, when familiar streets come my way
Or I come to them, anyway
What I really am trying to say

Sometimes, the softness of those instants
Comes back to me: the intent, the ideas
The emotions and the inspiration
That still remain with me. If you had been,
Sometimes, near me

Things would have been different.
These unfamiliar conceptions of destiny
That life brought to my door would have dissolved
Like the morning mist: sunshine-kissed.

I, in this sometimes moody musing, ask you to listen to this

Solitary sometimes song.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Doorknocker, France

2011-03-28T12:39:00.001+02:00

Splendid doorknocker in metal in France.

Cycles: Poem

2011-03-19T00:14:00.003+01:00

Cycles

Cycles of life spin, in eternal rotation
Like the sun; words, wounds
And weary worlds speak in
Samsara rhyme;
Eternal reconversion. Thus it
Happens time after time.

Look into the sky, pierce the clouds
Look beyond and see
Is the mind a deity?
Who is it that sees?
Is it me? Or is it noone?
Do not dissect the mind: ah, it is
Already all done.

I can touch and feel
As long the blood courses in my veins;
As long as there is some life in me.
I can touch and feel and see:
Ah, in perfect synonimy.

Cycles of life spun, spin, sing.
Cycles becomes cycles and then
The weaver loses his soul within
The poet finds the words
On the path to nowhere;
And cycles begin again, somewhere.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Mysteries: Poem

2011-03-12T11:15:00.002+01:00

Mysteries

There is a mystery in living
When, how, for how long and why
No need to use complicated rhetorical arguments
The devil's advocate I can play indeed
But the end is always the same
Its almost as if our lifespans are a timed game.

We can hop from land to land
For reasons only we can understand
We can lament and weep
Until at the end we finally sleep

To sleep perchance to dream
As a great poet once wrote
In lifespans, life's cycles, in moments of oblivion
I even forgot all that I wrote
The great mystery was not action or living
The great question was extinction and annihilation.

To come back to the essential
I, Me and Myself
My small insignificant life
Could I even presume to be remembered
After the third generation, the fourth maybe?
And what was it's essentiality?
Wicks flame, flicker and glow
That is finally the way I will go.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Through Those Lanes, Lost, I Wander: Poem

2011-03-11T18:06:00.002+01:00

Through Those Lanes, Lost, I Wander

The night resembles the day: endless and refractive.
I wander, in dyslexic mode, unable to formulate
One thought into another. I have left
Analytic reasoning far, far behind. Emotions
That ebb and flow like the tide.

Through those lanes, lost, I wander.
Is it this land that is foreign or is it I?
Is it me the stranger, weary and shy?
I have tried to reason, but now there is no reason
Even to wonder why.

Through those lanes, lost, I wander.
Was I the substance or the shadow, or was it
Just reality that eluded clouded reason??
I wander, wander, and now as time
Walks by my side
Shadows lengthen; though those lanes
Life, love, pain and all that remains.

Copyright/ Rani Turton

The Eiffel Tower, Paris

2011-03-03T18:53:00.001+01:00

Much has been written about the beauty of Paris. The Eiffel Tower's
illuminations are spell-binding in the darkness of the night.

In This Silent Hour: Poem

2011-03-01T19:17:00.000+01:00

In This Silent Hour

Roofs, dreaming in the cityscape
In this silent hour when the soft grey sky speaks
When nobody calls me by my name;
The mind, soft in melancholy
Asks why, and then again why.

In this silent hour, moments pass.
There are footsteps behind me
Dreaming, I must be.
Or waking, walking within the dream
I may not be all that I seem.

Flights of imagination once again
The past and present merge;
Blend into one pristine fancy:
Now, then, before, tenses blend
Is this how the silent hour will end.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Alexandre Dumas, Statue

2011-02-09T16:24:00.001+01:00

Statue of French writer Alexandre Dumas at Villers-Cotterêts, his birthplace.

