visions of poetry


Dream no smalldreams for they have no power to move the hearts of men.

(Johann Wolfgang von Goethe)

The language of our visions we will find in our poetry......


dyeing time

photographer: Greg Jackson, London

poem by: Maria Dost, Berlin

 

dyeing time

 

hand in hand

we walk along the place of freedom

our cloths we dyed

our thoughts we dyed

 

hand in hand

we dream along a new day

watching the dyed sky

feeling the dyed sun

 

 

hand in hand

we walk along a dream

finding dyed words

feeling dyed emotions

 

hand in hand

we enter

the place of freedom

we will wait

we will stay

and breath new air

 

until the colors of yesterday are gone 

I have found my love of all good spaces

photographer, lyric: Greg Jackson, London

 

 I’ve found my love of all good spaces

Sit down my friends lets all be spent

I’m going to tell you all a story

Of some memories that i dreamt

 

See, i’ve lived life in many places

Not least the many streets of my mind

And friends especially, i didn’t find you

You’re here, i think – because we’re one of a kind"



one night I started to write when I saw this picture

Una noche escribi esto, y lo subí con una fotografía

poem by: Salvador Marquez, Rosario, Argentina

 

en mis sueños veo una mujer agarrandose la cabeza


en mis sueños tengo ganas de matar y de ser asesinado

en mis sueños veo pobreza

y observo al observador

en mis sueños juego

con hombres,siempre hombres

mi papá

el ya no esta

el nunca estuvo

y una mujer se agarra la cabeza

y somos pobres

y me obervan,en mis sueños

en mis sueños me pierdo

y ya no soy yo

y era yo?

y no entiendo!

y no entiendo!

y no entiendo!

melody of your face

 

a journey of poetry and photography

poems by: Maria Dost, Berlin

photography: Zun Lee, Toronto

the melody of your face

 

feeling

the breath of a new day

the colors are glowing in the light

 

moving forward

step by step

recognizing every sound

which is surrounding me

 

my eyes are closed

 

I am not able to go further

the weight of my eyelids

lies down

flowing into a picture

like a rushing stream, which is  taking me

 

away

to let me go

in a being of

my feelings

my views

my way

to

my places

my meetings

where I

 

wake up

as I am

forseesense interfilm