… it’s windy…

Blue dream

… it’s windy and I will make a nice excuse: Today it’s without hats…Today it’s all about feeling free.
Mixing bouquets of ideas in my whole universe… But it’s the clock of reality that sounds so cruel in the cold morning and reminds me that I must catch the bus in time for handover.

… now when I was just modeling beautiful dreams… I have washed my sleepy eyes with the water of life and run away in the field hoping that dreams will carry on their line… and through medication charts I find myself telling bright words and catching for some moments the beauty of a soul; flaming the joy of it. It’s the most beautiful gift today, the spark of a dream which seems is returning to life, and the smile of a troubled soul who speaks unwanted words. An entire world stretches between our moments. People and souls. Smile with tears. Pain and joy… A life beyond limits and prejudices.
The stories are many, and always sad, they often sneak up a humorous light, that gaunt haze that breaks out like a hot lava from the deep meaning of existence. Support that balances the infiltration of reality… We always talk about desires. About these for today. About the future. The universe is moved by will. To want. To hope. To be…

… The crying eyes of the mother who still hopes for a painless day for her baby.

… The young man who assures his wife that he will be home shortly… And the tear thirsts her with the warmth of the words spoken so kindly… while his the body is affected by metastasis…

… there is plenty of life’s will around, with tears and joy… Tales weighed in time. With memories that peculiar hours have made them more and more full of charm.

… it’s windy today… and silence squeezes through smiles and dreams. And the flight of wind is still in the world of imagination, where all the pains end and happiness dances on the golden bulbs of hope…

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Buffing the soul

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Desire for trust 
while life is a must
And days roll on grey
ideas to sky.
When soul is expecting
the yearning to fly
I’m catching the eye
of hope-butterfly.

I’m painting my hall 
while buffing the soul.
Just wisdom and peace. 
Great love to increase
And never to cry.

@Simona Prilogan, 31/12/2017, Nottingham

 

hope

I do pray

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I do pray to wash away
All the dust and catch on just
Light to candle me through way,
Wisdom’s bust and stars for trust,
Happiness around to ray.

@Simona Prilogan, 31/12/2017, Nottingham

Shelter the soul

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With numbers ideas we play
while drawing the circles and squares
while dots fall behind from their chairs
and hours rename our grey.

With letters we dance till the dreams
expand from their capsule of space
reworking the fear into grace
and versing what love really means.

While reading the stories of life
the books trip us fabulous ways,
yet shelter the soul and rephrase
the colors of happiness eyes.

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Rewrite Sunlight

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It was a time when my only solace were the dreams I had inside… Till I have learnt how to embrace them to the Light and let them Live!

Happy to be part of the new poetry anthology book from “All poetry” – Rewrite Sunlight 

Happy Friday, wherever you are! ( Friday’s Math Puzzle moved here.)

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World Writers Day

 

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Source photo: Google Images

The World Writers Day is celebrated each year  on March 3 since 1986. This day has been  established by the International Congress of PEN Club.

The International PEN Club is a worldwide association of writers which has been founded  in London in 1921, in order to promote  intellectual support  and friendship between  writers from all around  the world.

The name for the organization has been  made up from the first letters of the words “Poets, Essayists and Novelists”.

The idea to create this great  organization belongs to the English writer Mrs. C.A. Dawson Scott and had as a first  president  John Galsworthy. Today the International PEN Club has its centers in more than  130 countries. The International PEN Club is the oldest global literary organization that emphasizes the role of literature in the development of the world culture, fighting for the liberty of expression.

Writers Day is a great occasion to congratulate the work of each of the writers and encourage writing lovers to express their feelings and paint a better world by words.

 

 

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Source photo: Google Images

Still I rise – Maya Angelou

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.

 

Maya Angelou, born April 4, 1928 as Marguerite Johnson in St. Louis, was raised in segregated rural Arkansas. She was a poet, historian, author,actress, playwright, civil-rights activist, producer and director. Maya lectured throughout the US and abroad and was Reynolds professor of American Studies at Wake Forest University in North Carolina since 1981.  She published ten best selling books and  wrote numerous magazine articles earning her Pulitzer Prize and National Book Award nominations.  At the request of President Clinton, she wrote and delivered a poem at his 1993 presidential inauguration.

Dr. Angelou, who spoke French, Spanish, Italian and West African Fanti, began her career in drama and dance. She married a South African freedom fighter and lived in Cairo where she was editor of The Arab Observer, the only English-language news weekly in the Middle East. In Ghana, she was feature editor of The African Review and taught at the University of Ghana. In the 1960’s, at the request of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Ms. Angelou became the northern coordinator for the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. She was appointed by President Gerald Ford to the Bicentennial Commission and by President Jimmy Carter to the National Commission on the Observance of International Women’s Year.

