Greece from above...

A quiet stream in winter

I love you

peacefully like a quiet stream

in winter

when everything is frozen

a blossom sleeps waiting for spring

love hibernation

traditional chinese silk watercolor painting, detail

love hibernation

under the falling snow

our dreams softly sleep ...

Poetry Corner: Unexpected Memories

Poetry Corner: Unexpected Memories

A cup for a winter's night

Heart of Light, ©YiotaKarioti2015

Brew me a cup for a winter's night.

For the wind howls loud and the furies fight;

Spice it with love and stir it with care,

And I'll toast our bright eyes,

my sweetheart fair.

~ Minna Thomas Antrim.

"If love's a sweet passion" - Henry Purcell (1659-1695) The Fairy Queen

If Love's a Sweet Passion, why does it torment?

If a Bitter, oh tell me whence comes my content?

Since I suffer with pleasure, why should I complain,

Or grieve at my Fate, when I know 'tis in vain?

Yet so pleasing the Pain, so soft is the Dart,

That at once it both wounds me, and tickles my Heart.

I press her Hand gently, look Languishing down,

And by Passionate Silence I make my Love known.

But oh! I'm Blest when so kind she does prove,

By some willing mistake to discover her Love.

When in striving to hide, she reveals all her Flame,

And our Eyes tell each other, what neither dares Name.

Ye Gentle Spirits of the Air, appear;

Prepare, and joyn your tender Voices here.

Cath, and repeat the Trembling Sounds anew,

Soft as her Sighs and sweet as pearly dew,

Run new Division, and such Measures keep,

As when you lull the God of Love asleep. 

And now in Autumn as I wait

Lionello Balestrieri, The Kiss

And now, in Autumn, as I wait

for winter's hard and long cold days

my mind with your reflection plays

this evening late

The room in shadows, walls in grey

All colours blend in one blur knot

A vision painted with your thought,

flies by, astray

Some call it longing, or desire,

a madness send from gods above 

asking my heart, I name it love

a shiny fire

Thin purple leaves caress the moon

I smile to chase the clouds away

dreaming you will  beside me lay

loving me soon

Debussy - Jardins Sous la Pluie, Gardens under the rain

Butterflies

Cymon and Iphigenia. Frederic Lord Leighton, 1884. The Art Gallery of New South Wales, Sydney 


Fluttering kisses

butterflies caught in the net of love

 - I dream of your  lips

To Autumn - John Keats

Thomas Moran (1837 – 1926), Cresheim Glen Wissahickon Autumn

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;

To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,

And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells

With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees,

Until they think warm days will never cease,

For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?

Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find

Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,

Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;

Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,

Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook

Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:

And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep

Steady thy laden head across a brook;

Or by a cider-press, with patient look,

Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.

Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,-

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,

And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;

Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn

Among the river sallows, borne aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;

And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;

Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;

And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.