Categories
Lyrical Poetry Narrative Poetry

Cosmic Death Of The Lover

Black white photo of flowers in a bottle, a mug of black coffee, cosmic doodles, and a handwritten note
Inspired by NEOWISE, comet that recently apperead in our sky. I hope that one day I’ll be able to see one.

The girl went on singing
Along the road, gushing
The lover merely speaking
Mesmerized, fascinated, adoring.
The girl then danced lovingly
While the moon shone brightly
And where her skin her body
Became transparent and shiny.
Suddenly the lover was scared
As the girl loved flew in the air
The lover thought it a snare
Standing at the verge of nowhere.
Her body was stellar bright
Lighting the sky of that night,
Singing prettier with all her might
Beaming to the lover a warm light.
Frightened, the lover ran away
Certain that it was a dark fay
For dark ones emit more light
That’s what they say
Thus feared to never see another day.
The cosmic body persued
As it sprinkled and spewed
Fairy dust filled of lewd
For the lover to be lured.
The lover ran and ran and ran
Horrified while it beamed closer
Terrified as it shot nearer and nearer.
She, was not anymore their lover
She was now a blazing flame
A girl now estranged.
Her long hair became a tail
A fiery comet that sailed.
In the end she burned and died,
The malefice away flied
As the lover forever cried
While their day became forever night.

Categories
Lyrical Poetry Occasional Poetry

A Musical World

black and white photography of an acoustic guitar laid on silky cloth
My husband’s guitar
Let the rhythmic waves 
Come through to you —
Through your chest 
Through your breath 
Annihilating your weakness.
Let these sounds dance through  
Inside out, elevating you 
Setting that mind free 
As you liberate and you escape.
Open your heart wide 
And let the music rain inside
Making one with the storm
Tuning in into it, peacefully.
Let everything become melodious 
To find that heart of yours appeased 
While you become the softness 
Through which the music irradiates.
Come with me, take my hand 
And let's bound with the rhythm 
Feel, yes feel the depth of oceans 
Rising tides that become one beat —
The ultimate musical ocean 
Where we all birthed out;
Out of the vibrational chord of liberance
Right till here, in this world 
Filled, full, and fueled, with music.
The hum of wind, the echo of rain 
The symphony of crushing waves 
All sonorous, so musical.
Let the rhythmic waves
Come through to you —
Through your chest
Through your breath
Annihilating your weakness.

Today the 21st of June, the world celebrates music day, so, Happy Music Day to everybody. In the poem the paragon of music I wrote that music stays with me, even during the worst days of my life; and in such a time of great trouble, where stressful situations and heartaches gloom the sky, we still have music, isn’t it? Music which is without barrier. Music which is without color. Music which doesn’t make us sick. Music, which is indistinctive.

Categories
Lyrical Poetry Occasional Poetry

My Mom, The Wren

red roses and a happy mothers day note
Happy mothers day to all

Your smile leads me again to where I began my life,
Your gentleness touches me deep, healing my wounds,
Your embrace, though am a grown up, cradle me tight,
And in this endless night of mine, your bright light looms.
Often, I want to creep back within your warm womb,
And become again that little baby wiggling inside of you,
As perhaps then, I dreamt of love all day through,
While I am sheltered, inside of your nurturing cocoon –
And for nine months, you safely carried me around,
In the end, you painfully delivered me to the world.
As your memories were mine to touch, my mind hurled,
And in my mouth, the milk of life springing from your breast,
Feeding me fire, where I knew I could safely rest,
As you sang to me an eternal sound, I perhaps knew then
That I would forever carry you inside of me, like a wren.

Thank you mother. I love you very much.

These days I am very busy indeed. I hope to get the time to write a blog post about the short story I’ve been writing recently, and of everything new that I’ve learned while trying to finish it in time for submission, and of the new story idea (for the Darcocyte series) that bloomed in my mind while writing it; but also about my new engagement that will be taking much of my time. Until then, take care.