Life in Pastel: Poem

2011-02-05T22:04:00.007+01:00

Life In Pastel

I think and often imagine
Even in scorched dreams
Myself and life as it seems;
As it seems, seems, seems.

I have a tenuous grip on reality
A self-made functional mode.
I think I have some aspects of alterity;
I can think in colours unrefined.

Pastel, refined, softspoken,
Colours that were not mine;
I can speak in languages
That are often tough and fine.

I can think in pastel
Speak in pastel and subdued
My life, often in colours bright
To this has now been reduced.

I have a life in pastel but inside
I have emotion bright and strong
I can think in pastel but emotion
Remains vivid and lifelong.

Life, filaments of life, in muted hues,
Is thus what it amounts to:
Live softly, there is yet a vivid dream
That I am driven to pursue.

Copyright: Rani Turton

A Thought, A Line, A Rhyme: Poem

2011-01-10T19:08:00.000+01:00

A Thought, A Line, A Rhyme

If only, clothed in mystery and technical delight
Lines would write themselves down word perfect and bright
Instead of a kind of imperfect poetic sonism
Ah! writing a poem is more than hedonism

It started with a thought, straying wildly and then
Inspired a line, and all the while; stay the thought even when
My fingers tried to write a single line
In silence, trying to still this heart of mine.

But even then, it wasn't each and every day;
Writing verse isn't as easy as they say.
Words followed neither rhythm nor time:
Slowly came a thought, a line, a rhyme.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Unbearable Sorrow: Poem

2010-12-29T23:00:00.003+01:00

UNBEARABLE SORROW

Deep within the snowbound reaches
Of my mind, never speak it out so loud, sorrow
Unbearable; waiting to reach out;
Oh, what it can do to you.

Imprisoned in frost, emotional hiatus
Emotion, feeling, possession
Sofly, sound-dampened sorrow
Waiting to be let out
Unbearable, borne for too long

The reality of waiting, wanting, thirsting
Falling, falling, falling as feelings get snow-bound.

Borne through fire, borne through the years
Sorrow, burning, burning white and bright
All through these years, these tears
All these years, these tears.

Copyright: Rani Turton

The Kiskiralylany Szobor (The Little Princess), Budapest

2010-12-21T00:16:00.001+01:00

This wonderful sculpture is actually a little girl, though at first sight it looks like a little boy. It is quite small, and actually looks like a child sitting on the fence near the Vigado tram stop. The artist is Laszlo Marton. Behind her you can see Buda castle.

More about the artist:

http://www.martonlaszlo.hu/eeletr.htm

Detail of Gate, Palais de Justice Paris

2010-12-14T10:43:00.001+01:00

Beautiful rosettes on the gate of the Palais de Justice, Paris (The Courts).

If I Should See You Again: Poem

2010-12-10T23:18:00.007+01:00

Today, As Always: Poem

2010-11-29T15:02:00.002+01:00

TODAY, AS ALWAYS

Today, as always and as often before
Dreading the light that falls on my face
The fingers that fumble and won’t find
Yesterday, today and tonight.

Worse than the morrow
Is the memory of sorrow
To know at the end of each day
That emotion has flown away.

O desultory rhyme. Time after time
I tried, the paradox of living and forgiving
I can try each day. Each morning the sun
Will rise, will slide, will set

Morning and mourning. The surprise
The yearning, the knowing
Today, as always at sunrise.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Palais de Justice, Rouen

2010-11-21T20:29:00.001+01:00

Detail of the courts at Rouen. This edifice was begun in the 15th century.

Clock sculpture, Arman, Paris

2010-10-24T22:38:00.004+02:00

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Interesting clock sculpture outside the Gare St Lazare by the artist Arman(1928-2005).

Street Art: Jim Morrison

2010-10-10T21:43:00.001+02:00

Jim Morrison, immortalised on a pillar in Budapest.

Wooden Statue, Auxerre: Photograph

2010-09-09T17:36:00.001+02:00

Timeworn statue decorating the facade of a house in Auxerre, France.

