Words are not just words
they are kisses
on the lips of silence
that speak of your essence

Wednesday, December 15, 2010



Such a perfect circle
The ring
The perfection of your unperfected uniqueness
Is what I love


Dear friends,
Thank you so much for your visits and support, it means so much to me.
For upcoming holidays I wish you and your loved ones all the best,
good health, lots of smiles and above all love, lots of love.
We'll be in touch.

Sunday, December 12, 2010

Cogito Ergo Sum

Cogito Ergo Sum

A thought is

Like a fish


It promises

To grant me 3 wishes

if I catch it

And I am trying...

I am swimming

in my own anatomy

Attempting to make a map

of my inner streets

full of labyrinths

Each sign for

Left and right turn

Has a reason


Most of all

I really enjoy

Feeling lost


Saturday, November 6, 2010

True colors

Only now
They show
When they’re about to fall
A true soul

No need
Any more
To create the shade
Greens fade

Jewels under the sky
The last cry

In my hand a fallen leaf
A moment brief

I go
Something is left unsaid
A drop of red

True Colors by rob castro

Monday, November 1, 2010

In the Valley of Echoes

Happy Birthday Kurt Elling
 (November 2nd)

In the Valley of Echoes
All the words are loud
They sound hollow
Mirrored, multiplied, petrified
When you whisper
It sounds so right
Unique, precious, full of delight


Saturday, October 16, 2010


the words like twigs and moss

made a comfortable nest

where we enjoy to rest



Saturday, September 18, 2010

Running on empty

The last atom of energy
Is gone
I am running on empty

Feels like floating

Is that the secret formula:
When you give it all
You have the most?
You just feel
Deep inside
Something divine
You host

We humans
So powerful
A body, a mind, a soul
We don’t know
What is the goal
We keep running
Running on empty

Wednesday, September 8, 2010



Once upon a time
there was a happy lens,
it called itself
It worked so nice,
magically and sweet,
making light rays to meet.

One day,
A mirror caused such grief.
That faceless thief
got stuck with
our lens brave
and made it work
like a

It’s a madness
For our poor, poor lens.
It has lost it’s art
while all the light
just spreads apart…

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

My muse

There is a Seagull
Proud and Glorious
When I see him
Conquering the Sky
My Spirits Fly

But this lovely creature
Popped his head out of the garbage bin
Joyfully holding a piece of sandwich
I could almost see the grin

“Thank you”
I said to my new muse
It is a good thing to keep my mind sound
And sometimes look at the ground


Sunday, August 1, 2010

In This Dream

In this dream
we both dream the same dream at the same time.

In this dream
we are the trees and our roots touch.

In this dream
when we are the trees and our roots touch
the leaves on our branches start making the music.

In this dream
when we are the trees and our roots touch
and when the leaves on our branches start making the music
the silence is broken.

In this dream
when we are the trees and our roots touch
and when the leaves on our branches start making the music
and when the silence is broken
a new world is born.


Tuesday, July 27, 2010



You are loved
You are hugged
In the warm bed
You are tucked

You are drifting
On a silver cloud.
Not so loud

You are sailing
In a little blue ship
It is late
You are already asleep


Wednesday, July 21, 2010


I hope you are enjoying your summer, here is my small contribution: beautiful voice of Roberta Gambarini. To fall in love with...And my poem about champagne. Every day there is something to celebrate:)Why not?
Thank you for your visit and support:)
Big hugs,


Let’s celebrate…

The air, our breath
is bubbling
the water, our journey
is pouring
the earth, our home
is welcoming
the fire, our love
is burning

The aether, our life
is now


Thursday, July 8, 2010

3:20 pm

The World can collapse
Everything can explode
But every day
At 3:20 pm
I think of you

The World goes
Round and round
Every hour
It’s 3:20 pm somewhere
I think of you

I am not really even sure
Where is my watch
I just do
All the time
I think of you


Sunday, July 4, 2010

My Jupiter

My Jupiter

Yes, my little one;
While Jupiter
takes the hits
from flying rocks
in the Space,
we are safe
on our Blue planet.
Yes, my Love;
you understood me well,
she was my Jupiter.


