Poetry – mylenscapes.co.uk

She was free in her wildness. She was a wanderess, a drop of free water. She belonged to no man and to no city.

Poetry

Poetry

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

Robert Frost

There is poetry in everything

 

Universe

In a billion years, when
The sun’s fire dwindles
And ash blows across its surface
When the moon will no longer wane
And the land not rise
When like a cold, burnt-out piece of coal
This earth revolves, lost in its gyre,
Trailing a dying sepia glow
I think then
If a poem written on a piece of paper
Was to waft along
And perchance land on the sun,
The sun would ignite again!

Gulzar

 

I have loved poetry for most of my life. It was my professor of French at grammar school, who started the sparkle. He made me understand that I don’t have to understand. That it is more about feeling than reason.

Poetry can evoke emotions that we quite often try to bury somewhere deep inside. To me it has the power of making us to change the way we look at and listen to the world. To see beauty where it seemingly doesn’t exist. To feel and experience deeper. When I read a poem, I can suddenly find myself in a world of wonder. Similarly to when I pick up up my camera to explore the extraordinary world we live in.

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. But is it really? Can we compare them at all? It seems that I am not the only one who has their doubts. An American writer Jarod Kintz made a very good point:

“Is a picture really worth a thousand words? What thousand words? A thousand words from a lunatic, or a thousand words from Nietzsche? Actually, Nietzsche was a lunatic, but you see my point. What about a thousand words from a rambler versus five hundred words from Mark Twain? He could say the same thing quicker and with more force than almost any other writer. One thousand words from Ginsberg are not even worth one from Wilde. It’s wild to declare the equivalency of any picture with any army of a thousand words. Words from a writer like Wordsworth make you appreciate what words are worth.”

Poems are images painted with words, and pictures can be equally as powerful at evoking emotions. We cannot separate them from each other. Their value is in each of us. The way we perceive the world around us and how open we are to it.

Over the years of reading and collecting poetry I have realised that I have a need to reach inside and try to write my own poems. It has never been easy for me to express what moves me in eloquent words. I might fail miserably over and over again, but at least I can’t say I failed to try. As one of the most notorious dreamers and a “wannabe opera singer” Florence Foster Jenkins said “Some may say that I couldn’t sing, but no one can say that I didn’t sing.” She might have been called “the world’s worst opera singer”, but she had a huge heart and certainly didn’t lack passion and love for what she did and believed in.

When people look at my pictures I want them to feel the way they do when they want to read a line of a poem twice.

Robert Frank

If you would like to follow my humble attempts to express what I feel in a verse, please read on. I hope you will find something that perhaps resonates with you. And if you do find a connection, I would be very happy to hear from you.

Moonlit Silence

When the night falls, quietly I’ll slip away –
Not to wake you from your deepest dream.
To lose myself in the stillness of the lake
Softly lit by the moon’s luminous beam.

Alone I’ll wander through the solitary paths of light
And in the sudden wake of the trembling dew,
I’ll listen to the moonlit silence of the night
With one secret wish – in your dream, you hear it too.

© Vanda Ralevska

With freedom, books, flowers, and the moon, who could not be happy?

Oscar Wilde

The Autumness of It All

There is sweet music ringing through the canopy of trees
of raindrops singing and dancing with the fluttering leaves.
Tone by tone their song fills the silent woodland halls
with the season’s wonder and autumness of it all.

© Vanda Ralevska

Into the Veil of Drifting Mist

Let me walk into the veil of drifting mist,
where the bare trees the morning rains have kissed.
And in this tranquil world and the silence of it all,
let me lose myself and find my secret soul. 

© Vanda Ralevska

A Walk through the Mist

When all the world is cloaked in a veil of fog,
The only sounds my heart delights to hear
Is water dripping from the barren oak,
The echo of my thoughts, in a voice so sweet and clear.

© Vanda Ralevska

Poetry is the journal of the sea animal living on land, wanting to fly in the air. Poetry is a search for syllables to shoot at the barriers of the unknown and the unknowable. Poetry is a phantom script telling how rainbows are made and why they go away.

