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From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
My passions from a common spring—
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow—I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone—
And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—
Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still—
From the torrent, or the fountain—
From the red cliff of the mountain—
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold—
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by—
From the thunder, and the storm—
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view—
Alone, By Edgar Allan Poe
Art: Eleni Nikologlou; Photography, “In the Shadow of Memory”
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doubled in pain

bent in half

body undone

sliced in half

grief in motion

life ends

and continues

in pain…

 

Art: Francis Bacon

 

Art: Piotr Lichwierowicz

contorted by silence

pummelled and spent

he writhes against

the beast

unseen and unheard

surrounded by thorns

he bleeds away

all hope

 

Art: Francis Bacon

 

 

in the darkness it shone

white and ghostly

swaying as if suspended on a stalk

its roots deep in the nebula

invisible moorings

sapping light

 

Art: Odilon Redon, Strange Flower (Little Sister of the Poor), 1880

 

He rang the bell and waited

No one came to the door

After a short while he knocked gently

Silence

He put his ear to the door and listened

He thought he heard breathing

He held his

and listened

Someone was breathing

He could not tell who it was

He held his breath one more time

and listened

Someone was still breathing

He sank to the floor and wept

He had found himself

The door remained closed

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Art: Dorothy Grostern, Staircase

 

 

 

I could close the door

Draw the curtains

Dim the light

Lay my head down

Bow and pray

Breathe and listen to the heartbeat

Lose all memory

Leave no trace

Swim upon the ocean

Float to heaven

And never return…

 

without-hope

 

Art: Frida Kahlo, Without Hope, 1945

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fragments of the past collect in the corners of my mind

Glistening shards of broken Christmas decorations

fragile and lethal to tiny fingers

Soft and silky carpet of pine needles

in a fragrant forest long ago

Lapping water against a bobbing boat

hot sun spilling reflections like gems

Pages from myriad books

float and settle softly on the floor

A white cat whisker

caught in the weave of a shawl

scratches memories…

I scoop them gently

into a paper boat

and set it free on the wind of time

 

focus aout05

Art: Benoit Saito

 

 

I saw your face

It was a dream

It was real

I don’t know

I saw your face

You were here

I missed you

Until the next time

When we are both cats…

boy-with-a-cat-by-pierre-auguste-renoir

Art: Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Boy with a Cat

 

 

 

MOMENTOUS THINGS

MOMENTOUS

NOT TO EVER

BE FORGOTTEN

MOMENTOUS THINGS ARE UPON ME

CRUSHED

I LIVE

MOMENT BY MOMENT

om

Art: Sleeping Buddha