L’isoletta mia – my islet – my soul.
We thought we were not being heard, but still we arose from the remembrance of landscapes and the incorruptible beauty of the Unresolved.
This is the way in which writing has not changed – You get to new ego-layers through self-disclosure – sharing reflections about the shadow-self. You start at the first layer then work your way down to the core of memory – this then operates as you nucleus. The choice of words identifies you.
I hear your voice – a window of the spirit.
Smokey glasses sing out the blue rays of solitude.
This house is like a cave –
Tears run down the walls
staining the shadows of past laughter.
Those looks that you give are bricks on my heart.
So the gap between your walls grows – within, mixed with broken mortar and dreams is the golden hair of fallen angels, stretching out like grape vines, their fruit ripened in the sun.
This my islet – a stream of tears
How can you not sail to the shore
past the shoals of hubris
without the breezes of remorse ?
The postcard was an effective medium. It combined a visual with text that constructed a reality which conveyed a message that went beyond words. It contained aspects of haiga and anticipated characteristics of early 21st century social media. It bridged the distances creating a global connection.
This my islet – blinded by the sun,
the walls hide the shadows,
the gulls cry,
mocking the tourists
snapping pictures & clutching brochures,
their choice of words identify them.
They work their way down the quaint lanes
past the layers of colourful stalls
to the core of memory.
Note on process: Visiting several blogs and stopped by lgazometro t and the post L’isoletta mia . From there I went to some Google translations of various pieces of Italian & Romanian and then to some blogs & articles on communication theory. The result is what you find in this post. No postcards were damaged in the process of composing this piece.