Categories
Lyrical Poetry Occasional Poetry Ode Poetry

A Beautiful Enchantment

A poem for the 50th anniversary of “Earth day”

Blue lagoon and cliffs
Natural features of Earth – Le Souffleur, Mauritius
Earth, I love you, for my eternal seed roots into you 
Earth, you revolve, while the sea dissolves into you 
Earth, you evolve, while everything else dies within you 

Your belly is a jar that nurture everything that's alive
Your belly is a petri-dish where we all dive 
Your belly is a pathway, where we all drive

This little planet, pale blue dot, so fertile and damp
This little planet, rich with variances of life and lands 
This little planet, so colorful, so full with things that ramp

And your big arms, hug us, mortal as we are
And your big arms, cradle us, bad as we are 
And your big arms, protect us, fragile as we are 

How lovely for us to live inside of your dream 
How lovely to exist, just to exist, swimming in your stream
How lovely to open our eyes as to find us, in your rim 

Earth I do love everything that you contain —
The sea, the sun, the sky, the lands, this wellspring, 
You see, you hear, and I know of all the love that remain
While you watch in silence, with adoration, your everything 

Earth, what a beautiful enchantment you are 
Earth, you are a treasure chest that contains all 
Earth, your secret, the chamber inside, your half dark 
Earth, I am silent, and in this silence I watch you grow whole.

Happy Earth day to all. I hope you are all safe out there. Earth is going through a harsh winter, and where the summer, as for every other seasons, will soon come around again, and perhaps, with some new types of plant shrouding here and there. Until then, stay inside, for fairies and other magical creatures don’t like humans seeing them working on upgrades, or fixing up broken things…loll

Categories
Lyrical Poetry Ode Poetry

My Ode To Poetry

Red book and cup of tea and saucer
On lock down days read or write poems

A poem is a river, the sea, the largeness
In which I can swim with openness
It is a deck, a station, the purgatory –
The place where the words fly away freely,
It is a landscape where all beauty escape
While the reader’s heart race as it takes a shape.

A hidden pulsating world unfolds
While it’s cold to summer, and summer to cold;
A brisk life rooting out from the void
The strange deknotting of what’s coiled,
And while your treasure chest opens wide
Your vast lagoon becomes mine.

A poem is a deep cave filled of creatures
This dark place leading to light showers
Where the noises rhyme strangely
As unspeakable hearts chant merrily;
Its obscureness, its enlightment, its evasiveness
The poem, it strikes, the everness.

A whole city is born, fiercely
Out of a burning gut, proudly
And while my mind gets high on these words
My whole heart drinks of the world
Under a bed sheet of blooming flowers
There where I forever remain immerse.

The poem is a ship that sails me away
Amidst sea, land, and sky creatures
All spheres of living, within timeless features,
And when I arrive at Harbour on a beautiful day
I lay down belly full, and happily wait
For the next ship, dying to contemplate.

A poem is a river, the sea, the largeness
In which I can swim with openness.

We celebrated poetry day on Sunday, and here I’ve tried my best to describe poetically my feelings concerning poetry, writing about how these lines carry me; carry my feelings towards the want and need for more poems.

Categories
Lyrical Poetry

Cry It Away

Roar, scream, shout, loud –

This pain, just take it out;

Sail your heart to December

A month where you might remember

That the joy of life partakes the soul

Even within these nights where it’s cold

Cry, sob, weep, wail –

And send your sufferings to a wave

There where it will surf away

Sucked inside the whirlpools ridgeway

Casted too, through winds of oblivion

Offered to the realm of this creation

Shrivel, lament, scorch, yell –

Your feelings to you need to be felt,

Your emotions breaking away into the night

As you’ll look into the face of fear without fright

While opening your eyes when sleep commands;

Reaching out to life with your own bare hands

Roar, scream, shout, loud –

This pain, just take it out.

Categories
Lyrical Poetry

Things Abandoned

Framed from ruins – Savannah Sugar Estate
My heart can't house things abandoned
As my heart will loudly sadly crack
And what escapes would be all maddened 
With my screams piercing, tortured on a rack

It will leave my body stranded, tired
Filled of morosities and blue colors
Stuffed with shaking bones all battered 
Where not even a grey sky make it offers

A fear of bitter abandonment,
A nightmare that once became alive
Where traumatism became all significant
And where I was drowning before I could dive

My heart can't house things abandoned 
They flirted with my mind and I got burned 
Everything around me got so saddened 
And sadly coming to me I knew I learned 

I can't be a sky abandoned to itself —
Stuck between dark space and land it can't touch;
Could it be aware of its vast lonely blue lands? 
Or else, might it be asleep that too much 

But I love to see them all these places 
Abandoned, with an atmosphere of peace 
Perhaps because they are places without faces
And that nobody else is given their keys.  


