The Waiting

The Waiting

I had been waiting
Night after night
Until my tears had
Almost dimmed my sight

I had been waiting
And wondering for long
If life was only this
Dreary long song

I was then thinking
I should strive and grow
And even let this secret,
This love of mine show

This then is destiny
A road chalked out alone
Written in tears
In blood and in bone

Mine then is this journey
An uncertain end
To never know if you'll be waiting
Around the next winding bend.

Copyright: 2007 Rani Turton

A Bat at the balcony

This fabulous creature propping up a balcony was taken on a house about 40 km from Paris. The details are quite simply amazing. There are two balconies that have these carvings.

Cette créature fabuleuse soutenant un balcon nous a surpris à une quarantaine de km de Paris. Les détails sont extraordinaires. La maison présente deux balcons superposés et chacun a ainsi son génie propre.

This is another detail of a figure on another floor.

Cette créatutre soutient le balcon du 2ème étage.

Wordsmiths

WORDSMITHS

Prose writers write pages,

Paint pictures with stories.
Some make you laugh.
Some make you cry.
Some make you think.

Poets speak volumes
in a few short lines.

Politicians talk for hours
and usually say nothing.

Copyright: Ron Flowers

I liked the ideas expressed so fluently in this poem. Ron Flowers kindly gave me the honour of allowing me to put it in this blog. Thank you, Ron, you are always welcome here.

Ideas, Ideals and Delusions

Ideas, Ideals and Delusions

I have some notions of nothingness
I have some ideals of illusions
Into the abyss then with these thoughts
My ideas, ideals and delusions.

I can sweep away those cob-webbed dreams
Wipe clean every troublesome image
But nothing, nothing ever again
Can help me really turn the page

There are persistant and resistant matters
That will come back like a boomerang
Like a half-latched door in a tempest
That will continue to maddeningly bang

Away then and into the vast starry night
I will somehow continue to live;
My ideals of illusions, my dreams of delusions
Can also help to make me survive.


Copyright: Rani Turton

Icon

This lovely icon is to be found in the Cathedral of Auxerre.

Old edifices dating back to the 4th and 8th centuries existed, but the cathedrale was begun around 1215. Stained glass windows dating back to the 13th and 16 centuries are remarkable. The wall paintings date from the 11th to 16 centuries, and the wooden paintings from the 16th. Centuries of faith and beauty stand there contemplating you, rather than the inverse. Man is transient, after all.

La Maison de l'Icone

La Maison de l'Icone (The House of the Icon) is situated to the left of the Basilique of Vezelay. It is just next door to the other artist that is featured in these pages, Denis Canut.

We were welcomed with great warmth and humour to this atelier. Anne Marie and her husband are profound, in-depth people. I guess to paint icons you need to be like that. The icons are a marvel by themselves, and Anne-Marie has been practising this art since 1988. An interesting point to note is that she can form you in this art, and courses are thus proposed. The details can be found on the website.

Another link is http://pagesperso-orange.fr/maison.icone.


La Maison de l'Icone se trouve à gauche de la Basilique de Vézelay. Ceux qui ont goûté mes quelques lignes sur un autre artiste, Denis Canut, seront contents de savoir qu'il s'agit de la porte d'à côté.

Nous avons été accueillis avec chaleur et humour dans cet atelier. Anne-Marie et son mari sont des personnages profonds. Je suppose qu'il faut être ainsi pour peindre des icônes. Les icônes sont des merveilles par elles-mêmes, et Anne-Marie en pratique l'art depuis 1988. Il est intéressant de savoir qu'elle peut vous former à cet art et qu'elle dispense des cours. Pour plus de détails, voyez son site:

http://la.maison.de.l.icone.monsite.orange.fr/

Autre lien possible:

http://pagesperso-orange.fr/maison.icone/bonhomme4@wanadoo.fr

Artisan of Words

I am an artisan of words Which I sculpt, chisel and fashion the way I can I am a creator of worlds; I pour my emotion into the poems I write. I breathe life into them, blow them skywards And finish them only when they sound right. These remnants of thought without reason Will remain on pages season after season Long after I'm gone; when my task is done The love, the longing, the pain Will be evoked then by somebody else Who in turn will remember and write again To create another slow soft song That people can read and draw into their hearts Then pillowed by words, cushioned by dreams My poems will ride high the moonbeams. copyright 2007