So Far Have I Travelled: Poem

2010-09-08T11:54:00.000+02:00

So Far Have I Travelled

So far have I travelled, from one shore to another.
I saw the sunset and moonrise from various city roofs;
Dusty tracks, cobbled stones and also
The sound of horses' clattering hoofs.

So far have I travelled and heard the lilt
Of speech's cadence;
When sleep touched my eyelids I lost myself
In destiny's strange dance.

So far have I travelled and for so long;
So long the road, so deep the reflection:
There is a moral as ever to be found
Life was never perfection.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Potterie: Photograph

2010-09-05T17:48:00.002+02:00

Pottery for sale in a French market.

Pont Alexandre; Paris

2010-09-01T21:09:00.001+02:00

Statue on the Pont Alexandre III, Paris.

Lessons I Never Learned: Poem

2010-08-27T15:56:00.001+02:00

LESSONS I NEVER LEARNED

Backbencher in grief schooling;
Never able to rationalize my loss;
Questioning pain as though life was
Just another dice's toss.
Whenever I thought of death
Or of people going away;
My breath stuck in my throat
And grief walked beside me that day.

I never learned the right way or the wrong way
Towards and away from loss;
I never thought it could be so hard:
I guess my learning was full of flaws.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Without You: Poem

2010-07-29T22:59:00.001+02:00

WITHOUT YOU

Without you the waters lie still; the reflections of silent trees
Remain as though transfixed but not tranfigured
Green shrubs and leaves remain sombre; clouds peer
And wonder at the stillness.
It might even rain. Why doesn’t the rain
Fall now and be done with it’s will?

Without you feelings remain in my heart
Unable to be expressed. Freedom and finery
Are long behind. Senses and sense are nonsense.
When will the cells in my body awake?
When will the dawn come and awakening light
Awaken my brain?

Let me wait for another day yet again.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Spider: Street Art, Paris

2010-07-28T11:55:00.000+02:00

Cute spider on a street wall in Paris poised naturally, ready to spin it's web.

THERAPHOSA: HARD AND METAL ROCK GROUP

2010-06-25T22:33:00.003+02:00

I happened to see this fabulous young group performing on Music Day (held the 21st June in France). It was worth it to see their guitar dexterity and vocals, tinging on the heavy metal sound. The public was entranced for many songs. A real crowd puller, this group can go very very far. For those interested in French rock or metal groups singing in English in France look up Theraphosa!

http://www.myspace.com/theraphosamusic

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Theraphosa/194472491306

(Permission asked and gotten for this writeup).

Everyday, While We May

2010-06-08T11:57:00.000+02:00

Everyday, While We May

To watch the trailing rose on stone walls
Dew on flowers, a resting bird on tree
To listen to the wind, feel the rain,
Everyday, while we may

The sun with it's golden beams
Warms the flesh yet alive
Stars that glisten and shine
Bread, that the soul may dine;
While we may.

While we may, blood and bone
Skin, touch, tears and pain;
Remind us that each and every cell
Lives, and then hears the knell.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Waiting, Listening, Thinking: Poem

2010-05-29T00:01:00.000+02:00

Waiting, Listening, Thinking

Waiting day by day
In the only possible way
The only plausible path
Lies straight, like an arrow
However rocky and narrow.

Oft in sundry guise
I dreamt of sunny skies;
Reflecting on life and its turns;
But to my great surprise
One learns and learns and learns.

Breathe the air, smell the wind;
The earth has a heart and a mind;
All that remains in the end
Is the love that we had to spend;
All that remains when our lives are done
Is the earth, the sky, the stars and the sun.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Children's Art: Heart

2010-05-26T13:13:00.000+02:00

Vivid colours for a bright and stylised heart.