   
Categories
Lyrical Poetry Narrative Poetry

Layers Of Chaos

black and white picture of pens, pencils, ruler, scissor, cutter, and folded papers scattered on table
Amidst the chaos of disorganization

When it’s Dark, I can’t see

The confusion alleviates me

My senses are in dissaray

And I am lost screaming mayday.

A light goes on, shinning brightly

But its rays beam out faintly –

I am lost on my own way

So blind in a world filled of dissaray;

A sound echo confuses my mind

Further again I am unable to find

Where’s the center of my cosmos

Within the layers of the chaos.


Busy With Organising

I am busy on my own, trying to keep up with the organization of my posts and feeds, trying to experiment with days and time of posting. When my things are not organized I am very confused with knowing what needs to be done, and I am quite unhappy with my writing activities, for as long as nothing is working as I want it to, my brain is completely shut off – I am unable to focus further.

Categories
Lyrical Poetry Narrative Poetry

Am coming back to you on a wing of storm

Black and white ocean view
Ode to the mind

A sky teared, opened

A form, levitated, hovered

My body trembled, raptured

Everything around, fell down, so sad

I tried, likewise, to reach

But my mind, ran away, to a beach

But still, our link, unbroken

Our eye, remote, and hidden

I realized, my only pleasure, taken

You were lost, then thought, forsaken

Oh! My featherly soul, I had to find you

Wherever you were, under that sky so blue

Am coming back, to you, on a wing of storm

Tearing, my flesh, to find again your form

My corporeal, its core, was attracted, and gravitated

Around, man-made planets – all, illusions

But now, that I have dragged, myself out

Am coming back, to you, on a wing of storm

Ready to dive, inside, the cosmic ocean

There where, without any attraction

We’ll only float, carried by the current

Until we touch, and remember, what we have been.

Copyright 2020 Eiravel

Most of the time, when I start to write a poem, I only have ideas for the two or three first lines, and for the rest of the poem, I often need to get the needed inspiration from nature, reading, or music, and where, strangely, the poem I write, takes the form of something that really connects to me – as if, I had solved a problem concerning my situation.

Of course, it’s art for the sake of art, but more than often, I don’t know why, but I unconsciously unleash things of a profundity that I wasn’t aware before.

The soul, to me, is the intellect. Before, I didn’t need it, for I didn’t need to think that much, my whole life had only been flesh and corporeal. But now that I need it more than ever… Loll – because now that I need to think a lot, because writing is an intellectual thing, isn’t it? I need to find my intellect again – thus, this poetic metaphor, an ode to my own mind.

Categories
Lyrical Poetry Occasional Poetry

Merry Merry Christmas

When The Contagious Festive Mood Inspires

Merry Merry Christmas
May joy shine like fine glass
Inside of your festive hearts
Filled, of ice cream dreams
Merry Merry Christmas
May you live the magic
And let yourself be carried away
By the loud amusing joy ride
Merry Merry Christmas
May the loving floating ambiance
Regenerates your all whole
As you remember your childish heart
Merry Merry Christmas
May all the x-mas poems songs and stories
Find a way to your tired heart
Touched, you’re healed on the moment
Merry Merry Christmas
May all of your lonesome blues
Shifts merrily to the sweet sound of Christmas
While your gift – the contagious festive mood
Merry Merry Christmas
I write with joy, I write with hope
Where all this festivity hue blind my eyes
While I fly under the same sky as the child.
I was not at all in the mood to celebrate; either did I ever planned to write a poem for Christmas day. But when today (it’s the 24th) I went with my children and husband to the shopping mall, something in the aura of this day inspired me to write this poem, which I’ll post tomorrow.
The magic of this festivity was such, that I instantly felt that I needed to express this enthusiastic feeling through writing a poem, and share it on my blog.
Even the Christmas tree that my children have decorated all by themselves – with their innocent childish eyes – inspired me to write this poem.

So, merry Christmas to all of you, and may the magic wand of Christmas gifts you happiness and inspiration, and might your heart revel inside of your childish memories.