Saturday, July 3, 2010

One more

One more

Before we go
one more word
one more smile
one more kiss
and not
just one dot
but three


Let’s be
Never fulfilled
But hungry for life


we can’t see each other
we just see the same soft spot
deep in our core


Monday, June 28, 2010

And all that jazz

And all that jazz

She sang,
she made
feel alive.
She took us
to the places new.
And painful, gentle,
words so true,
like our tears,
just flew and flew.
Yes, piano
was there too.
But man,
that woman,
she is something else.
And all that jazz.

Vesna 28/06/2010

Tomorrow, June 29, marks my first anniversary as a blogger here:)
Thank you so much for visiting and for your wonderful support.
Love and hugs,

Sunday, June 27, 2010

Orange, Purple

Awaken by orange

Ultimate joy
Sweet scent of a new morning
To have and to eat

Surprised by purple
“red me”, said the blue
not expecting to be lost
in the purple surprise

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Blue, Red, Yellow

Out of the blue

Out of the blue
I have a vision of you being happy
And then it becomes true

Into the red

Too late to be smart
Everything is over the head
C’mon take it heart

Connected by yellow

My yellow dress
A gold star in your eyes
A look of love

Friday, June 18, 2010


Barbara Macklowe
New York, USA
Wild Flower Field, Bridgehampton, NY

Little shy wildflower
Your beauty fills the whole field
Lift your head up

Thursday, June 10, 2010


Ode To My Joy
Pablo Neruda

green leaf
resting on the window sill,
tiny brightness
newly born,
musical elephant,
fragile gust of wind
but more often
everlasting bread,
hope realized,
and duty properly done:
I scorned you, joy--
I was given bad advice.
The moon lured me along its paths.
Ancient poets
lent me their glasses
and I drew
a dark halo
around everything I saw,
a black crown on every flower,
a melancholy kiss
on each pair of beloved lips.
But there's still time.
Let me make it up to you.
I thought
the bush caught up in the storm
had only to singe
my heart,
that rain had only to drench
my clothes
in the crimson land of mourning,
that if I closed
my eyes to the rose
and caressed the open wound
suffering my share of everyone's pain--
that only then was I aiding my fellow man.
In this I erred.
I had lost my way,
so today I call on you, joy.

You are necessary as the earth.
You warm our hearts like fire.
You are perfect, like bread.
You are musical, like the water of a river.
You make gifts of honey circulating like a bee.

Joy, I was a moody youth:
I found your mop of hair

But when its abundance showered down on my chest I discovered it wasn't true.

Today, joy,
I ran into you on the street,
far from any book.
Come with me:

I want to go with you
house to house,
I want to go from town to town,
flag to flag.
You aren't just for me.
We will go to islands,
and seas.
We will go to mines,
and forests.
Not only will I be greeted by solitary woodsmen,
poor washerwomen, or gruff and stately
all of them bearing your bouquets:
there will also be crowds
and gatherings,
lumberjacks and longshoremen,
and brave boys
fighting their fight.

Around the world with you
and with my song!
With the star's winking flight
and the sea spray's delight!

I will deliver them all
because to all
I owe my joy.

Let no one questions why I should want
to give the world's wonders
to all mankind:
I learned the hard way
it's my earthly duty
to spread joy--
and I do this through my song.

