Gedichtendag

Eén van mijn geliefkoosde dichters ...

-Fernando Pessoa-
As vezes ... 

Às vezes tenho idéias felizes,
Idéias subitamente felizes, em idéias
E nas palavras em que naturalmente se despegam...

Depois de escrever, leio...
Por que escrevi isto?
Onde fui buscar isto?
De onde me veio isto? Isto é melhor
do que eu...
Seremos nós neste mundo apenas canetas
com tinta
Com que alguém escreve a valer o que nós
aqui traçamos?...

Soms heb ik ... 

Soms heb ik gelukkige gedachten,
Gedachten, plotseling gelukkig, in gedachten
En in de woorden waar ze zich vanzelf in losmaken...

Na het schrijven, lees ik…
Waarom heb ik dit geschreven?
Waar heb ik dit vandaan gehaald?
Van waar is dit tot mij gekomen? Dit is beter
dan ikzelf…
Zouden wij op deze wereld niets dan pennen
zijn met inkt
Waarmee iemand waarachtig schrijft wat wij
hier krassen?…

30 Day Poetry Challenge

Day 1 - Write a poem where each line starts with a letter from your first name. It can be about anything, but it should not be about you or your name.

It's like hazy days
Nowhere to go but
Everywhere
Knowing a dreamer lives for
Eternity ...

Sometimes, things seem forever at the moment. A feeling been stuck for ages. A belligerent desire to write mourning poems. But there is no agry or disgrace. Maybe some empty emotions hidden in a hollow chest, which first contained a blooming heart. She admits she has to grow to love.


You know, you don't have to think you'll never find ...

I know, but maybe I want to ...

Why?

Maybe love is not real. Maybe love is not about sharing a life inflamed with passion, swansongs in bright moonlights, untold lips touching each other, silk memories, dreams in sparkling eyes, wildflower nights, paintbrushed thoughts, ...

...

Maybe love is a restless romance between tortured souls ...

When listening to Naval by Yann Tiersen, I'm drowning in a whirlwind of dreams and despair. My eyes cover them self with blue spangled tears, blurring my sight and reality.

A bright light woke me up today. A daylight burning splendid through stained glass windows. A June light I never saw before. A honey sky I thought only appearing ineffable in my dreams. I'm entangled in a deluge of reverie, hearing whispers of my own soothing mind. I'm ascending in fragments and trying to gather all my heartpieces back together.

Reverie

At the mountain, he is sitting on the edge. There where he fell in love with the grand view. With trembling hands and a dazzled row of bright memories. The wind whispers of soft spring, raspberry skies and cloud symphonies. Can he hide in this poem of nature? Can he taste the eternal love of silence he is chasing? The wind murmurs. The water deep down is flowing in effulgance. He discovered that the world full of life is lonely. A stillness in its heart. Living a birdcaged life. He wanders about an endeavour to live a dreamer's life.