Categories
Lyrical Poetry Occasional Poetry

Mindscape

A Poem For This Pink October

I hope you find in poetry
A lighthouse hovering upon a tree
Some bucket full of fireflies
Flying all across many skies —
Of all colours & of all styles

May you imagine as you write
Knocking down all the sylphides of fright
Brandishing courageously your sword
Annihilating only through words
Finding inside you the river of worth

Might your mind escape far –
Away, inside of a speedy car
While you read an adventurous fiction
Filled of a superfluous action
And of everything else that your heart never bred

It’s dark everywhere, I know
And my mind feeds on a black crow
But that ray of hope that shines —
I’ve found only through these finds
That’s filled of poetries, books, of stories

Half of the world may-might be gone
But I — I still continue my escape
Freeing myself further & farther

Freeing myself further and farther.

***

What a beautiful month as that of the pink-October breast cancer awareness month — and why wouldn’t you be reading? Why wouldn’t you be writing? Why wouldn’t you be blogging? Why wouldn’t you be journaling in a private diary? Why wouldn’t you scribble down on a piece of paper everything that hurts, everything that gnaws your body, to then throw it away in the fire, or even to rip it into pieces, or even eat it as to spit it out. You can be everything you want through writing, you can seek out to everyone you want through writing, you can talk to yourself through writing therapies, which consist of relieving tension and emotion, establishing self-control and understanding the situation after words are transmitted on paper. You don’t need to be a skilled writer, only letting yourself express through any form and medium of writing can kind of relieve that burden you carry.

I love my sessions of free-writings, thing that I do in complete privacy, and where even though I often do it as to retrieve bits of ideas as to get the necessary inspiration to write, I have to say that I feel relieved in a certain way of a heavy weight on my heart. I don’t know the in-depth analysis about how this whole thing work, but it surely feels therapeutic. Thus my opinion and poem for the blog post of today.

Categories
Lyrical Poetry Occasional Poetry

Peace, Please

A Poem I Wrote For World Peace Day

Peace, Please
So that our scars might close
Like the bud of a rose
And that our bruises might have time
to compose
A heartbreaking story filled of sad prose

Peace, Please
So that our wonderful children might freely
Roam their lands with assurance and safety
Under the benevolent eyes of what’s earthly
Extending their lives as to die naturally

Peace, Please
So that we might all live in harmony
As to forget past lives fueled with fatality
Seeing together that bright future build
on fraternity
As for us to find our own joyful remedy

Peace, Please
So that blood cease to stain the soil we walk on
So that earth cease to cry upon
Heartaches that become a pond
Filled of sorrows and happiness that’s gone

Peace, Please
So that our hearts might heal
And that we might see existence
As it ought to be seen
Where through our own healing
Peace might finally be achieved.

***
I’ve had some trouble finding the inspiration as to write this poem. I always have trouble writing about serious issues and theme; where I am always afraid to write something that might be misinterpreted by some. Since last week I’ve been trying hard to find the right words to write—since we’ve got Pope Francis paying a visit to Mauritius—but my guess was that I was so afraid that I might not be able to aesthetically express my thoughts, that all the words in my head blocked. Then, yesterday after I’ve fed my mind with some wonderful and aesthetic artworks, I was right away inspired to write peace, please.
Categories
Lyrical Poetry Ode Poetry

Flower Blossoms From Ink

A metaphor for my writings in a poem

Eiravelnotebooks20190123.jpg

Flower buds spilled from ink
& from my heart blossoms the words

Like beauty stirs the day
So does ink upon my sheet

Curving those lines
Shaping those stories
They blossom they blossom
From the cave of my mind
And the vernacular veins of my heart
Creeping their ways to anywhere

And as they go upon there
My mind stops & wonder & think
Of these weeds these seeds I feed

I write till non stop I write till extasis
Within my roots ink spills
Making shapes of my mind at stake
I am sane I am sane
As these words blossom
Into flowering buds.


This poem is the continuation of a verse I wrote last year, titled spilled ink. For some time now it’s been on my mind to finish this poem, where to me, the metaphoric picture in my mind of a poem really seem like flowers blossoming out from ink or, a pot of ink.

