The Psychology of the Unsaid: Poem

The Psychology Of The Unsaid

Thoughts, untranslated, remained unsaid.
Was it because expression or emotion was dead?
Or was it really that all courage had fled?

Education has not the answer
On thoughts that remain unsaid;
Or the psychology of the unsaid world
Could probably change the world.

There were pauses, there were glances
And the words that spoke
Were the smokescreen for
Ordinary, unsuspecting folk.

Now, instinct, reason and lapsus
Are some more terms to discuss;
The unwritten is unwritten
The unspoken is yet hidden.


Copyright: Rani Turton

Rooftop Art, Paris

There is a kind of ladder or steps that have been integrated into the design.

Leaves (How They Do Fall) : Poem

Leaves, How They Do Fall

Leaves, how they do fall
Do they happen to wonder at all
Why the earth happens to turn
And them, with seasons spurned.
When they fall onto the earth
Carpetting the ground with their mirth
Do they think of the spring
And the life that it will finally bring?

That the cycle of life begins
That the waltz of seasons spins
Now leaves tumble and fall

One more autumn, one more fall.


Copyright: Rani Turton

Sculpted Leaf

A leaf that has been sculpted to perfection on a building in Paris.

Swan and Dog

The swan's feathers stood up in anger as it chased away this cuious dog!

Sequel to Dog and Swan!

The dog literally turned tail with interested pigeons looking on.

Solitude Singing: Poem

SOLITUDE SINGING

Being alone is knowing
That in in this solitary splendour
Solitude, stark and staring,
Solitude, singing a lullaby
Solitude, singing a dirge
Surrounded by so many sundry things;
Things seen and unseen
Factors known and unknown
Solitude singing softly, chanting without ranting
Solitude’s songs that sing of solemn things

Silence singing golden songs
Silence healing ancient wrongs
If only silence could be
More than a memory
More than history
Silence can be more than words
Empty words echoing in an empty world
Echoing in empty valleys
Silence unspoken, unspoken, unbroken
Transfixed by time.


Copyright: Rani Turton

Children's Art: "Woman with hair flying in the wind"

The movement in this drawing (chalk on paper) has been captured by the wind in the woman's hair!

Artist: Indrani

Fruit Stand at night, Delhi: Photograph

The allure of a fruit and vegetable stand at night!

Oh, Brittle Mind: Poem

Oh, Brittle Mind

Oh, brittle mind, leave all your worries behind.
Ripples in your hemispheres, whorls and whirls
Race through your fragile interior.

Strong you may be. Bountiful your life
But your mind, fragile, courses like the river
Onward, onward, sometimes flooding the banks.

Then when  reflection ceases
And bliss is yet to come
The mind, coursing on like that swollen river
Wonders what yet it will become;
If daylight would break, and with it reason:
The corpus callosum has it's own season.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Cat: Photograph

Meow! Who goes there?

The Poet's World: Poem

The Poet's World

How many poets have these pavements known
Stepping and storming, thinking and weaving
Lines into dreams; these cracked intellectual stones
Have mutely remained still under the onslaught of words:
Silent in the fury of the poet's world.

This twisted tree has seen me too
Trying to reason out what I did,
The evidence of the illogical emotion
And the rational linear world.

Why did the clouds run away?
Was there a reason the moon suddenly hid?
Why did the waves slosh and fall? Fated to follow the tide,
Feelings and fate, the poems pour out.

The city waits, accepting the flow
Of verse that, thrown into the river
Flowed on, flowed on. The river takes all
And life carries on, carries on.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Almost Locked: Photograph

A lock that is almost locked.

Fish Sculpture

A highly stylised fish sculpture ornamenting a house in Arras.

Gardens of the Chateau Champs-sur-Marne

These gardens stretch behind the chateau of Champs-sur-Marne, roughly 20 kms from Paris.

Storm In My Brain: Poem

Storm in My Brain

Storm in my brain, no, not again
Suddenly the moment snapped
My life lay broken in my hands.

I yearned for the days
When the future was clear
I longed for the people
Who would listen and hear

All that I need now
Is to know when to stick
Pieces of life together again

Storm in my brain
That sad melody again.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Children's Art: Papa

A wonderful interpretation of a child's vision of father...

Rooftop Art, Paris

A profusion of art in inaccessible places.

Who's That?

Who's there?

A Wooden Door, A Metal Key: Poem

A Wooden Door, A Metal Key

A plain wooden door, nerve-ridden
A carved metal key, in my pocket hidden.

And secrets that lie behind that blank facade
A building, some windows, my dreams.

I wandered on those blind Parisian streets.
Nobody knew my name
Nobody knew where I came from
I was different, yet still the same.

A wooden door like corpus callosum
Holds my two worlds together
I enter now, I walk out at midnight I flee
The buzzing and the hum.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Swan Lake

Perfect! The swans show off their perfect choreography!

Mehndi (Henna)

The intricate designs of mehndi being traced onto a hand.