Artist: Indrani

Walking On That Far Shore: Poem

2010-05-18T14:08:00.002+02:00

WALKING ON THAT FAR SHORE

Walking on that far shore
You know, the one that hardly existed anymore.
.
The far shore, unhindered by daily reality;
Only glimpsed by immortal glances,
By those in mortal pain; when
The sun falls on fallen lids
When the rain cools and heals
When the body doesn't shiver
And the soul shines like quicksilver.
.
Walking on that far shore
You know, the one on the horizon
That comes closer with every stride;
As the page of life turns, alas rapidly
I, from that far shore cannot hide.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Children's Art: Study in Blue

2010-05-09T22:38:00.001+02:00

A lovely woman in a lovely blue dress. A child's conception of an elegant lady.

Delage 1927

2010-05-08T22:19:00.001+02:00

A Delage vinatge car to dream over.

Grafitti Truck, Paris

2010-04-30T01:22:00.001+02:00

A truck that has been redone by street art.

Whispers Into The Brick Wall: Poem

2010-04-06T10:37:00.002+02:00

WHISPERS INTO THE BRICK WALL

Who else will listen silently while I speak of my love for you
Who else will stand still while I whisper my secrets
Those deep, hidden secrets buried in my heart
Except this rough, brick wall
Standing so tough and so tall
While I whisper all I have to say;
Nobody would remain as stoic and immobile.
No, nobody could or would. I ,myself
Knowing myself so well, can hardly believe all
That I pour out into this ready wall’s ear
I , myself, can hardly listen to my own words
Speaking out my barely avowed hesitations
And uncommitted love's crimes; I , myself softly touch
This rugged wall and it’s surface
As though it is the skin of my loved one’s face.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Woman With Glass: Children's Art

2010-03-30T12:38:00.007+02:00

Woman with high heels, glass of wine and diamond in her nose. A lot of masacra and lipstick too. Wow!

Drawing Courtesy: Indrani

Talking To Nobody: Poem

2010-03-30T11:39:00.000+02:00

TALKING TO NOBODY

When the sun dips and bows goodbye
I, at the window, watching the cityscape,
Admiring the dusk
Talking to nobody.

A cosmic dance, unpatented
Patiently the sun prepares its solitary revolution
Or so it seems: the sun, the window and I
Talking to nobody.

Footsteps down below
The fundamental alliance between
Between the sun, the lonely one and I
Is that we excel, at this exquisite art of talking to

Nobody.

Copyright: Rani Turton

HOURS

2010-02-01T23:07:00.000+01:00

HOURS

In spite of or rather because of
A boundless imagination bequeathed by my forebears

Leaping and skimming over life's incidents and accidents
Waiting and patience are not only virtues

In spite of or rather because of a certain sentience
That begins but doesn't complete the sentence

Phrases are like life; sometimes broken
At times unfinished and often unspoken

And these hours dribbling and dragging on, forever on
From the very beginning, the moment one is born.

When the end comes, alone in a foreign land
The hours will stop and nobody needs to understand.

Copyrght: Rani Turton

Street Art, Paris

2010-01-07T21:34:00.002+01:00

On a rather torn wall, Charlie Chaplin.

The Lyrics To This Song: Poem

2010-01-05T23:42:00.001+01:00

The Lyrics To This Song

In sunlight, strong or weak; watching a floating leaf;
In rain that wet my head and washed out my eyes
In snow gliding like a ghost
Whenever the wind on the hill blew
And I thought of whatever I knew.

The lyrics to this song
Came to the memory of your glance
I, the poet, the exiled and you
Not knowing where to place me
In your ordered world:

I have nothing in my hands, not even a flower;
Just the love in my heart and all it's power.

Come, walk with me slowly up this slope
Life is so short and I do so much need
Your warm clasping hand
And a little bit of hope.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Bird On Shell

2010-01-03T00:13:00.002+01:00

Bird elegantly perched on a seashell.

Glass Bangles at a Stand

2010-01-03T00:01:00.003+01:00

The tinkling sound of glass bangles is lovely. Women who wear them, the simplest of them look so feminine.