Categories
Lyrical Poetry Occasional Poetry

Adrenaline Rush

A poem for the Indian Ocean Island Games 2019

Adrenaline Rush

You take You blow You take flight
You run You walk You sail bright
You show You stretch You fight back
You swim You dodge You soar high
The fright The doubts You kick out
On site Your strong You shout loud
The sweats The pain It’s no vain
The strength Success It’s all gain.

Efforts From dawn It’s all gold
Suffice You push & get bold
Your will Your thoughts They strengthen
To overcome To overrule Hand In hand
The resistance The doubts Of then
The defiance To laws Of whats Physical
The embodiment In trance Into Adrenaline rush
The fun Under the sun To dare To defy To win.

***

Mauritius is actually in the heart of a frenzy sports celebration that gather mostly southern Indian ocean’s territories like, Madagascar, Comoros, Reunion, Seychelles, Mayotte, and Maldives islands, where the fervency of these games brings along the warmth needed in our heart to counter these very cold days. I’ve tried composing this little poem in an iambic feet style.

Categories
Lyrical Poetry Ode Poetry

Dissection Of A Poem

do it yourself wall decor with pictures cut from magazines, handwritten poem, and photography
unconscious personification of the poems I write

There is a big difference when I write a poem and a story. To write fiction I’ll go deep into my imagination as to invent a story; whereas for a poem, well… it’s more of an instantaneous thing, almost didactic; and it’s only when I re-read the poem I’ve written, that I notice some elements of my own experiences and personal thoughts that are embedded into the poem. To me, the poem I write is simply an unconscious cacophonous blend of personal experiences, thoughts, wants, and needs – a dissection of the intimacy of my mind.  


Poetry is an intimacy,

From which I can’t quite ever recover,

All of these subliminal dissections

Of my mind that look so fancy,

Yet that portrays thoughts under cover.

You see the night and the bright;

The bride and its passionate mate

All of the happiness and all of the fright

Something dark, something like fate

All my rearing, all I am, all naked.

I dream of mares –

That wildly run into my nightmares

They are headless and poneylike,

They are all colours and rainbowlike

All living, in these poetries, dissected.

How would I describe all that flows?

They just flow, wildly, as I exorcise

Or perhaps its Mnemosyne, that sows,

Her seeds, which blooms, into nine muses —

Letting all the beauty of words rise.

If the poetry of me is a lie

From which I can’t quite ever recover

For through all of these dissections

Something truthful only to me comes

While all my thoughts, gently flow and fly.

Categories
Lyrical Poetry Ode Poetry

The Edit

I plunge myself one last time into the story –
It’s the final round till refinery
My eyes are meticulously Critical
While my mind is eagerly Maniacal
Inside my heart, an invisible agitation
Groans like a thunder like of fascination
I try to keep my pace and seemingly peace –
But its shattering, and its distorting
That life, expanding it to my being
This phase of edit makes my stomach churn;
For it will soon be over, I confirm

Concentrate. Mediate. Phases of inquiries

To edit I want to evict
Far away Into another story
But to edit Is the key
Now I am an erudite
In need of serenity

Concentrate. Mediate. Phases of inquiries

All things that makes me dysfunctional –
I disregard
All things that plunge me into the subliminal –
I open my arms open wide;
It’s a state of mind to be in without fear
The state of creativity that fends objectivity
I see that light when those that dies see,
And I know that I am on the other side of doubt

Concentrate. Mediate. Phases of inquiries

Qui sera sera Whatever will be Will be
The answer is clear, my dear, qui sera Sera.


Editing is more difficult than the act of writing itself; where concentration and serenity of mind are very important for me right now. I am trying to shut myself up to everything that might distract my focus—for finishing the book is more important than wandering my mind on things that take too much of my energy.

This free verse is simply a plongeon into the subjectivity of the phase I am going through right now. I see myself as the captain of my ship, with the steer in hand, navigating on the pathway… my pathway… but I don’t know into which harbour I’ll be anchoring my ship, hence the allusion to the song Que será, será in the end, because I still don’t know to where I’ll go from here.

Categories
Lyrical Poetry Ode Poetry

Fictional Hive (Poem)

Art for the sake of art

Fiction arises from my dreamy mind

Where a pathway opens for me to find –

New moons, new suns, new planets, new worlds;

New faces, new lives, things of new kind.