Paths That Lead Somewhere: Poem

Paths That Lead Somewhere

Paths that lead somewhere; do they know where they go?
Do they think of the pebbles and the thorns
That can wound your feet; do they imagine
Or ever ponder that distances are not the reason
You set out alone: that solitude could have made you
Retrace your steps fast enough if you had known.

If you had known that paths that lead you somewhere
But do not guide you along; sing, sing a lonely song;
That paths are just tracks, trails to be followed
And life is still to be walked along.


Copyright: Rani Turton

Austin Healey 3000

A fabulous car on these paved streets.

Rooftop Art, Paris

Amazingly nimble these fleet-footed artists must be!

The Town Hall of Paris

This magnificent structure has elaborate carvings, statues and windows galore.

Complicated Cat

Now, now, Pussy! There surely is an easier way to reach your goal?

Poets: Poem

.

Poets

.

Poets have no tools, never

No tangible tools that is to say

Some people even call them fools

Poets have a different worldview

Built on emotions, sensations, lacerations

Splinters of pain

And all that the heart holds to be true.

.

Poets have no right way or wrong way

(Its true that they often lose their way anyway) :

Poetry has always been difficult to define

Scrambled thoughts, scrambled lines

That is to say

Perfect lines, perfect rhymes

Clockwork metric thoughts and thou and thine

Stanzas, couplets and all the rest of it

My emotions flew jagged against the sky

My thoughts often threatened to run away

Like me; I speak about pain and despair

People who are going to die

Corpus callosum, existence ad infinitum

Transient joy, the rainbow arching

Spectral armies marching

Tramping, tramping down history's worn-out lanes

And the lines in a stranger's face

His apparent despair, his evident pain

Jerk me from those absolute, imperfect rhymes

I am myself corpus callosum-like again.

.

COPYRIGHT: Rani Turton

Cats On Country Road

One snoozing and one strolling. Its a cat's life!

Fountain, Chateau De Champs, France

At the Chateau of Champs-sur-Marne, a graceful fountain. This used to be La Pompadour's residance.

The Porsche Carrera 4S

Standing quietly on a road in Paris, this marvel of mechanical engineering.

Notre Dame, Paris

Notre Dame of Paris under the August sun and the many tourists that come to visit it during the holidays.

I Spoke To Liberty: Poem

I Spoke To Liberty

I spoke to liberty and liberty spoke to me
Asking softly, 'Do you really want to be free?'

I murmured to melancholy and melancholy said
' Why do all these thoughts go through your head?'

I asked for grace and grace touched my life
Saying, 'Quiet for now. Forget all your strife.'

Then I walked on alone. Touched to the bone.
The anger and the pain, washed by the rain

Dissolved as I wept.

Then, fortunately I slept.

I spoke to liberty and liberty spoke to me
Asking softly, 'Do you really want to be free?'

Copyright: Rani Turton

Sculpted angelots, Lille

Sculpted cherubims on a building in Lille.

A Wooden Door, A Metal Key: Poem

A Wooden Door, A Metal Key

A plain wooden door, nerve-ridden

A carved metal key, in my pocket hidden.

And secrets that lie behind that blank facade

A building, some windows, my dreams.

I wandered on those blind Parisian streets.

Nobody knew my name

Nobody knew where I came from

I was different, yet still the same.

A wooden door like corpus callosum

Holds my two worlds together .

I enter now, I walk out at midnight I flee

The buzzing and the hum.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Unusual Sculpture Under Balcony, France

Found under a balcony, this wonderful figure is to be found in a Parisian suburb.

Dust And Dreams: Poem

Dust And Dreams

There was dust and there were dreams
Born of imagination and longing
There was years of neglect and wanting
Then, a spark, kindled by thought
Set fire to memory; thus it was that poetry,
Longing and imagination came together
Gifting me a kind of liberty.

There was dust from an exiled country
There were dreams born of imagination and longing
The jewels, souvenirs, that glowed when all else in me was dead.

There was dust, then.
There were dreams.
But only, only when
Love redeems.

Copyright: Rani Turton

Flag and Lamps, Paris

The angle of the flag between the lamps seemed interesting.

Snoozing Cat

The hammock incites pleasant dreams!

Looking in the Same Direction

A perfect tandem, bird and cavalier!

Cathedral of Auxerre

A view of the sculpture on the cathedral of Auxerre.

Clouds in Windowpane

Reflection of sky and clouds in this picturesque window in the French countryside.

Street Art

In the streets if Dieppe, a poignant artistic word: "Alone".

Extraordinary carvings, Paris

This intricately carved building is in Paris, abounding in details that are a real feast for the eye.

Single magnolia flower

A single magnolia flower near the top of this tree.

Line of Gargoyles, Cathedrale de Gisors

Line of gargoyles in this wonderfully sculpted cathedral with plenty of amazing details. Click on the photograph to see it it enlarged.

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