… or because Jude insisted on using this photograph ;-).
I didn’t plan to publish this but as Jude insisted: “the Vermeer-like quality of this photograph cannot be ignored. It is moving, qualitative, taken by someone who knew what he was doing”.
This brief introduction on me will also announce one of the first changes in the magazine: the arts in the broadest sense of the word will be incorporated as much as possible. I can only quote this famous sentence: “you can keep something good but you can also make it great”
I’m not going to bore you with my cv … everything there is to know and is of your intrest, you can ask me. For those interested in my curriculum, you can find it under ‘Meet the Editorial Team’. Instead I will offer you some high quality paintings and photographs accompanied by my words. A short introduction to Jude Dillon’s work, soon to be found on Gloom Cupboard.
C’est le début, le tout début de ma chanson …
ma chanson de rien du tout
Blue be the colour of the night
I was worried
of what you might think
reading for the first time
my thoughts, my feelings, my whims …
As it will be for many
many belonging to real life
but I will accept your opinion
because I know, most of the time?
You’re darn right.
There’s so much still inside of me
Waiting to be written, told, laughed and joked about
Maybe there will be a time for that
But if not: happy to have known you,
no matter how brief it was.
I’m good at pretending
pretending all is fine
pretending life isn’t a bitch
pretending life is a precious gift.
Let’s stop pretending
and be honest for a change
how many of you ‘abnormal’ people
would give this life a second chance
Oh to do it all over again
the thought alone makes me shiver
the loneliness, the heartache,
not to mention the pain
the pain that runs so deeply
… so deeply through my veins.
Dance upon the music vibes
But I feel so sad …
Dance for me
on the winds of change
through the rough ends of the rain
Guide me gently
in a morning dance
slide with me
’til passion ends
And if that doesn’t help
Let’s run around naked in the rain
And taste that warm salty liquid
feel the grass between our toes
and make love, like we never did before.
Message interrupted …
Drained from emotions
I see the nearest goal in sight
If it wasn’t up to you
you wouldn’t have gotten this far.
Pain is what a man causes to weep …
Hope is what a woman causes to rejoice …
Maybe they’re the same and both
and both and the same
but still there is a little difference
between a woman’s hope and a man’s grief.
Moaning ‘long the river.
Sad is the place
where willows cry,
where they moan
and where they die.
Moan a little song for me,
I do adore that sound
Of two aching bodies
Coming into one.
Moan me some blues,
Upon my grave
If I have a grave
I would prefer to vanish …
vanish into air
Finally a dream might come through!
Ode to a madman
There used to be a madman
That told me stories from the street
Everyone said: mind your own business!
But he wanted me to learn, to teach.
Oh how do I grieve upon his passing
Those hours in the night, moon in sight
and booze to warm us up
I would say, thank you my friend
Thank you for educating me to the world.
Your advice was to the point,
Your lessons unforgettable
For to survive in Real Life
you just need that kind of background.
Thank you for giving me an open mind
To know what the world was about
instead of the fairytales of before
You told me the truth so bold.
There used to be a place like this
Where all was fine, where all was peace.
Make me an artwork of it
Shed your skin to keep me warm
Touch my body,
Along the hills and valleys
And make it flourish with your breath and skin.
Make it an oasis in the deserted corridors
A secret place where you and I can meet …
A place like this …
Where all is fine, where all is at peace.
Entangle me in your passion
Take my blood and sign your masterpiece
From the alpha till the omega
Paint the waters deep
Let your finger be the brush
And my body the curtain
Slide along the curves
Of desires (un)certain
Till I surrender
and shiver for love’s innuendo.
The song of the nightingale …
There used to be an angel
There used to be a song
That guided the heavenly choir
to protect the right from wrong.
Now I don’t know what happened
I don’t know what went wrong
But the tales of the untold
Burnt deep in each of our songs.
Maybe Prometheus made a visit
Maybe G-d decided different
But today we still hear the tales
Of the nightingale’s songs.
Blind me, conquer me
creature of the night
Sing for me, weep for me
until the morninglight.
© Poetry Lena Vanelslander