Carl Sandburg

Break of Day Beside the Winter Sea

As I slept I heard across my midnight dream
a solemn call of the deserted shore.
Its mournful voices echoed in between 
the wind-worn beach and my heart’s deep core.

As I walked through the pale light of the misty dawn,
the night winds sighed, the morning chill upon the frosty air.
Withered the blue vault of the velvet sky, the night was gone.
My heart stood still to behold a scene so fine and fair.

Out of the low clouds bleak and forlorn,
down from the sullen skies onto the tide’s ebb and flow,
softly descended the white flakes of snow;
in patches they clung to the bare sands below.

Never shall I forget the break of day beside the winter sea,
alone with the dawn and sombre beauty of the empty shore.
Wave after wave, their silver crests breaking beneath my feet,
the sea’s throbbing heartbeat resounds in mine for evermore.

© Vanda Ralevska

First Spring Day

The day was bright and spring breeze strong,
white clouds flying across the clear blue skies.
The trill of skylark song drifted along
on the fluttering wings of golden butterflies.

© Vanda Ralevska

Eternal Summer

With time I realised
That with you by my side
There is eternal summer
Inside my heart

© Vanda Ralevska

Poetry is simply the most beautiful, impressive, and widely effective mode of saying things.

Matthew Arnold

Fire in the Sky

Such a simple thing, yet so often missed –
White clouds, and a clear blue sky,
A burst of colours left carelessly behind,
Where they briefly touched, and gently kissed.

© Vanda Ralevska

On a Sunday Afternoon

I just want to lie in the shade of the tall grass,
And watch the sunlit skies float aimlessly above.
Hear the stillness of the hours pass,
And let my thoughts wander to the one I love.

I just want to lie in the shade of the tall grass,
And trace the drifting clouds with my fingertips.
Listen to the bird songs as they pass,
And let the warm breeze kiss my thirsty lips.

© Vanda Ralevska

Where the Sky Meets the Sea

Meet me where the sky sinks into the deep blue sea,
I will wait for you to take a walk with me.

Meet me in between the sky and the timeless sea,
Together we’ll ride on clouds and sail upon the breeze.

© Vanda Ralevska

Poetry is thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

Thomas Gray

You Are the Missing Piece of Me

You are the missing piece of me,
The piece I was always searching for –
In the mountains high and oceans deep
Until there was nowhere else to go.

And then, when lost by the raging sea
I found it, unexpectedly –
When the tide of your beating heart
Swept across the shores of mine.

© Vanda Ralevska

Fragments

Inside each drop of saltwater
There is a call of a boundless sea

Inside each spiral of a shell
There is a whisper of a restless wave

Inside each grain of sand
There is a murmur of a wind-swept shore

Inside each fragment of a rock
There is a thunder of a mighty mountain

© Vanda Ralevska

Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Over the Silver Sea

The day was bright with the sparkling sun,
the fickle waves and the clouds above merged into one.
The wild wind blowing, strong and free
set the birds’ wings flying over the silver sea.

© Vanda Ralevska

You Are the River

You are the river
Running through my veins
You bring me to life
At the brink of the day

You are the light
Shining through my heart
You give me hope
In the dark of the night

© Vanda Ralevska

Sand Is Like an Endless Sea

Sand is like an endless sea –
It makes waves and ripples in the breeze,
Stretches as far as the eye can see,
Until the tide rushes in and steals
The place it longs to be.

© Vanda Ralevska

Lost in Time

You are always here
With me by my side
Where the endless tides
Forever fall and rise

Lost in time we stand
By the cold and windy sea
Where the endless tides
Forever cease to be

© Vanda Ralevska

I Have Written in the Sand

I have written in the sand
For you to read between the lines
Words that only you can understand
In which my heart its secrets hides

Of a far-off place under the dreaming air
On the silent shores of a moonlit sea
And I hope you’ll come and find me there
In a place far away, where we’re meant to be

© Vanda Ralevska

Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity.

William Wordsworth

In Silent Conversation

At the edge of an empty shore,
Tangled in stars we stand, all alone.
As the light drifts through the still of the night,
In silence we speak,
Beyond words, across the deep blue tide.

