Stone Face in Niche in a Wall, Nevers

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

Sacred Was This Longing: Poem

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

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

Strum, Strum Gently And My Heartstrings Sing: Poem

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

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
His life's passion and it's reason.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Seashell bat, Sables d'Olonne

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

Rose, Your Glory Turned To The Sky

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

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

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

The Sometimes Song: Poem

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