I hope you are enjoying nature's delights,
thank you for visiting :)

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Verde que te quiero verde

Green, how I want you green.
Green wind. Green branches.
The ship out on the sea
and the horse on the mountain.
With the shade around her waist
she dreams on her balcony,
green flesh, her hair green,
with eyes of cold silver.
Green, how I want you green…

Verde que te quiero verde.
Verde viento. Verdes ramas.
El barco sobre la mar
y el caballo en la montaña.
Con la sombra en la cintura
ella sueña en su baranda,
verde carne, pelo verde,
con ojos de fría plata.
Verde que te quiero verde…

Federico Garcia Lorca

García Lorca was born on 5 June 1898, in Fuente Vaqueros, a small town a few miles from Granada, in Andalusia, southern Spain. His father owned a farm in the fertile vega surrounding Granada and a comfortable villa in the heart of the city. His mother was a gifted pianist. In 1909, his family moved to the city of Granada. In 1915, after graduating from secondary school, García Lorca attended Sacred Heart University. During this time his studies included law, literature, composition and piano. During 1916 and 1917, García Lorca traveled throughout Castile, Léon, and Galicia, in northern Spain, with a professor of his university, who also encouraged him to write his first book, Impresiones y Paisajes (Impressions and Landscapes – published 1918).


Saturday, May 29, 2010


Everything changes
But we are freed from little
Our love is divine

Friday, May 28, 2010

At rest

Love Songs
by Sara Teasdale
To E.
I have remembered beauty in the night,
Against black silences I waked to see
A shower of sunlight over Italy
And green Ravello dreaming on her height;
I have remembered music in the dark,
The clean swift brightness of a fugue of Bach's,
And running water singing on the rocks
When once in English woods I heard a lark.

But all remembered beauty is no more
Than a vague prelude to the thought of you --
You are the rarest soul I ever knew,
Lover of beauty, knightliest and best;
My thoughts seek you as waves that seek the shore,
And when I think of you, I am at rest.

(Thank you Diane for this poem that you gave me some time ago, I saved it, I love it)

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Love and Music

Galina Vishnevskaya, a famous opera singer, was married to the cellist Mstislav Rostropovich from 1955 until his death in 2007; they performed together regularly (he on piano or on the podium). Both she and Rostropovich were friends of Dmitri Shostakovich.

"Music fills the infinite between two souls”
Rabindranath Tagore

Thursday, May 20, 2010

The Style Council - You're The Best Thing

I am 16 again every time I hear this song:)
Have a beautiful day, and remember:
You're the Best!

Monday, May 17, 2010

You have invited me to visit you

You have invited me to visit you.
I am travelling without stopping for days, for months, for years...
The train is passing through many stations but none is the right one.
Why didn't you tell me before that you are just a Cloud?
I don't like when the sky is clear blue as it is today.


Saturday, May 15, 2010

The Young May Moon -Thomas Moore

"The young May moon is beaming, love.
The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love.
How sweet to rove,
Through Morna's grove,
When the drowsy world is dreaming, love!
Then awake! -- the heavens look bright, my dear,
'Tis never too late for delight, my dear,
And the best of all ways
To lengthen our days
Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!"
- Thomas Moore, The Young May Moon

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Sunday, May 9, 2010

The Birth of Green

Some people believe that Green always existed, born at the same time as the other colors.
Some people don't ever think about it. They would just say: "The color is here now, so why does it matter when it was born?"
Some people are curious.
For you, here, now, the story unfolds.

In the Kingdom of Artisania, there was a Black forest. In the middle of the Black Forest, there was a Blue castle. It was built a long, long time ago and it still exists today.
Princess Zoe loved everything in the Blue castle: the Blue stairs and the Blue plates, the Blue rooms and the Blue fountains, the Blue flowers and the Blue birds.
She was painting and she painted Blue even the things that were not Blue, like her brother's hair. She loved to drink tea from her Blue cup, sit on her Blue rocking chair and imagine the world outside of the Blue castle.
For Princess Zoe the Blue was not just a color, it was fluidity, a movement, a life. For her the Blue was not a destination or a history or a decoration, it was a way to go.

Now close your eyes for a moment remember the Blue and step into...

