Interesting poem about poetry. I'll try to find out a French translation of it.
You used an interesting treatment here too, Ana.
Guest
10-Oct-2005 11:04
Very creative and kinda intruiguing shot Ana.. :o)
Guest
09-Oct-2005 00:03
Scuffed.Trodden.Marked by the stampede of everthing trampling me into the dust.Like yesterday's news ground into the gutter.They pass by in ignorance.Dressed in their own fine airs.And too occupied.To even notice the trash.Might as well be my name.Non discript.Personna non grata.Who cares.I am invisible.Detritus.
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I was walking along the lines of my palms today.Reading the callusoues.The scars.The blue veins just below the surface that promised of life pulsating.
On journey, before I tripped upon myself, she interupted my vision.Even more bruised than I could imagine.My wounds had passed.But hers were bleeding fresh tears.I could not even conceive of such pain.She had rubbed the infections and irritations of injury deep into the gaping flesh.The slashes screaming back like hell grimacing.My viscera cringed into a thousand knots.The horror.
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No one should suffer so.I kneeled by her side.And bandaged some of her outpourings by word.I knew it wasn't much.But it was all I had.With my strength to gather her up.My arms to bear her across the threshold of redemption.With the promise that we would walk together again very soon.I would make it true for both out sakes...
- poetry speaks of things that many of us cannot know any other way, it is another life surrounding this one. and you share it so well. thank you :-) -
Guest
08-Oct-2005 23:49
Amazing as always!!!
Guest
08-Oct-2005 19:12
Stunning imagery, Ana. Such a creative soul - I'm figuring that swimming laps must help the process. John
