Welcome to my blog - a scrapbook of memories, ideas and inspirations.

Tuesday, February 21, 2017

Morning Dream

There’s a quiet sigh of a woman
a stifled regret of forlorn love
a shrug of her shoulders

And a whisper of fear
a tearful hope
of a lonely future

And a man moans in his sleep
Tossing through the night
On a solitary divan

Unaccompanied in the forest
waiting for a lover to return
A bird sits on a branch

And a flower unfolds gently
And the grass glistens in the dew
And a girl wonders

When will the love come?
And why is the wait so long
Before he appears

And the breeze scatters leaves 
As the boy strums the strings
Of his new guitar

And the woman walks alone
Small dog barks at her

And I awake

Monday, May 23, 2016

БАБОЧКА И МУРАВЕЙ

Bite rattle snake, bite
Hop speedy rabbit high
Fly spinning bullet,                    
Make it quick
Come up a hill, wheel
Come up ahead, curb
Butterfly’s in for a kick

Roar away desert lion
Watch stubborn ant buy in
Hear grasshopper cry in
                                empty cup
Come mammal cub crawling
Feel winter wind blowing
Through empty wasteland
                            Add it up

Watch little bird flying
Hear brittle hope dying
Never laborious
              Never tough
Have a care ant darling
Spare a posy with pollen
Save butterfly,  

             you have enough

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

a winter dream

I dreamt of summer through the smog of winter
Me and my friends in swarm of merriment
Like mineral clay solidifies to sinter
We turn to quartz in time experiment

Lazy sand snails, vanishing and aging
Through crystal frame of silver hour glass
Hawaiian sunset scattering and blazing
Fades out like nomad hunters in Alsace

Suddenly numb, I topple and fall silent,
Echo of senses follows in my wake
Outside a blizzard gathers over highlands
Treading through aspen trees till I awake

Monday, July 15, 2013

Tale of a goldfish and unspoken wish



Last time I pulled a goldfish out of water
I thought that Russian story was banal.
For what’s a fish against a human daughter?
Yet, verses of a fish have stormed my wall.

-         How many wishes can you grant me, fish?
-         Just one, but you must choose with care
-         Come swim with me until you know your wish
Said fish and smiled well; it was a fair dare.

His smile could slay a hundred hordes,
I plunged inside beside him, to abyss.
There was no dream beyond Arcadia walls;
No deed or wish undone had gone remiss.

And for a while, I enjoyed illusion,
Of lacking purpose and no goals to meet,
I sang and danced around the pond’s seclusion
Fish smiled smirk that felt a real treat.

One day he took me to an ancient pool,
Where time displaced in rivets at the shore
There were no trees or sun, no aim or rule,
Just empty silence and it was a bore.

- It’s time, he said, for you to ask your wish
Or you can stay the same way for a while
The choice is yours to make; I’m just a fish
And fishes swim, but humans dream in style.

The pond grew dim, the winds began to roar,
I heard an eagles cry beyond the wall,
Wishing a lot had proved to be a chore,
Wishing a little hardly worth the call.

We swam in circles, tired of disservice
We did to time; I floated like a cork,
He dove and only once resurfaced
Inside a cave where stream broke into fork.

The left brook marked a secret passageway
Foretelling channel of a lone crusade
I feared the ennui of a life without Cyprinidae
But he had hid again; I knew he was afraid.

The river to the right was calm and deep
I dipped my toe and felt its eerie still
I sensed inside it I would be asleep
And chose the stream that ran uphill.

I did not wait for goldfish to resurface,
Thriving in water garden of a fairy verve,
It made me wait until my wish lost purpose,
Too ripe to toss, too spoiled to preserve.

And crossing over foothills in the distance
I found a path untethered and unmanned
Through underbrush, without much resistance
I reached a peak untouched by human hand.

On mountain top, in stone, above the ocean,
I carved my wish out with a blade of steel;
As days go by, perhaps a lone Laotian
Will find my mark under his coarse bare heal.

Atop the world, where icy snow keeps heavens,
Where winter light shines on infrequent crane;
I left it here - Minoan unearthed by Evans,
Bronze Age, unseen by pilgrims of Tibetian plain.

Although in fairy tale, my name will never surface
A goldfish cannot swim up mountains through a steppe.
My wish is carved in stone, it shines for those with purpose
For those who dream of sun and climb with steady step.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

rebirth


Soft darkness wraps its hands around me
Touching my shoulders ever so slightly
I let go of all thought and inhale dry air
rocking myself into slumber

A stroke of wind dishevels my hair
I tremble in surprise and it withdraws 
I sit up and pray in silence, hoping
For something I have yet to know

A stork flies through the night 
Startled, I stare into obscurity
A baby’s cry pierces the air
“A newborn”, I think; “how lovely”

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

a summer trail


the trail leads you

where heavens unwrap
sapphire curtains 
into jade forests

where lakes join
in beads of silver
strung on golden wire

where birds embroider
sky with ribbons of joy
laced with frivolity

where night quenches 
the thirst of virgin grass
with morning diamonds

the trail leads you
where summer dwells
in childhood memory

Thursday, July 19, 2012

Inspirations


I have not written, read, or seen anything that was worth sharing, and have not felt like sharing much lately. I've reached an introspective time, during which I prefer to ask questions, listen, read, watch, collect information, think and process it. It's delightful to find hidden treasures in the deep recesses of the subconscious. I tried going out again and socializing or emailing, but it brings little pleasure now. Blogging feels very isolated and self boasting. I much prefer to communicate in person. Speaking to someone gives me a sense of understanding and involvement in the conversation, as opposed to posting a monologue.  

And I have not really done anything exciting worth talking about. It's easier to talk about something radical and brilliant created by others, like the Italo Calvino's classic If On A Winter's Night a Traveler or a new film by Woody Allen To Rome with Love. Though completely unrelated, both Allen and Calvino explore radical methods of communication by involving the reader/viewer in their stories. Allen's technique is very different, he does not make the viewer participate in the film, yet I could not help but feel as though I was a part of it. (Viewer participation would be interesting in terms of a play. Perhaps Calvino's book can be turned into a play with viewer participation, but I am not an expert on plays.)  

What I like best about both Calvino and Allen is the ease with which both artists express their ideas by unitizing means much different from what we are used to. Both are incomplete, both leave the reader/viewer in search of the rest of the story, yet both manage to involve you in their plot-lines as one of the characters. In Calvino's novel, the plot explores the art of reading, while Allen explores the art of creating something ridiculous, which he politely describes as "ahead of its time". Both create a feeling of nostalgia and melancholy discovered in creation of a masterpiece that surpasses the imagination of an ordinary spectator. 

Another genius is Isaac Asimov. I love his simple eloquence and linear approach to story tellingThe strength of his writing is in use of logic in place of high poetry. Unlike Woody Allen, he communicates his stories almost clinically, leaving it up to his readers to create their own visual and sensual references from individual perception and ideals. Despite the lack of high literary style, Asimov's work does not lack in skill and interesting notions. One of my newly discovered treasures is Asimov's short story called Cal about a robot who wises to write. It has become my favorite short story. It can be found in a collection of Asimov's writings entitled "Gold".