The Yellow Sanctuary was not so far away. It was on the hill at the north side of the Black Forest. There was a Yellow brick road around it and the walls inside were painted Yellow. The hill was covered with Yellow dandelions. Goddess Vesna took care of the Sanctuary. She would give shelter to the travelers: make them Yellow sweet dandelion honey tea, give them clean Yellow blankets and plant a sunflower with bright Yellow petals in the garden to honor every visitor.
For Goddess Vesna the Yellow was not just a color, it was the Sun that she worshiped, a brightness, a warmth; a happiness. For her the Yellow was not a destination or a history or a decoration, it was a way to go.

One day Princess Zoe decided to go out and explore the Black Forest. She set out on the trip with a Blue backpack and she brought her Blue cup, because she felt something magical would happen if she did. That same day the Yellow Sanctuary was visited by travelers from China. They came in search of the sweet dandelion tea, to please their Emperor who was keen to try it. They brought with them "Pai Mu Tan", White Peony Tea. To honor new visitors Goddess Vesna set up festive Yellow tables outside and brought out new Yellow cups. She served tea with Yellow Honey and everybody was having a good time. The chatter from the crowd was echoing through the Black Forest. The Blue cup had led Princess Zoe to the Yellow Sanctuary, pointing the way like a compass. She joined the others in the tea ceremony. Goddess Vesna was very curious about the new visitor. She liked very much the Blue color that Princess Zoe brought with her. It was fluidity, a movement, a life of the Blue that blended so well with a brightness, a warmth; a happiness of the Yellow.

It was a magical day in Artisania.
There was a flow of the Blue, there was a ray of the Yellow and a new color was born, the Green.

For Princess Zoe and Goddess Vesna the Green was not just a color; it was the magic of friendship, the beauty of new discoveries, a never-ending joy of creativity.
For them the Green was not a destination or a history or a decoration, it was a way to go.


Notes from Zoe:
This tea seemed to me to take place in a dream-world. So for this painting, the two kingdoms are in the same place at the same time, which sort of de-solidifies things--through the doorway, you are seeing the yellow kingdom, pieces of it floating in honey, before time or space have put them in their "place."

The flowers in the windows are peonies. According to "a contemplation upon flowers," Asclepius, the son of Apollo, was physician to the gods. "Because of his great knowledge of herbs and healing, he was called Paeon, meaning helper. Thus, the early doctors were called paeoni because of their affinity with that early healer and because of the use of the peony plant in their practice..."
The association of peonies with the moon suggested it as a remedy for lunacy (an old name for the peony was Rosa Lunaria), as well as nervousness, epilepsy, and liver obstructions..." Peony root beads were strung together to ward of illness and evil spirits through the 19th century. So again, this garden Vesna and I are building is filled with remedies for insanity--the insanity of this world, that is, by the creation of a more magical one, one where many, many new things are possible. Here, the peonies creep in through the "window" in this indoor/outdoor space somewhere between the blue kingdom and the yellow sanctuary to drip their essence into the tea.
But I had an additional reason for adding the peonies. Vesna and Silvia and I have recently made some attempts at Remote Viewing, the practice of sending and receiving images telepathically. In her first attempt at "sending," Silvia focused on an image of white and red peonies from her garden, which I saw as bursts of bright white light. So here are her peonies--and here are the three of us enjoying tea together on some other plane...


Saturday, May 8, 2010


Naima is a ballad that's so slow and reverential that it seems to stand still, suspended in mid air. Written as a love letter to his first wife, Naima, the song was Coltrane's favorite composition. "The tune is built on suspended chords over an E-flat pedal tone on the outside," Coltrane told Nat Hentoff for the album's original liner notes. "On the inside—the channel—the chords are suspended over a B-flat pedal tone."
Hentoff continues in the notes:

"There is a 'cry'—not at all necessarily a despairing one—in the work of the best of the jazz players. It represents a man's being in thorough contact with his feelings, and being able to let them out, and that 'cry' Coltrane certainly has."

Coltrane met Naima Grubb in 1953...

More about Naima and Coltrane
N ew day
A n old tune
I  fly
M iles
A way

Monday, May 3, 2010

Fantasy and Forgotten Language

Sarah Chang - Fantasy on Carmen (Excerpt)

Forgotten Language by Shel Silverstein

Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly
in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions
of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying
flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . .
How did it go?
How did it go?

