photo: Pink Lake, Gatineau Park, this lake is named after a family who lived there, it is usually green, but the play of light has given it a pinkish hue.
Ah! I recognize that one
that little voice
that seeps into my day
and carries me back to the day before yesterday
even much further back
into bitter stories
while all I want, really,
just to lose myself in the reflection of the clear waters
photo: the most beautiful milk-thistle I have ever seen, Otago
You would cry in advance
to tame your emotions
you never know when the wind will change
and go off in another direction
sometimes you’re lucky:
by following your intuition
you find a silence
to be filled with your reasons.
photo: Tenby, there are as many types of nights as there are nights.
one should accept the night
as it would present itself
when it would be warm and white
we would listen to the silence
we would tell our lives
to the sleeping clouds
when it would be cold and black
we would slip into it without noise
We would dream of storms and poetry
and wake up, rested, totally, allegedly.
photo: This poem was written while looking at the Atlantic from Aberystwyth, back when I wasn’t taking photos. This photo was taken near Wellington.
The greedy waves kept coming
the waves, what waves!
and the grey seagulls
in the dying light
of a surprising winter
but the waves, what waves!
and the grey seagulls,
and the foaming surf
almost scared
of its own tide
that would delete the words of love
written in the sand of the afternoon
photo: I am looking forward to living in a world where we let flower pots get old and old, until they develop their unique beauty : Mykonos
we would forget the basic rules,
the very basic rules,
we would get up late,
we would drink coffee
after coffee until lunch
as if we were on holiday,
as if we were elsewhere,
as if, as if.