The sound of two hearts beating strong,
Breaking the calm of the quiet dawn.
Beating together in silent conversation,
In stillness we speak,
Beyond words, across the deep blue ocean.

© Vanda Ralevska

Coming of the Night

The dark steel skies are tired.
Through the still air, so quiet,
The last remnants of the day
Slowly, in silence ebb away
Into the blue velvet of the night.

Darkness descends from high above,
All colours blend into one,
The deep blue lake, the mountains blue
Waiting to fall into sleep, to dream anew.

© Vanda Ralevska

As the Storm Passes

The leaden sky is charged with thunder,
heavy with sadness, it turns into the darkest ink
that tints the darkness with a blue shade of wonder,
into which the mournful clouds quietly sink.

As the storm passes, the sky cries in torrents of rain,
the sleepless wind sings a chilling song to a drumming rhythm,
a silent blues about the end of the season’s reign,
and every raindrop becomes a poem unwritten.

© Vanda Ralevska

Come Along With Me

Come along with me,
Come along to the distant sea,
Where pretty shells sing gently to the breeze,
And shiny pebbles whisper words so sweet.

Take a walk with me,
Take a walk to the restless sea,
Where the silky sand, so dark and deep
Will softly sink beneath our feet.

Walk down to the sea with me,
Where the salt and wind will kiss our skin.
Where the fickle waves, deep blue and crystal clear
Bury their jewels, piece by piece.

Come along and search with me
For little treasures, hidden in the wind-swept sea,
Trinkets of shells and pebbles, and remembered dreams,
So pure and simple… precious, yet all for free.

© Vanda Ralevska

Where the Seas Meet

In deep silence I will wait,
Where the two seas meet,
The waves gently swelling against my feet.

With patience I will wait,
At the tip of the land,
Where all the known paths suddenly end.

For you, I will quietly wait…

© Vanda Ralevska

The Sea of a Thousand Hues

The sea is painted in a thousand hues,
bright shades of orange
and dark tones of midnight blues.

© Vanda Ralevska

The Moon So Bright

Over there,
in a faraway world,
where the moon so bright
turns darkness into light,
we stand together,
just you and I,
your hand in mine,
so closely intertwined
like ancient roots
of ageing trees
that together grew
into one
over the time…
Never apart,
always as one,
deep inside
the heart of the hearts…

© Vanda Ralevska

Photography is an austere and blazingpoetry of the real.

Ansel Adams

Silent Pavement

Unnoticed, overlooked, brushed aside,
Lost under the footsteps, urgently rushing by.
Forgotten, tired, left behind
The silent pavement lets out a long, deep sigh:

If only you would stop your hasty stride,
If only you would pause, just for a little while,
Endless streams of colour would spring to life and rise
From the deep of my fractures, veins and ancient scars.

If only you would stop and look around,
You’d see a touch of beauty that lifts the heart,
Brightens up the days and makes you smile,
If only you would stop and glance, before you slowly wear me down.

© Vanda Ralevska

The world is full of poetry. The air is living with its spirit; and the waves dance to the music of its melodies, and sparkle in its brightness.

James Gates Percival

Recurring Dream

I know this place by heart,
Untrodden paths, silent waterways; each sacred part.
Shadows of palaces and secret alleyways so familiar seem,
Blindfolded I can walk here, in this recurring dream.

© Vanda Ralevska

A Wondrous Tale

Such a plain and seemingly ordinary day, 
Fading away, gracefully coming to its end, 
In this old town made of stars that wandered astray, 
Where dreams and fairy tales seamlessly blend.

Little by little, as the twilight shadows prevail, 
The eve’s tender arms wrap the streets in slumber, 
Subtly this old town weaves a wondrous tale 
Of the silent night – every sound becomes a thunder.

Gently the dusk falls over the quiet alleyway, 
Lone lanterns through the darkness faintly gleam. 
Such a plain and seemingly ordinary day, 
Yet it bears more magic than a fairy tale dream.

© Vanda Ralevska

Artists and poets are the raw nerve ends of humanity. By themselves they can do little to save humanity. Without them there would be little worth saving.

Inscription on a headstone in Green River Cemetery, Long Island, where Jackson Pollock and many other artists and writers are buried

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