So Acute Was My Loneliness: Poem

2009-12-29T01:08:00.042+01:00

So Acute Was My Loneliness

Cobbled stones, not dust.

So acute was my loneliness that dream I must.
Escapism was a flight from dreary realism.

If roam I must, if chains I must break
Alone, in this pebble-strewn destiny
My happiness I must fake.

So acute was my loneliness that home was far
Too far; too far and distant my loved ones and my thoughts
That in that black cosmic wilderness even the North Star
Seemed close enough to touch. That even my words
Seemed transparent and tinted with Orientalism;

So distant and cold, so empty my worlds.
So acute was my loneliness even the poems would not come
The words fled, the streets wet, a spectre I had become
My memories tinged with the bitter things I had done.

All alone. When dawns touched my lids after fitful sleep
I had resolved never, never to weep
However deep the pain. However acute the pain
The sun would shine tomorrow and I would become myself again.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Cat after glass of wine

2009-12-21T13:03:00.004+01:00

Hmm! That wine was particularly delicious!

Jerome Iber

2009-12-18T23:42:00.002+01:00

Jerome Iber

A MON FILS DISPARU

Sur sa guitare, il m'avait composé
Une chanson qu'il aimait me chanter
On s'amusait à notre façon
Lui à la guitare, moi à l'accordéon
La java bleue, le petit bal du samedi soir
Faisaient partie de notre répertoire
Il jouait, il chantait
Et tout Auxerre l'applaudissait

Une nuit le destin l’a surpris
Pour toujours il s'est endormi
Au matin quand la police le retrouve
J'aurais voulu qu'il y soit un petit mot pour moi.

REFRAIN

Pardonne moi, maman je t'aime
Mais je dois partir
Maman, ne pleure pas
On se retrouvera

2 COUPLETS

Il en a fait danser, avec son flamenco
Des gitans et même des gadjos
Aujourd'hui j'ai mal
Mais sa voix est toujours là
Il me reste son CD
Sur lequel il aimait me chanter

REFRAIN

Pardonne-moi maman, je t'aime
Continue de jouer continue de chanter
Ne pleure pas maman
Un jour viendra
On se retrouvera
...

Copyright: JACQUELINE

To My Deceased Son

On his guitar he had composd for me
A song he liked me to sing
We played around in our own way
Him his guitar and me with my accordion
The java blue and the Saturday Night ball
Was part of our repertory
He played, he sang
And the whole of Auxerre applauded.

One night suprised by destiny
He went to sleep forever
When the police found him in the morning
I would have liked a little word for me.

REFRAIN:

Pardon me, mother, I love you
But I have to go
Mother, don't cry
We'll meet again

With his flaemenco he made the gadjos dance
And even the gypsies
Today I'm in pain
But his voice is always here
I still have his Cd
On which he used to love to sing

Refrain

Forgive me, mother, I love you
Carry on playing and singing
Don't cry, mother
The day will come
We'll meet again.

Copyright: Jacqueline

The Last Leaves: Photograph

2009-12-06T11:29:00.004+01:00

Amongst the last leaves on this tree.

When A Woman Goes To Pieces: Poem

2009-12-06T01:34:00.008+01:00

When a Woman Goes To Pieces

When a woman goes to pieces
Hysteria and fragility are often evoked
When a man goes to pieces
Its often just workload.

The opposite can also be true.
If a woman tells her mate
I'm going to pieces he'll tell her
'Get yourself together,
Or soon it'll be too late'.

A woman is rarely alone when she wants to be,
In times of acute personal misery.
But alas when she doesn't want to be
People become rare in their scarcity.

So social fronts and smiling facades
Busy workers and perfect mothers
Mill around busy shopping arcades

What if a woman has the right to say
Please just leave me alone for today?

