So Acute Was My Loneliness: Poem

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

Hmm! That wine was particularly delicious!

Jerome Iber

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

Amongst the last leaves on this tree.

When A Woman Goes To Pieces: Poem

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

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!

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

Street Art, Paris: Snail on Wall

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

Nets And Knots: Poem

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!

Street artist's conception of a tweeting bird!

Instants: Poem

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

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

At Sunset, Today

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

Taken on a wall in a Parisian suburb, France.

Spices

Spice stall at a local night market, at Delhi.

Reflections on Serenity: Poem

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

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

Reclining Cat

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

Smallest House in Paris

The smallest house in Paris as seen from the Seine.

Posing Cat

Just look at me posing prettily for this picture!

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

Dragonfly, Dragonfly: Poem

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

Window with sculpted peacocks at Paris. Magnificent!

Detail Of Magnificent Wooden Door, Gisors

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

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

Children's Art: Detailed Scenary

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

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

Shadow of Leafless Tree

There is something very poetic about leafless trees and shadows.

Citroen 1930

Cars to dream over at a local vintage car exhibition.

Problem with upload

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

.

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

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

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

Beautifully sculpted doorway in a public street in Paris.

Rooftop urban Art, Paris

As always, fascinating!

Street Art vehicule, Paris

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

Clouds That Come And Go: Poem

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

Street corner figure at the corner of Rue de Rennes.

Delage Antique Car

.

.

.

.

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

The Eiffel Tower, Paris

.

.
.

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

Without You: Poem

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

Cathedral of Gisors, France

The facade of this highly sculpted cathedral.

Fountain, Paris

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

Wherever You Are: Poem

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

.
.
.
.

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

So Acute Was My Loneliness: Poem

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

Rooftop Street Art, Paris

.
.
.
.

Street art high up on the rooftops of Paris.

Pussycat Behind A Fern

.

.
Beautiful cat peeping out from behind a fern!

Questioning Cat

Pussycat was scrutinizing carefully my camera!

Truck Sign

A highly stylised 'Stop' at the rear wheel of an Indian truck.

Waiting for Tomorrow: Poem

.
.

.
Waiting For Tomorrow

Waiting for tomorrow, wherever tomorrow will be
Looking for light's glimmer and no misery
Asking for nothing; prayers and answers will come
To my doorstep when I need to become
What I need to become.

Ego and my destiny do not permit me
To become a being: to become while being
I am my body's home, I am alone
A shrine, a rhyme, a time.

I will wait for tomorrow, in silent patience
Which has nothing of penitance; it comes
From being a being of irrelevance: pages
Will not be written on my life. If and now
I am worthy, I am bound to my society and family.

My children will thus speak of me, maybe.

Copyright: Rani Turton