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Tango Animation - En Tus Brazos

Our mind doesn't know about the obstacles.
I hope you enjoy this beautiful animation.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

In my Garden

Alhambra, Spain

Around my soul,
like around a Medieval Garden,
rises a Fortress.
In the middle is the Fountain:
the Heart.
When you look at me,
the gates open.
Come in freely.
As I am getting older
I spend more time by the Fountain
then in the Towers.
If you see something beautiful in this Garden,
pull it out,
replant it.
It is yours as much as it is mine.


Thursday, April 22, 2010

Shaking the Tree, Peter Gabriel and Youssou Ndour


Would you like to dance with me?
Utapenda kudansi?

One language is never enough.
Lugha moja haitoshi.

Have a nice day!
Nakutakia siku njema!

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

The Sandcastle

The Sandcastle, it never lasts long.
To build it: is it right or is it wrong?
Nobody ever lives in it.
Why does anybody even bother making it?

The first rain or tide will wash the walls away.
Will children even remember their play?
The splenid Sandcastle will become again
nothing more then a sand, dull and plain.

But what can we ask for more?
We live for new ideas to explore.
Time is not only measured by sand,
We measure it any way we can comprehend.


Monday, April 12, 2010


Herbert "Herb" Alpert (born March 31, 1935) is an American musician most associated with the group variously known as Herb Alpert & the Tijuana Brass, Herb Alpert's Tijuana Brass or just TJB.

A New Scent

At first I saw only the bright light, I have sensed something new. My mind couldn't dwell into the beautiful details until the heart didn't send the approval. Or, was it the other way around?
Is it allright to enjoy? May I go on this adventure now, here? How will this change me? Should I warn somebody that I may be gone forever? Shall I be recognized when I come back?
"I can't come back", I said to myself. Time travels only forward, and life just goes on.
So, I have relaxed, and let myself indulge.
It was a new scent.
The scent filled my nostrils and therfore forever changed my breath.
The scent covered my face and changed the way I look.
The scent gently landed on my eyelids and made me close my eyes.
The scent flooded my mind, made it alive.
I felt the scent while it travelled down my spine.
It was powerful like an ocean wave; it was unavoidable like an arrow arched from the birth of the Universe.
My body became the house to the fire, like a volcano. My hair turned red like a lava.
My lips and my heart became one: Speaking of nothing but Love from that moment on.


Herbie Hancock

April 12th, 1940 – Pianist Herbie Hancock born in Chicago, IL. He is regarded not only as one of the greatest living jazz musicians, but also as one of the most influential jazz musicians of the 20th century. His music embraces elements of funk and soul while adopting freer stylistic elements from jazz. Herbie's best-known solo works include "Cantaloupe Island", "Watermelon Man", "Maiden Voyage", "Chameleon", "I Thought It Was You" and "Rockit".

Friday, April 9, 2010

Algo tuyo en mi

There is a little bit of
me in you
and a little bit of
you in me

When I see your eyes
I smile
and then
I see my smile in your eyes

When everything is
Upside Down
We see it the same way

Vesna 9/4.2010
For Zoe

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Remembering Billie Holiday

April 7th, 1915 – Vocalist Billie Holiday born in Philadelphia, PA. Nicknamed “Lady Day” by her friend and musical partner Lester Young, Holiday was a seminal influence on jazz and pop singing. Her vocal style, strongly inspired by jazz instrumentalists, pioneered a new way of manipulating phrasing and tempo. Above all, she was admired all over the world for her deeply personal and intimate approach to singing. She co-wrote several jazz standards, notably "God Bless the Child", "Don't Explain", "Fine and Mellow", and "Lady Sings the Blues".

