MARTHA WASHINGTON CROSSING THE DELAWARE, copyright Lawrence Ferlinghetti
LINK: http://www.georgekrevskygallery.com/
COURTESY OF Mr. ALAN SELSOR, GEORGE KREVSKY GALLERY, SAN FRANCISCO
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exhibition artwork |
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MARTHA WASHINGTON CROSSING THE DELAWARE, copyright Lawrence Ferlinghetti
LINK: http://www.georgekrevskygallery.com/
COURTESY OF Mr. ALAN SELSOR, GEORGE KREVSKY GALLERY, SAN FRANCISCO
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exhibition artwork |
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LINK: http://artflock.com/artist/lakeillustration/art/
BELATED PALINODE FOR DYLAN THOMAS
In Wales at Laugharne at last I stand beside
..his cliff-perched writing shed
….above the coursing waters
……where the hawk hangs still
……..above the cockle-strewn shingle
Where he walked in a glory of all his days
….(before the weather turned around)
And aie! aie! a waterbird far away
….cries and cries again
……over St. Johns Hill
And in his tilted boathouse now
….a tape of himself is playing –
……his lush voice
……..his plush voice
……….his posh accent
…………(too BBC-fulsome, cried the Welsh)
…………..now echoes through his little
…………….upstairs room
And aie! aie!
…..echo the waterbirds once again
Beyond his sounding shed
….a fig tree hides the sea
……A fishboat heeled over
……..a grebe afloat far out
……….a coracle abandoned
…………a rusted coaler out of Cardiff still
…………..a bold green headland lost in sun
Beyond which lie (across an ocean and a continent)
….San Francisco’s white wood houses
……and a poet’s sun-bleached cottage
……..on Bolinas’ far lagoon
……….with its wind-torn Little Mesa
…………(so very like St. Johns Hill)
A single kestrel soars over
….riding the salt wind
……..‘high tide and the heron’s call’
…………………………………..still echoing
………..(Aie! aie! it calls and calls again)
As in his listing boathouse now
….his great recorded voice runs out
……(grave as a gravedigger in his grave)
……..leaving a sounding void of light
……….for poets and herons to fill
(Drowned down in New York’s White Horse Tavern
….he went not gentle into his good night)
And Far West poets calling still
….over St. Johns Hill
……to the loveliest poet of all our days
……..sweet singer of Swansea
……….lushed singer of Laugharne
…………Dylan of all our days
– Lawrence Ferlinghetti, These Are My Rivers
REPRINTED BY PERMISSION OF LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI
LINK: http://www.artbreak.com/cristianecampos
CLOSE HER LIGHT OF DAY
She dances under waterfalls
this maiden oh so fair
she becomes one with nature
wears flowers in her hair
with the whisper of her garden
forest bird songs kiss the land
she is blessed with inner beauty
But does not yet understand
ugliness, buidings and machinery
over the hill not so faraway
they are closing in around her
will soon close her light of day
RACHEL HENDERSON, Isle of Skye, Scotland, UK
(copyright of the artist)
LINK: www.cristianecampos.com.br
RACHEL HENDERSON, ISLE OF SKYE, Scotland, UK
(copyright of the artist)
LINK: http://www.artbreak.com/birksten1
Time
Time like a river
Forever moving on
Forever in one place
SALLY CRABTREE, UK
LINK: http://www.thepoetree.net/
CALENDER
From every day that passed, he made a paper bird
Knowing that when he reached 1000
He could make a wish.
In the corner of the room they piled high
So fragile, strongly beautiful
They stopped me in my tracks
(To think
Such poetry was going on behind closed doors )
They didn’t say a word.
Though I knew each one was bursting just to tell
The thousandth of the wish it held upon its beak
The wish perhaps that he could pull down the night sky
And cut a suit from it
To find all secrets of the Universe
Scrumpled in the pocket ?
( And a thousandth of that wish would be a word of what he read
Which whispered in your soul would set your heart on fire )
Or maybe what he wished for was far more down to earth -
That he could walk along a beach and leave his footprints in the sand
Knowing somewhere, someone was following ?
( And a thousandth of that wish would be the sound of one wave crashing )
Or maybe what he wished for was simply that each day
He’d taste a certain happiness upon his lips
(And a thousandth of that wish would be one drop of what he tastes
Which landing on the tongue dissolves to song…)
2
I’m bursting too
To ask “What do you wish for ?”
But it’s not thing a person says
So let this poem ask those words instead
“What is it that you wish for ?
And could you fold one thousandth of it up into a bird and pile it high ?”
If you can,
This poem is for you: Take it, fold it up into a bird.
And when there are 1000 of them soaring in the sky
We’ll fly.
SALLY CRABTREE
LINK: http://www.thepoetree.net/pages/sally.html
(copyright of the artist)
LINK: http://www.adelgorgy.com/
STONES
Stones take to each other naturally,
Like a family of sleeping creatures,
The large ones accommodate little ones,
To create a colony of hardness;
They rest in centuries of stark stillness;
They are elephant-heavy to lush grass.
Their colours employ the afternoon sun;
They are as warm as loaves from an oven.
Each one embodies its personal death;
They are cobbled memories of the sea;
They are the solid language of labour:
Each one weathered to a perfect image.
They rest, innocent of their history,
Like a grey display of featureless skulls.
They have tasted our sweat and absorbed our blood.
They rise and fall, symbols of man’s conscience.
Their persistence has sculptured their silence;
They hint that their souls haunt other planets.
They are magnets for our primitive thoughts;
They are the armour of truths beyond us.
They shape our built fears of an afterlife,
They could tempt us into acts of worship.
Peter Thabit Jones © 2009
(copyright of the artist)
LINK: http://www.adelgorgy.com/
‘ DARE TO BE ‘
Be a dream and wake to find out who you are
Be the night and let your thoughts be stars
Be a mountain stream and feel what it is to fall
Be the sea know what it’s like to have it all
Be the never ending sky , be free
If it takes 100 years just Dare to Be
All a poet wants is for her words to fall in love
As they tumble from her lips onto the page
That you have opened just by chance
And there they’ll dance, until the book is closed
And in the darkness they’ll be still and quiet as a stone
Like figures from a fairytale
Waiting for the Princess to wake
And maybe it will be 100 years before you open up that page
Before the kiss of your eyes brings those words to life
But still they’ll dance exactly as they were
With one added essence of dream
That’s all a poet wants
Be a tree and touch the heavens every night
Be the dawn and find yourself filled up with light
Be a river feel the stillness moving in you
Be a seed and be the one that grew
Be the never ending sky be free
If it takes 100 years just Dare to Be.
SALLY CRABTREE, UK
(copyright of the poet)
IMMAGINE&POESIA
presents
A STARRY NIGHT
poetical reading to celebrate the
INTERNATIONAL YEAR OF ASTRONOMY
(Homage to AERONWY THOMAS, poet and writer)
The evening also includes “STELLE INTERIORI”
a performance with “the sounds of the Universe”
created by Claudio Canal.
Paintings by Gianpiero Actis, Massimo Alfano, Davide Binello
Poems by A. Thomas, A.M. Bracale, L. Chiarelli, C. Codazza, F. Verde
Friday, October 2, at 9 pm
CIRCOLO DEI LETTORI
Palazzo Graneri della Roccia
via Bogino 9, TORINO – Italy
Executive producers: Lidia Chiarelli and Anna Maria Bracale
So bright and pure
the light of your star
on this summer night
is a gentle twinkling
reflected
in the Taff estuary.
Open pages
which the wind turns over
your words are
still and always here
…