-
I dream, I dream, I dream. I dream of many things. You cannot write if you cannot dream. One who writes is a dreamer; to lose hope in the life of our fathers and mothers is to lose what gives breath to a word. A word is without meaning in itself; it is, rather, the…
-
Weary hearts seek quiet places, and hearts that are stirred look on high.
-
Lighter than air, I go rushing around; Lighter than light, I am not in the ground. Deeper than deep, I am found with the living; Can you go sleep, that I’ll cease from my giving? Fell with the fall like a tree that has rotten; This is my form, though it will be forgotten. Ten…
-
Nonnery dockery, tickity toc, Oh, how my feet go clippity clop. Nonnery dockery, tickity toc, “Stop, you, right there!” Though stop, I will not. Eddying ponds and stirring up streams, “No, not my reeds!” They yell with a scream. Sloppity slip and slippity slop, “Eddy my pond, and I’ll get you a mop.”
-
Rivers keep running ’til the very break of day, Clambering below them to find a place to stay. “Can’t we go on rushing, until the break of day?” “No, sirs you cannot, and that is what I say!” The warden of the rivers is found within a keep, A place of great desire, a place…
-
Simply writing of a thing that is so experiential is difficult. Some things are able to be written about and loved outside of experience; we are able, for example, to enjoy a writer’s ever-weaving journey through a forest, or perhaps their simple observations of the flitting birds found on a park bench. We have known…
-
It is an interesting thing attempting to condense the essence of a singular–yet fully encompassing–aspect of life. I have felt many times that there is something of an onus on writers/recorders to accurately portray what is true; and in some cases, to grow the awareness of others towards it. This is limited, in reality, since…
-
I bend, but never fold, Love light, but am not cold; My shape, it is so rare, Though not of pompous air. I’m best when I’m kept clean; I must be quite pristine– I’m bored, I must confess; It’s time to give a guess. So, try and try, again; Three times, and it’s a win!
-
It may be of interest to some for me to explain the origin of the name “Som’Lorea.” In short, I had searched for various words of other languages that possessed pleasing phonetic and semantic quality, but failed to find any which were adequate. So, as one would do, I took elements of my own language–which…
-
A passion ought not to be rushed. It mustn’t be thrown about and abused, like a child’s toy. Yet, neither should it be stowed away in the forgotten dusty closets of our hearts. It mustn’t be destroyed or hated or held too tightly, for all that is given is returned at last. Do not forget…
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
Som'lorea 