Before I post my haiku, or you read it, I’d be honoured if you just took a few minutes to watch this video of the guys – gypsy dancers I know from far back. If anyone thinks this is easy stuff, well, I think you might want to try it. know exactly how hard it is, and remember one night with guitars, milk jugs, my bongo drum and an Australian with didgeridoo. A beautiful night but some of the toughest dancing ever to learn. But its the synchronicity also – just watch how it builds up, and you’ll go some way to understanding my love for the roma people, the gypsies. Worth every minute, this short video.
dances her path before me
-a romany blessing
To finish off see how the music reaches deep in this gypsy home. These roma are quite light-skinned, and in my experience more so than the lovely bronze tone some friends had. Makes no difference of course, once a gypsy always a gypsy for many of the European population, who discriminate against roma people, the largest minority in Europe, in the crudest of ways.
a woman is a lantern
not broom to clean my mind
shine for me, I cannot see
I don’t get this super-skinny obsession. I really think women look more beautiful when they let their curves show.
For the past few years I have found Autumn galling and ugly. This year, for the first time, I’m starting to find beauty in the concept.
I think it’s safe to say that not many would argue that knives through the skull is a pretty ugly before, after and during experience…
I may be drunk, Miss, but in the morning I will be sober and you will still be ugly.
Ah the buzzing butterflies, the shudder as the plane takes off, the tingle of anticipation to be travelling again…the sudden vibrations and smooth landing in an exotic land. How I enjoy to travel, and dream of Yemen, Afghanistan, Ethiopia, Morocco, Iran…
‘In every man’s heart there is a secret nerve that answers to the vibrations of beauty.’
- Ese’s Quote And Shoot: Bare (managuagunntoday.wordpress.com)
picture by Semprevento
La sua bellezza sta nelle parole che soffia
Come foglie, gettato al vento
Il suo calore è nelle avvolgenti ombre di raffreddamento
La sua memoria indugia sempre nella mia mente
Come se fossero orme nella sabbia, non proprio lavato dalle onde
Lei è esotico, le sue voci sussurra da tutti i mari
Nella brezza, profumata dai profumi toscani
Una donna, un artista che sa come respirare
La sua musica dipinti, le sue foto poesie
Le sue fotografie emozioni, creando sensazioni
Her beauty lies in the words she blows
Like leaves, cast to the wind
A warmth in the enveloping cooling shadows
And her memory always lingering in my mind
As if they were footprints in the sand, not quite washed by the waves
She is exotic, her voice whispers from across the seas
In the breeze, scented by Tuscan perfumes
A woman, an artist who knows how to breathe
Her paintings music, her poems pictures
Her photographs emotions, creating sensations
the wind blows ~ I am a tree ~ the waves whisper to me
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