we all are gypsies of a sort wandering traveling through this life other lives space and time here there and yon on roads less traveled - this is a written and visual journal of my own travels - imagined and/or real - come along with me - we'll dance among the stars under the sun and over the moon - share our stories around the campfire - come along -

this site is simply a streamofconsciousness rambling of words and images in which i find meaning and beauty - there is no organized order of thought or format -
poetry painting and writing on love and life and things thereof from the heart and through the eyes of a louisiana gypsy spirit travelin' roads less traveled...enjoy -

THE GYPSYWOMAN WORLD

My photo
A...WOMAN IN MOTION WITH HAIR AS DARK AS NIGHT HER EYES WERE LIKE THAT OF A CAT IN THE DARK... SHE WAS A GYPSYWOMAN... she danced round and round... from the fire her face was all aglow... she was dancing... dancing... waiting for the RISING SUN... loving caring relationships are like THE RISING SUN...we are nourished by their warmth...we are energized by their strength...we grow in their light...we find shelter and solace there...they are our sanctuary... born in the sign of the sun, i am a true LEO-love the sun and its hot orange red fire-passionate in and about everything i do-i believe in instant chemistry charisma love/lust at first sight-in the magic of the eyes and the beauty of the soul-in the instant recognition familiarity in meeting someone from a past life and in the knowledge that we might meet in a future life-i believe that we are each ageless and flawless-i believe in the beauty of the moment-the whisper of yesterday-the hope of tomorrow-the power of forgiveness for even ourselves-the absolute and total beauty of love---[credit to brian hyland and curtis mayfield]

to dance with life

to dance with life
come dance with me...

Monday, October 26, 2009

les feuilles de nos vies...inspired by "L'automne qui se meurt"



their generative veins of
red and orange and gold and brown
struggling straining suffering
holding together the decaying
fragments of a life now gone

in their autumnal sacrificial demise
ordained
in the moment of their budding birth
give
valiantly the indispensable victuals
for life

anew

9 comments:

staceyjwarner said...

you always amaze me...

much love

GYPSYWOMAN said...

thank you so much, stacey - peace and love to you!

Roger Gauthier said...

Very troubling poetry, milady. The more I think of this image, and your text, the more I understand.

Yet at the same time, melancholy is burning me. I am only a leaf, I am going away.

This is Autumn, what about Winter?

The leaf will disappear, its art gone and forever forgotten.

How come that all of a sudden I want people to understand my art, to see beyond the dreaded photograph, and to gaze into the eyes of my thoughts?

Don't fret, gypsywoman. This is only an outburst of my duality. I am happy this morning and my smile fills my house from one wall to the other. Ouch! This is real bad prose, But I don't mind, good writing is a byproduct of great joy or infinite sadness.

Except in your case, Jenean!

Roger G., The Last Prophet

GYPSYWOMAN said...

good morning roger - of the poetry here - it is not mine, really, at all - it belongs to your image - when i blew your leaves image up on my screen, these are the words they said to me - almost in a raw literal sense - it's really very simple - it's about perspective - how we choose to view things and how we allow those things to speak to us - we must listen - more than that, we must hear - there is a difference - perhaps you are beginning to see and to hear in a different way now - i'm no prophet at all so i am not one to know - it's just a thought - thank you for your kind words - have a beautiful day!

Roger Gauthier said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Roger Gauthier said...

... Just heard a Prévert song and heard:

Jour après jour les feuilles mortes
Te rappellent à mon souvenir
Jour après jour les amours mortes
N'en finissent pas de mourir

... One accepted translation is:

And every time the dead leaves
Remind me of you.
Day after day the autumn loves
Don’t stop withering

It really means:

Day after day the dead leaves
Bring back the memory of you
Day after day the dead loves
Are forever dying

So moving. A short glimpse at the transience of human nature by a superb poet.

This is also part of Life. A dead romance forever dying? This will bring hatred and sorrow.

But look the other way and see a gigantic laugh! And then, laughing at Life itself as Brel did was also a form of hatred.

Roger G., Preparing Lunch!

GYPSYWOMAN said...

and what are we having - for lunch?

Roger Gauthier said...

HA HA HA HA HA...

Pretty good, pretty lady! :-)

The answer is: a refrigerator salad. This means: open the fridge, take about all you can find that more or less looks like a vegetable, cut into pieces, toss all that in a bowl and add a simple vinaigrette made from (good) wine vinegar. Preferably French of course.

The Chef

GYPSYWOMAN said...

oh, yummy! and a good french wine with it!