Copyright: Rani Turton

This Burdened Heart: Poem

2009-12-01T15:41:00.002+01:00

This Burdened Heart

This burdened heart speaks low but clear
That today destiny’s lanes are not very clear;
That pain, like rain, can mist up the eyes
That clouds, like pain can block out the skies

That somewhere else my heart wants to go
There are dreams and all I had to forego
Burdening my heart: where lies happiness
If my mind lies elsewhere, oscillating and vacillating:
Restrained and constrained, layers within layers
Life is but a stage and we, the players
But also when total liberty beckons, perplexed
My soul is vanquished, there are no walls to demolish
No mountains to climb, no one to care;
Nobody to say, nobody at all
“Not now, not like this, not this time”
That somewhere in this century we are alone, bewildered,
Abandoned, that we are
Parts of burdened hearts, that lie lost, thrown aside
Neglected, dejected, rejected
That there are no signposts on the crumbling way.

This burdened heart stops and starts
Carries on, bump-a-lump; will not give up
Life is but a brimming cup.

Copyright: Rani Turton

I want a ride!

2009-12-01T11:07:00.001+01:00

I think I would prefer to ride in that rather than walk!

Street Art, Paris: Snail on Wall

2009-11-27T17:39:00.005+01:00

A colourful snail on a wall, near the Gare du Nord, Paris.

Nets And Knots: Poem

2009-11-22T20:58:00.006+01:00

Nets and Knots

Nets and knots, knots and nets.

Away from the shore, away from land
Into the mist and sea

Living, living and trying to be.

I am not a knot in a net
A knot I am not.

But, yet all I saught

Taught me naught

Life was a lesson, a reason

A long way have I come.

Nets and knots

Knots and nets.

Away from what I wanted to be

Just fishing on a lonely blue sea.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Tweet, tweet, birdie!

2009-11-19T11:21:00.002+01:00

Street artist's conception of a tweeting bird!

Instants: Poem

2009-11-16T21:44:00.019+01:00

INSTANTS

These fragments of time
Dewdrops in an oasis of a lifetime
Distance, duration and enduring

Instants transfixed by memory
Transferred to the mind and brain
These moments of memorizing who
What why when where

Life flows on, and episodes blend into episodes
Chapters begin, end, pause;
Instants of grace, intense and fleeting
Love heals all, even by a chance meeting.

Copyright:: Rani Turton

Bit of Moon, Bit of Roof, Leaves: Photograph

2009-11-14T21:04:00.005+01:00

A bit of roof, the moon in daylight and some leaves...a strange tableau.

At Sunset, Today

2009-11-10T11:11:00.004+01:00

At Sunset, Today

At sunset, today when the sky turns red
When clouds, try to veil the sky; when birds nest
And are too tired to fly

When workers, tired, straggle back home
And school has closed for the day
And in houses the curtains are drawn

When lights spring into life
And the spirit, tranquil, reflects
On the events of the day

At sunset, today, when the sky turns red
Father, grant everyone his daily bread.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Street Art

2009-11-10T09:55:00.006+01:00

Taken on a wall in a Parisian suburb, France.

Spices

2009-11-09T21:08:00.004+01:00

Spice stall at a local night market, at Delhi.

Reflections on Serenity: Poem

2009-10-23T22:17:00.003+02:00

Reflections On Serenity

From where did I come and from this point
What do I become and where do I go to?
My mind becomes a jumble of whats and whys and wheres.

I watch the river, flowing. Sometimes forceful
And at other times, tranquil. I watch the day
And the night. I am one with the water, sky and earth.

Sometimes, pause and listen to earth's heartbeat.
Still your mind, and still your feet.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Artistic Gutter Pipe

2009-10-19T21:17:00.005+02:00

Detail of a fabulously artisitc gutter pipe in the Ile St Louis, Paris

Reclining Cat

2009-10-13T09:54:00.003+02:00

Any place is good enough when you're really really tired, even if its just on top of a dustbin!

Smallest House in Paris

2009-10-06T10:05:00.003+02:00

The smallest house in Paris as seen from the Seine.

