'Loco' relationship

Orinoco river

There was this girl from Orinoco,
Whose boyfriend was a bit 'loco',
She used him as a yoga mat,
'Cause he was a lad quite fat,
And she could jump on him 'poco'.




The music is a fragment of "Crazy cool music " composed and performed by BoA.


© 2013 Od Liam.

End of December

The uncertain dark cloak of night brought a soft trembling of the infinite.

The deep silence of time was put aside by the Eternal Song, having as witness a small point of stellar light brightening the cold landscape while playing with the weightless shadows of the low hills. It was a star with the bright of the interlude that define the borders of reality.

The occasional bleating of some lonely lamb of the mountain flocks punctuated the quiet wait for the moment chosen for the Mystery to touch the bucolic place giving life to a vibration that would move toward the future until lose itself in the last tones of Creation.

It happened!

No, never happened!

This is the marvel of the sense of a mystery of faith or disbelief!

A flimsy load which, as an arcane gift, live or does not exist in each of the human beings who dwell on Earth.

So the scale will always have its weighting plates full of believers on one side and of disbelievers on the other side, giving life to a strange oscillation in probabilities which only will show the truth in different ways: person by person, or jointly when following the design of time and entropy, the personal moment of dissolving into nothing be fulfilled, or Chaos came back to sit on the throne of the Universe, or finally the Wonder of The Eternal Promise be a reality.

Meanwhile, on the slopes of that small country, the question keeps its secret.

Was it the wail of a new born child facing his first breath of life, or was it just another bleating of the sheep on the hills?


The music is a fragment of "Stabat Mater" composed by Giovanni Pergolessi, performed by the London Symphony Orchestra led by Claudio Abbado, and sung by Margaret Marshall, Soprano and Lucia Valentini Terrani, Contralto .


© 2009 Od Liam.

Smile

My dream is dark indigo,
Tucked into lengthy cries,
Hid along the dazedness,
Of gloomy and doleful thresholds.
Your mist of silk and satin,
Pour white and sweet dawns,
And in the curving of your lips,
The crimson of your smile,
Rescue softly  my soul
From the oniric suffering,
Waking in arms of love,
in an earthly demented frenzy


The music is a fragment of the song "The Shadow of your smile" composed by Johnny Mandel and performed by Fausto Papetti.

© 2009 Od Liam.

Development?

He leaves the cave and observes the vegetable garden deteriorating.
His wife is very busy attending the new child, just born a few days before, and he must hunt if they want to eat.
Everything will rot in the garden! What could he do?!

Looking around he sees one of his neighbors who lives under the big ferns trying busily to get some limp, almost withered leaves of wild lettuce. Poor man! he has no dwelling place nor even a decent morsel to keep him alive... What if...?

He approaches the poor man and offers him to share a daily coleslaw and some meat in exchange for tending the garden.
The man accepted.

Proletariat had been born!

The music is a fragment of the song "Which Side Are You On" composed by Florence Reece and performed by Peter Seeger.

© 2009 Od Liam.

Unreal

"It IS blue!", said the poet.
"No!", answered the dew, "I come from up there and it is not blue!".
"Then, what is that I see?!" The poet was reluctant to agree.
"Your hope", whispered the dew.
"My hope is green, child!". Logic seems evident to the poet.
"Green?", the dew smiled sweetly. "Colors", said softly before evaporating, "are your illusion!".

Sweet fragment from "Amazing Grace" by Art Turner and a soft background of small brooks and bird songs.


© 2009 Od Liam.

Yearning...

I could see the silhouette through the glass of the door of the dinning room.

I had to repress the impulse to run and grab all that beauty, and approaching silently to the threshold, holding my breath I stole a look to that perfection and stylized fairness.

The exquisite aroma coming from the lovely form assaulted my nostrils awakening thousands of longings.

I entered the room trembling; in the hands of anticipated desire, but once I was close enough I just could touch gently the bare, silky, exciting neck, following in awe with the tip of my finger the edge of the golden cameo hanging from the red ribbon, red as my wanting.

A sudden urge exploded from my innards and I could not stop myself from taking the dainty body and letting it rest in my avid hands slowly to prevent the excess of air to steal the delicious scent and...

...I served myself a generous portion of the most delicate wine ever to be born!

Wonderful piano in a fragment of "Les vagues de Blâne-est" by Ehma from the album "La plage de Blâne-est"


© 2009 Od Liam.

Numen

"I'll be a writer", thought Lark, "and will sing my writing!"
This thought spread itself through the mind echoing on all corners of the inner mystique.

So it was!

Writings and songs filled the space of life given to Lark.

Then there came flocks of Swallows.

"Style", sang one of them, "is short of audience's expectations."
"No, no", warbled another one, "it is not style but subjunctive usage"
"Au contraire", chirped a learned third, "it is the way pleonasms are structured, it disconcerts readers."

Quiet in this gabble, Lark looked pleased to the immense tide of creativity coming from the deepness of the soul.

"Why and for what I write?", Lark asked and the thought reverberated in the mind.

The answer surged powerfully from Lark's inner depth and it was full of light, inexorable, as truth always is...

We are listening to symphony No. 25 in G minor by Wolgang Amadeus Mozart.

© 2009 Od Liam