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Giovanni Sollima

Giovanni Sollima - Sogno ad Occhi Aperti (Daydream) PART 1

“I cannot promise very much.
I give you the images I know.
Lie still with me and watch.
We laugh and we touch.
I promise you love. Time will not take that away.”
Anne Sexton

Tuesday, March 30, 2010

Ode To the Smell of Wood

Vancouver, BC

Ode To the Smell of Wood by Pablo Neruda

translated by Jodey Bateman

Late, with the stars
open in the cold
I open the door.
The sea
in the night.

Like a hand
from the dark house
came the intense
of firewood in the pile.

The aroma was visible
if the tree
were alive.
As if it still breathed.

like a garment.

like a broken branch.

I walked
the house
by that balsam-flavored
the points
in the sky sparkled
like magnetic stones
and the smell of the wood

my heart
like some fingers,
like jasmine,
like certain memories.

It wasn't the sharp smell
of the pines,
it wasn't
the break in the skin
of the eucalyptus,
neither was it
the green perfumes
of the grapevine stalk,
something more secret,
because that fragrance
only one
only one
time existed,
and there, of all I have seen in the world
in my own house at night, next to the winter sea,
was waiting for me
the smell
of the deepest rose,
the heart cut from the earth,
something that invaded me like a wave
breaking loose
from time
and it lost itself in me
when I opened the door
of the night.

I was visitng Vancouver, BC where I was repeating over and over again:" What a beautiul tree":)))
In complete awe for the nature I share this Neruda's poem and one of the many photographs of the trees that I brought back.
Hope that you'll like it.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

I'll be seeing you

I'll be away for a while,
but don't forget me:)
I'll be back.

Thursday, March 11, 2010


Every Day You Play

Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water.
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands.

You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.

Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.

The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I can contend only against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.

You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Cling to me as though you were frightened.
Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.

Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your breasts smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.

How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the gray light unwind in turning fans.

My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
I go so far as to think that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,
dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want
to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

Pablo Neruda

Sunday, March 7, 2010

Momo Kapor

Momo Kapor, the artist who wrote many books, made many drawings and paintings and lived his life as a form of the art left us on March 3rd.
Although he was mainly popular for his writing Momo was very passionate painter. I read in one of his last interviews that he regrets not dedicating ALL of his time to painting.
I have added the video where you can see him, hear his voice, it is something he wrote about Dubravka Zubovic (the opera singer) and she is there with him too. Also I recommend you to read a piece of his writing "East-West", added below.
He will be missed, he possesed the incredible charm, forever and ever he will be the Inspiration.
I guess, to all of us, when somebody like Momo says goodbye it is like saying:
"Find what you love to do and do it a lot."