Posing Cat

2009-10-05T18:29:00.005+02:00

Just look at me posing prettily for this picture!

Courtesy: http://animalyarns.blogspot.com/

Dragonfly, Dragonfly: Poem

2009-10-02T11:29:00.008+02:00

Dragonfly

Dragonfly, dragonfly,
Please don't pass me by

Wait with me a little while

Whilst I look, wonder and smile

You, my poetic inspiration

Maybe even for Da Vinci's invention

Did you teach the planes to fly?

You lovely, lovely dragonfly.

I can see you poised and still

On the leaf, and thus until

Blazes the kind summer sun

Until coldest winter has begun.

Branch,pond, flower and breeze,

Wait a while with me now please;

We shared the silence, but now

You've flown onto another bough.

copyright: Rani Turton

Peacock Window

2009-10-02T11:15:00.003+02:00

Window with sculpted peacocks at Paris. Magnificent!

Detail Of Magnificent Wooden Door, Gisors

2009-09-25T22:29:00.006+02:00

Amazing detail of wooden door at La collégiale Saint-Gervais-Saint-Protais de Gisors, which has all the trappings of a cathedral and is sculpted.

Street Art, Paris

2009-09-24T10:13:00.004+02:00

A part of the wall that has been used as canvas by an enterprising street artist.

Children's Art: Detailed Scenary

2009-09-22T20:08:00.002+02:00

In this detailed scene, women are dressed in various costumes including a sari, the sun wears sunglasses, there is a bearded man, grinning clouds, a smiling butterfly, dreaming ducks and many, many flowers.

Artist: Indrani

Taken from: http://artisanofwords.wordpress.com/

Pavement Angel, Paris

2009-09-14T23:15:00.006+02:00

Tiny, but cute angel on a grey pavement in Paris.

Shadow of Leafless Tree

2009-09-12T20:22:00.004+02:00

There is something very poetic about leafless trees and shadows.

Citroen 1930

2009-09-07T22:51:00.000+02:00

Cars to dream over at a local vintage car exhibition.

Problem with upload

2009-09-07T18:48:00.001+02:00

I am having considerable difficulty uploading photographs, which is why the Austin Healey photographs keep appearing and disappearing. Sorry! I am trying to work it out.

For You Who Grieve Tonight: Poem

2009-08-29T23:04:00.004+02:00

For You Who Grieve Tonight

The day was long, the night will be endless

Emotionally spent the tears won't come

Its just the heart that continues to beat

The soul has nothing more to eat

But ashes; dust and ashes.
Diamonds in the dust it may well be
Grief is an absolute entity
And living another form of tyranny

Speak of life and death, the details
Of what lies between birth and extinction
Rationality irks, cannot comfort the loss
Highflown theories until complete cessation

For those who grieve tonight, the pain
Almost too intense to bear:
Hearing, seeing, feeling their loss
And nobody, nobody with whom to share

The tears should come, do not check their flow
Tears can heal like a gentle loving hand
Calm the mind, ease the heart and
There is a lifetime ahead to understand.

Softly words will come
Someday grief will go
Forget the logical mind
Leave reason behind.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Urban Art, Lille

2009-08-24T23:15:00.004+02:00

High up on the walls of Lille, an artist has given rein to his or her imagination.

It Is So Hard To Be Alone: Poem

2009-08-21T17:04:00.004+02:00

It Is So Hard To Be Alone

It is so very hard to be alone; from dawn to dusk

From dusk to dawn, alone, alone alone.

From a chant to a rant to a highpaying job

To an apartment in St Germain des Pres

That everybody wants to rob.

It is very hard to be a cog in the wheel

It is very hard to be a cog without a wheel

To turn, to burn in one's flaming solitude.

From birth to death, this profession of existence

Making an art of solitude, an act of independance.

It is so easy to die alone.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Lovely Doorway, Paris

2009-08-21T15:12:00.005+02:00

Beautifully sculpted doorway in a public street in Paris.

