Do youlike my blog?

03/04/2014

In the Flow Of Your Poem..


Into Your Poem's Flow...

O, dear Poet,
Your words, your lines,your elegant verse,
I cling to your each line, each word,
And give myself up
Into your poem's flow, your rhyme,
Its mountain stream-like rhythm ,....
Your poems keep humming in my head,
And I feel you,O, kindred spirit,
Breathing beside me
Like a stanza of Keats or Shelley,
Or looking across the table at me
Like some stern sonnet of Wordsworth.
And at some other time,
I feel you smiling through glinting eyes
Like a puzzling yet poetic sentence
Of Virginia Woolf, and bring to me
A gentle Eastern breeze
Which hasn't  lost its soothing scent
Of the Jasmine flowers.
Do you know, o my dear Poet,
How your poems are elixir for me,
Like the rejuvenating liquid
To a withering vine.
-Portia


('Into the Flow of Your Poem' - an abstract painting by me)



24/03/2014

Bus-Ride

BUS-RIDE
while going home to London from Cambridge I watched as the dark lines of trees against a subtly colored sky whirred past. From my vantage point in the way back of our bus, there was nothing else for me to do. An almost two hours' drive with a bus full, I have opted for this seat to allow longer legs more room. It is dark already at 5 o’clock on this Winter’s solstice. The silhouettes of pine and deciduous are breathtaking against the ever-changing backdrop of a dimly glowing sky. I keep wishing it wouldn’t go by so fast. Each dart of my eyes is trying to snap a picture of the beauty within the small aperture of the back window. One after the other, gorgeous silhouettes flying by in the frame. Please stop! I want to take it all in, savor it, remember it!
But no. We must move on to our next destination. We must arrive on time. Can’t slow down. Can’t stop. Must. Go. On.
As I was held captive by space and beauty, I couldn’t help but feel sorry. SO much beauty flying by all around me and I scarce can take it in!.....
This is the ache I carry with me always. I feel it keen at the busiest times. These are the times it just feels wrong to be so busy. Yet it is precisely because of all the busy that so much beauty is flying around me.....

I reach for my pen, sketchbook and journal. I write my thoughts. I draw a picture. This is stopping. This is remembering. This is savoring some of the beauty that has whirred by. If only for a few minutes or half an hour, I can stop the van, get out, take a pic or two. Then get back in.
This will do. Though the ache will continue on, it is abated in the sketchbook and the journal. 'Drawcumenting' the fleeting moments soothes the ache to go slow. Writing it down reminds me that I’m still here, a vessel to hold all these beautiful moments.
I will draw and write to slow down time just a little bit. Won’t you hop out of the bus with me, and we will take a pic or two together!
-Portia Burton