EAST – WEST by Momo Kapor

In the East, clerks work from seven to three. In the West, from nine to five. The clerkly East wakes up at half past five. The clerkly West at seven. The drowsy East creeps through a foggy winter morning, cursing jobs, the state, life, fate... the East is half-shaved. This is because men shaved the previous evening so as to be able to sleep longer in the morning. The smoothly-shaved West rides in the metro in silence. The East tells political jokes in an overcrowded bus. The West reads newspapers in complete silence. Nobody talks.
The East falls in love with an unknown green-eyed working girl. Naturally, the East arrives to his working place at half past seven and angrily says to his boss: "What? We are not in the West, for God's sake!" The West begins working at nine. The East gradually comes to himself. He has had three coffees and has read in the newspaper what is happening in the West. At half past eight, the East discusses last evening's television news... The West is already immersed in work. He cannot discuss what was on 67 channels as nobody watches the same program.
At half past ten the East, with a two-hour handicap, goes to his deserved breakfast. He breakfasts head in tripe, goulashes, pljeskavica, burek, bean soup, lamb with sweet cabbage, stewed sauerkraut with meat and similar dishes, as if he's been digging all morning. Later, he chews a toothpick and has three beers with medals from a world exhibition. The West has a lunch break between twelve and one o'clock, He eats a sandwich with cold chicken (white meat) and drinks "7-Up". Then he returns to work. In the hall of the company building he drinks his first instant-coffee from a paper cup.
The East already has the advantage of three beers and two vinjaks (grape brandy). On the way he hears about a sale and drops by to see what's all about and returns to the office two hours later. The West agrees to hold a trade union meeting on Saturday because it is a non-working day. The agenda is to decide whether go on strike.
The East is given a frozen flank of beef by the trade union, which is placed into the freezer. The bloodstained suit is being dry cleaned. At three the East goes home, but first he drops by for one more beer. The West is still working.
The East has a lunch and then the family walks on tiptoe because the father is tired from work. The West continues to work. The East is still napping on the divan, having first covered his face with a newspaper because of flies. They wake him up at 19.30 to watch the news. The East has a thousand objections about the economic situation. After watching the news, the East sets heartily to a light dinner: cooked pork knee joint with horse radish and red wine provided by the father-in-law from the village.
At six o'clock the West returns home. He has no energy to read newspapers in the underground. The West has extracted everything from the West. The East is fresher in the evening than in the morning! He plays cards with his friends and opens a third bottle of red wine. An exhausted West takes off his shoes and has a whiskey to recover. He drops into an armchair and watches flickering television images without understanding the issue at all. He wonders if life has any sense. Where does this all lead to? He eats his dinner in apathy: a tasteless Atlantic fish and cooked vegetables. A glass of white wine.
At this moment the East has the advantage with five bottles of red wine. The West goes to bed early. Tomorrow is a working day. The West will live only on the weekend. From five p.m. Friday to Sunday morning. For the East, every day is a holiday. I wouldn't live in the West, he says to his wife, if they give me a million a day!
The West takes sleeping pills. The East carelessly borrows money from West. The West grants credits to live from the profits of the East. Both East and West sleep like babies and dream in colours.

Monday, March 1, 2010

Haiku by Gabriel Rosenstock

Gabriel Rosenstock is a poet and haikuist, author/translator of over 150 books, mostly in Irish (Gaelic). A member of Aosdána (the Irish academy of arts and letters), he taught haiku at the Schule für Dichtung (Poetry Academy) in Vienna and has given readings in Europe, North, South and Central America, Australia, India and Japan. A former Chairman of Poetry Ireland/Éigse Éireann, he is an Honorary Life Member of the Irish Translators’ and Interpreters’ Association and a Foundation Associate of The Haiku Foundation.

Salmon Poetry published his debut volume in English in 2009, Uttering Her Name and in the same year Cambridge Scholars Publishing (UK) brought out his twin-volume reflections on haiku, Haiku Enlightenment and Haiku, the Gentle Art of Disappearing.



sickle moon -

"Rosenstock has done it again! Here we have another haiku volume of originality and newness. Why is it that if lesser hands try the same sort of haiku theirs would become shallow and literally empty while in the hands of this poet profundity and lightness show up in an exquisite balance?

Rosenstock is one of the few non-Japanese poets who have a feel for haiku almost instinctively but, more importantly, who have not lost it by the study or practice of writing haiku. "

I read some of Gabriel's poems and really loved it .
Gabriel was very generous to let me publish some of his work.

Enjoy and thank you for visiting,

full moon
filling the eye

fireworks implode
into nothingness
the moon brighter than ever

somewhere deep
within the universe
the crow’s voice is formed

was it a kingfisher?
a splash turns blue
into silver

even the butterfly
takes a rest
on the hammock

Butterfly on my hammock!

into a hole in the sand
something too quick
to be named

Sunday, February 28, 2010


Franz Strauss Nocturno Op. 7
French Horn Solo, Steve Park, Horn

"The fish in the water is silent, the animals on the earth is noisy, the bird in the air is singing. But man has in him the silence of the sea, the noise of the earth and the music of the air.”

Rabindranath Tagore

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Some excitement

Some exciting and joyful news to share:
Zoe and I have been featured in this (March) month's OM Times Magazine, pp. 34-38.
The screen shots here, but to read what Zoe and I wrote, to zoom in, and to see the rest of the beautiful and inspiring magazine, you'll want to follow the link.
Thank you for visiting and support:)