The swan's feathers stood up in anger as it chased away this cuious dog!
Monday, November 30, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
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
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
Monday, November 23, 2009
Sunday, November 15, 2009
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
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Thursday, November 12, 2009
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
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
Monday, November 9, 2009
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