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!