Maya Angelou, poet, was among the first African-American women to hit the bestsellers lists with her “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” held the Great Hall audience spellbound with stories of her own childhood. She ranged from story to poem to song and back again, and her theme was love and the universality of all lives. “The honorary duty of a human being is to love,” Angelou said. She spoke of her early love for William Shakespeare’s works, and offered her audience excerpts from the poems of several African-Americans, including James Weldon Johnson and Paul Lawrence Dunbar. But always, she came back to love – and humanity. “I am human,” Angelou said, quoting from her own work, “and nothing human can be alien to me.”

In the sixties, at the request of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., she became the northern coordinator for the Southern Christian Leadership Conference and in 1975 she received the Ladies Home Journal Woman of the Year Award in communications. She received numerous honorary degrees and was appointed by President Jimmy Carter to the National Commission on the Observance of International Woman’s Year and by President Ford to the American Revolutionary Bicentennial Advisory Council. She is on the board of the American Film Institute and is one of the few female members of the Director’s Guild.

In the film industry, through her work in script writing and directing, Maya Angelou has been a groundbreaker for black women. In television, she has made hundreds of appearances. Her best-selling autobiographical account of her youth, “I Know Why the Cage Bird Sings,” won critical acclaim in 1970 and was a two hour TV special on CBS. She has written and produced several prize winning documentaries, including “Afro-Americans in the Arts,” a PBS special for which she received the Golden Eagle Award. She was also nominated for an Emmy Award for her acting in Roots, and her screenplay Georgia, Georgia was the first by a black woman to be filmed. In theatre, she produced, directed and starred in “Cabaret for Freedom” in collaboration with Godfrey Cambridge at New York’s Village Gate; starred in Genet’s “The Blacks” at St Mark’s Playhouse; and adapted Sophocles “Ajax” which premiered in Los Angeles in 1974. She wrote the original screenplay for “Georgia, Georgia” and wrote and produced a ten-part TV series on African traditions in American life. Maya Angelou was Reynolds Professor at Wake Forest University, Winston-Salem, North Carolina.  She died at her home in Winston-Salem on May 28, 2014.

( Source: All Poetry – Maya Angelou)

I’m stepping

 

 

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London, UK

 

I’m stepping to play on my game,

While world from outside answers mind,

Through evenings I’m grabbing the frame

Of questions which hard tie me blind. 

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Hunza Valley , Pakistan

 

I’m stepping to act on my dreams,

According to plan, worth desired.

The lights from inside caught my fears,

The shadows are playing so wired. 

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Nottingham, UK

I’m stepping  to sit on my table, 

While questions are  digging   my  space

Nor nothing, or all these, together, 

Embrace  me with peace and relax. 

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London, UK

  Relax 

Ridge (Transmogrify)

Night falls on my angles of miss,

Days  burning just trying escape, 

While asking the spring for the bliss, 

While drawing the hope into shape.

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The flowers turn round to the life 

The Stars are  dancing with Moon.

Whilst time through squares just flies

Still nothing to bring to the tune.

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I am seeking my own on the bridge 

Which drives  to the Sun, far away.

While running to catch  on the ridge

All  senses that kneel me on pray.

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(https://dailypost.wordpress.com/photo-challenges/transmogrify/)

 

 

 

 

True Love

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"Moses Mendelssohn, the grandfather of the well-known German 

composer, was far from being handsome. Along with a rather short 

stature, he had a grotesque hunchback. 

One day he visited a merchant in Hamburg who had a lovely daughter 

named Frumtje. Moses fell hopelessly in love with her. But Frumtje was 

repulsed by his misshapen appearance. 

When it came time for him to leave, Moses gathered his courage and 

climbed the stairs to her room to take one last opportunity to speak with 

her. She was a vision of heavenly beauty, but caused him deep sadness 

by her refusal to look at him. After several attempts at conversation, 

Moses shyly asked, "Do you believe marriages are made in heaven?" 

"Yes," she answered, still looking at the floor. "And do you?" 

"Yes I do," he replied. "You see, in heaven at the birth of each boy, the 

Lord announces which girl he will marry. When I was born, my future 

bride was pointed out to me. Then the Lord added, 'But your wife will 

be humpbacked.' 

"Right then and there I called out, 'Oh Lord, a humpbacked woman 

would be a tragedy. Please, Lord, give me the hump and let her be 

beautiful.'" 

Then Frumtje looked up into his eyes and was stirred by some deep 

memory. She reached out and gave Mendelssohn her hand and later 

became his devoted wife." 

Barry and Joyce Vissell ( "Chicken Soup for the Soul") 

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      Live your beautiful life! While there is life, there is hope!