Springtime in Iraq

All we are saying is, give peace a chance

translation of poem by renato flief

If the roses, the red roses
Really bleed into the gardens
With their colors and non-colors
Their perfumes

Imported with pigments,
The flowers, with their shapes and faces
Orderly, perfumes,
Their perfumes

Horizontal the scars
That if opened in the soft earth
The gardens bleed jasmine
With their perfumes
Green, and white, and detailed
Insects with their perfumes

The scents, the scents of the earth
Of its blood running, sprouting
Oh, the movement of blood
Sweet, this taste for blood
Exhale your perfumes
Into these insects without wings

Plant your flesh
Shrouded
Tired
Perfume
Vile
Inspire Red

immerse yourself in renato's work at www.movimentoo.blogspot.com

Il Dolce Far Niente

for Cleide, with love

The world you see
You've seen
You've shared
So grand, so glorious
So beyond the spheres
Of most who live
And only dream
And only dream

Not you
Not you

You dream
You go
You see
You share
Your dream
And make it ours.

yet another dreamy photo from Lorretine

More than Water

The droplets fall
Each one a challenge
For this young face,
So fresh in the world

"I don't like water on my face,"
She said
With a tremble in her voice,
Trepidation turning to courage

(And it's not courage
If we're not afraid...)

Two brave pirouettes later
A new delight
A corner turned forever
Face bravely to the droplets

It's Time to Care About the Salmon

Special thanks to my BFF, Cassidy
and the magnificent Seattle Country Day School

On Thursday, we went to release
The baby salmon to the river
Hoping they will grow up
And go on their journey
To the ocean.

Wet Dream

My only thought in seeing your face
Flash through my life that day
Was that there would be no kisses in the rain

And yet...

"Como os amantes que se beijam na chuva
E desesperam os cheiros entre peles
Por toques

Ouvi tua respiração rara
Senti tua atenção clara

Desnuda tua boca
Inunda minha tarde oblíqua"

We did. We have. We will.
Too many to count...

Thanks to Flief for the bit of his poem (and the kisses in the rain).
Thanks to Brad Proctor for his exquisitely alive image.
Visit him at www.bradproctor.com

Outra Manhã, Outra Aurora

Poem by Renato Flief, Photo by John Rashby-Pollock

Quando creio que me protegem
Um dia terei de proteger
Mas quem protege você de mim?

Quando em uma aurora avisto o sol
Pergunto-me o porquê de suas cores
O porquê de suas cores
E esqueço-me de contemplar

Quando respiro fundo e emudeço
Sou carbônico, sou violeta
Dificultando e dividindo

Vencendo minha própria inércia
Nado com minha imaginação de criança
Com esse despertar de esperança

Eu vivo, eu jovem, eu grito
Rompendo com o eu difícil
O réu rançoso e ríspido
Amanhecendo percebo o risco

Eu movido, eu preocupo, eu protejo
Aguardo outra manhã, outra aurora
Lembrando que existe hoje
Que se eu matar o sol do poente
Jamais terei consciência do nascer

I Sang a Song of You

Aboriginal dream art: Maureen Nampajimpa

In some ancient cultures, when a woman wants a baby

She will go to a quiet place and listen

For the sound, the name of the spirit
That wants to be born into her life.

When she hears the name, she makes a song
That she will go home and sing to her lover,
That they will sing together, as they make love
To invite the baby, the spirit to join them in this life.

As she awaits the birth, she sings this song
To teach the baby her name, show her she is wanted.
At the birth, the midwives and father sing this name song
To welcome the spirit to this life.

When the child is hungry, or falls down, or feels sad
Takes her first step, and for other joyful events
Her marriage, the birth of her child, and then, for the last time
As she is returned to heaven and earth at her death,
Her song is sung, so she will know she is wanted,
That she is loved, that she belongs
And that she alone is she.

From the silence of the mountains
With the music of the mata
I sang a song of you.

see Maureen Nampajimpa's art at: http://www.desertdreams.com.au/Desert_Dreams_Exhibition.php

To Some Degree

For Lori
To some degree, you said
Don't we all, as good parents,
To some degree...

Somehow, to some degree,
We let ourselves
Love everyone more
Than we love ourselves
To some degree
Give to anyone more
Than we give to ourselves
To some degree
Say yes to anyone
But ourselves
To some degree

To what degree?

To what degree
Do we cannibalize our strength
Our certainty
Our safety
Our peace
To give, to do
For anyone but ourselves?
Image: First Love Yourself, by Seidman