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: Rani Turton 2007


Thursday, July 30, 2009

Cathedral of Gisors, France
























The facade of this highly sculpted cathedral.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Fountain, Paris
























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

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

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

Friday, July 17, 2009

The World's Diversity



















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

Thursday, July 16, 2009

So Acute Was My Loneliness: Poem

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.
..
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



















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Street art high up on the rooftops of Paris.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Pussycat Behind A Fern





















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Beautiful cat peeping out from behind a fern!

Monday, July 6, 2009

Questioning Cat































Pussycat was scrutinizing carefully my camera!

Truck Sign


















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