Rooftop urban Art, Paris

2009-08-18T01:19:00.004+02:00

As always, fascinating!

Street Art vehicule, Paris

2009-08-17T11:31:00.003+02:00

One can see quite a few of these vans that have emblems of urban art on them.

Clouds That Come And Go: Poem

2009-08-13T21:45:00.004+02:00

Clouds That Come And Go

Clouds that come and go

Untold divine missions do

They carry out, without pause or falter

They our fates can certainly alter.

Clouds that gather up above

Do they ever wonder?

What do scurrying mortals matter?

When the heavens shatter?

Now and then clouds do go

Far above to hot unknown lands

The wonder, the surprise, the unabated joy

When they reply to uplifted hands.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Street Corner Sculpture, Paris

2009-08-12T12:40:00.002+02:00

Street corner figure at the corner of Rue de Rennes.

Delage Antique Car

2009-08-06T23:42:00.008+02:00

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This beauty was at a car show in a suburb of Paris.

The Eiffel Tower, Paris

2009-08-06T16:08:00.009+02:00

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In the daylight, the Eiffel Tower seems a mass of iron girders but is very impressive.

Without You: Poem

2009-08-04T21:08:00.003+02:00

Without You

Without you the waters lie still; the reflections of silent trees

Remain as though transfixed but not tranfigured

Green shrubs and leaves remain sombre; clouds peer

And wonder at the stillness.

It might even rain. Why doesn't the rain

Fall now and be done with it's will?

Without you feelings remain in my heart

Unable to be expressed. Freedom and finery

Are long behind. Senses and sense are nonsense.

When will the cells in my body awake?

When will the dawn come and awakening light

Awaken my brain?

Let me wait for another day yet again.

Cathedral of Gisors, France

2009-07-30T13:17:00.003+02:00

The facade of this highly sculpted cathedral.

Fountain, Paris

2009-07-26T17:29:00.005+02:00

Fountains add to the elegance of this city, and there are many.

Wherever You Are: Poem

2009-07-22T16:44:00.006+02:00

Wherever You Are
Wherever you are, hear my call
Not more than a whisper, I dare not speak loud.

There were ages and epochs
The world has seen historical times
My head and heart have been filled with other emotions;
Mine, only mine.

The power of wishing, longing and yearning
Surely can cast magical spells
Can move the furtherest cloud
Can with a caress cause the earth to sprout

No, I cannot shout.

Wherever you are, if it comes to mind
The barely spoken secrets, the unbidden tears
Come then, and wipe away all these fears.

Copyright: Rani Turton

The World's Diversity

2009-07-17T17:51:00.004+02:00

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Original work by Indrani, who has represented a little bit of the world's diversity.

Gates of Versailles

2009-07-16T19:54:00.007+02:00

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Lovely golden gates of Versailles, a sample of what lies within!

So Acute Was My Loneliness: Poem

2009-07-16T19:47:00.002+02:00

So Acute Was My Loneliness

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Cobbled stones, not dust.
So acute was my loneliness that dream I must.
Escapism was a flight from dreary realism.
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If roam I must, if chains I must break
Alone, in this pebble-strewn destiny
My happiness I must fake.
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So acute was my loneliness that home was far
Too far; too far and distant my loved ones and my thoughts
That in that black cosmic wilderness even the North Star
Seemed close enough to touch. That even my words
Seemed transparent and tinted with Orientalism

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So distant and cold, so empty my worlds.
So acute was my loneliness even the poems would not come
The words fled, the streets wet, a spectre I had become
My memories tinged with the bitter things I had done
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All alone. When dawns touched my lids after fitful sleep
I had resolved never, never to weep
However deep the pain. However acute the pain
The sun would shine tomorrow and I would become myself again.
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Copyright: Rani Turton

Rooftop Street Art, Paris

2009-07-16T18:49:00.007+02:00

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Street art high up on the rooftops of Paris.