I look around and all that I can see

Is something that surfaces beyond me

Where my senses travel into magical worlds,

And where it is the imagination set free.

These fantasies that devours my mind

With imageries of whole new find

That shoots me far off galactic worlds

To find myself into a new era kind.

Stars that shine red is all that I can see

Morphing faces is all that surround me

Where I am omniscience into strange worlds

As I unleash my mind to set the words free.

I plunge into a hive of fictional data,

Alongside dancing colloquial spectral

Where everything become luminescent

For fiction to arise from my dreamy mind.


For some times now I’ve been reading articles about fiction being treated like non-fiction. But for goddamn sake, when did fiction fell into those kinds of hands? Like really! What is happening around these days? Authors of fiction lie, authors of fiction make-up stories, authors of fiction do all kinds of random things here and there as to be inspired, authors of fiction invent all sorts of things as to create a whole world of fantasy, but in none of the case, do authors of fiction write non-fiction, and this, when they have clearly stipulated that what has been penned down or typed are works of fiction.

It’s called fiction for a reason, you see, it’s art for the sake of art, it’s fiction for the sake of fiction. And what other writers — of type essayist, journalistic, or literary critics write, are the only elements from the work that needs to be treated as non-fiction. I do think that there have been some misinterpretation of fictional work alongside the other creative writings. Works of fiction are big big lies and all made up stories meant to tickle the fanciness of readers; a simple material for evasion, and as well as distraction, and that’s all. Like what, everything is getting more and more absurd these days.

Categories
Lyrical Poetry Ode Poetry

I Think And I Write – A Poem

20190213_192115.jpg

Inspiration ignites as I write

I Think And I Write

I think of galaxies and of their beaming lights, and I write.
 
I think of the rain pouring on my face, and of the winds slashing upon leaves, and I write.
 
I think of dew blurring the window glass of my bedroom, and I write.
 
I think of the sounds of water streams and of the songs of birds on a Sunday morning, and I write.
 
I think of the green grass of the rainy seasons, and of its withered hues when the sun fiercely lights up the summer, and I write.
 
I think of a stranger locking me up in a filthy basement, and I write.
 
I think of all these faces, some formless, some of alien traits, living lives of many, and I write.
 
I think of milk, water-falling from my breast, and I write.
 
I think of the seed of life, erupting from a straightened obelisk, and I write.
 
I think of dimensions and of world to be, and I write.
 
I write my heart away, with a wandering soul left at bay.
 
And when these weapons that I’ve never touch, dwells into the depth of my mind, with flowering ivies blossoming their way, I write.
 
And when lights strangle all darkness in the strange land of my imagination, I write.
 
I write of the poetry and of the peace I would love gifting to the world, to the universe, to you, and to me.
 
 
I think that inspiration is everywhere, suffice that you look deeply, gently bringing your attention to the aesthetic form of things, where even the essence of what our vocab describes as worst and repulsive are beautiful in their own way. So, I do hope that you open your eyes, as to let your mind gaze at the primary essence of things, for you to think, and to write.

Categories
Lyrical Poetry Ode Poetry

Love Conquers All

If all earthlings knew the essence of real love, the world  would have been different

Love conquers all –
Like dew on glass
That cascades the window front
On a summer fiery morning

Love conquers all –
Like a playful soul
Running in the prairie
At 5.a.m in the morning

Or like a clang that resounds
Through an empty hall

Love conquers all –
All we need to do
Is open our heart
And let the melody pour in
So as to satisfy our thirstiness

The dew pours down
The playful soul runs around
The clang resounds…
And love conquers all.

Categories
Lyrical Poetry

Am Letting All Go

We were never meant to be living a miserable life…
So drop these heavy weight that pulls you down.
I believe that by doing so, you honor your own field of aliveness
Am letting all go —
Of the weight that is sinking me
Into a puddle of muddy water 
Am letting all go —
Of all my troublesome follies
Am letting go —
Of all the troubles that tear my heart away

Life will be my panacea
Love will be all that I will breath
I will survive and rise,
Whereupon all my burden of sadness & miseries
Should disperse into the atmosphere.
 
I love you all... but I love myself many more.