Epistles, Part III – She, He Perspectives: Everything is little things!

21.03.2020

Throughout time, I have gathered little details from happy people here and there and I came up with a love story below. Hold on to the little things! They make the best of our feelings. HAPPY WOLRD POETRY DAY! Stay healthy, I miss you all! LOVE,
Soar

*
What do you want to tell me?

I think we should both take a step back before we say anything else.
I don’t have time for soulless things and superficial friendships.
I feel like I waste too much time on others and dont give you enough credit.
Do you want me to talk to that annoying guy?
I am the same to you here or thousand miles away.
It’s not like you not to answer your phone. I even left a singing message.
I didnt like that girl putting her elbow on your shoulder.
I dont just want you to be happy. I want to be part of your happiness.
Time with you has a different dimension.
We didnt even get a chance to spend some quality time together.
No one and nothing will ever come in between us.
I think you are more than amazing. I am sorry I could not spend the full moon with you.
Dont text me today!
I read your message and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
I did not appreciate that you did not offer me a tea.
Your absence spells and feels a betrayal, for without you I find something missing within me.
If I didnt look up to you, you would not be in my life right now.
I am not coming anywhere with you if you dont read my letter first!
Ive watched all of the 7 movies just to be able to see the last one with you.
I suggest you go upstairs and rest, while I will cook for us both.
I love it when you can already read everything from my eyes.
If you are not too busy, and if you want, would you like to hang out with me?
What do you want to tell me?

The way that you carry yourself
Please fight for me. Never give up on me!
Youre a lady in the streets.
I will always answer your call.
Im busy. I don’t have time to socialize.
Sometimes I feel like you dont care for me.
No matter the result, I am proud of you.
Are you trying to make me jealous with that dentist?
The way you take my hand at crossroads
Do you mind answering my question??
I have an amazing surprise for you.
I know exactly what your Christmas gift is.
Id go to the end of the world with you.
Ill tell you next time in Brussels.
Dont worry Ive recovered your keys.
I cant stay angry with you more than 24h.
Relax, I think you should have a glass of Martini.
Sometimes you’re more catholic than the pope.
Stop the car. I want to kiss you right now.
You forgot the Christmas present.
What can I do to make it better?
I care for your success.
One day I would like you to feel the ultimate pleasure.
I am responsible for both of us right now.
You write long-ass letters.
I am sorry I could not make it.
Your words matter to me.
I worry for that vice of yours.
I know I am your first call when you’re in trouble.
I wish so much, just for once to say yes, 20 times.
You looked hot in that white dress.
Careful, there is a car coming.
Let’s burn a candle in the sky together!
What do you want to tell me?

Stop stifling me!
You are the shit!
Dont push me!
Let yourself go.
How does it make you feel?
Ive read all of your words.
Ill always catch you!
Ive never knitted before.
Your chest!!
I am your constant.
What if I fall?
I miss us so much!
Kelvin is not my guy!
That red dress!
Ive got words!
You are amazing!
Dear muse,
Your eyes!!!

*
(c) Soar, 2020. soaring-words.com. Picture credits: Shape of my heart, National Museum, Port of Spain, Trinidad. #soar, #soaringwords, #storypoems, #shortstories, #humanvalues, #life, #hope, #love.

Till death do us part

27.12.2019

My name is Musa. Lancia Musa. Like a muse in search for shaping realities, I was incepted with American precision, styled with Italian vision and engineered with craft and luxurious details, making me a unique, sophisticated brand, sexy and elegant at the same time. I am a versatile mpv, suv, pkw, and other variegated acronyms, highlighting good choices, class and flexibility. I make eyes turn when I show up on short-term city spots and leave Mercedes-Benzes behind on the highway long-run.

Upon my conception I saw a girl once who went by the name of Soar. It was love at first sight. She came to me with joy and smiles and took me home immediately. We’ve been inseparable ever since. She gave me a roof above my head, oiled my needs, refuelled my heart constantly, got me new lungs, changed my rubber shoes too often and kept me clean and pretty, no matter the costs and circumstances, giving me the best that one can give: her secrets, her trust….and her very important roses. From her first Italian swearword to her deepest love, I was her confident, her support, her happiest moment at dusk and dawn, when she would just drive and sing to me about her world.

I gave my all to her in return, like a chameleon of options with unmeasured devotion: a buddy to shop with, a bodyguard at night after a club, a listener of her sighs and enthusiasm, a dance partner for her body-waves practice, a best friend when she crossed an entire country to change life, a giggling confident at the traffic lights when her lips longed for a retouch…..and more than one can fantasize.

She called me Carolina and every time she came to me, whether in a parking lot, unpaved road or in front of a friends house, she always brought a lot of joy along. I could never have enough of her eyes catching my sight.

Yet, time, the prequel of hope and sequels foe, summoned the gods of the universe and ascribed them the task to cut ties and end lives; to change courses and cast unpredictability around; to test the length of words and the weight of their purpose: it would have been either me or her to survive destiny’s need to recalibrate life. Because the best of things come with a hard price.

I struggled, I fought, I sent hundreds of petitions, I denied all gods claiming such choice, but no one listened to my words, no one cared for my toil. They laughed at me and said that I was made of steel, ergo I couldnt have feelings. Yet, my adamancy didnt let go and I made a pact with them. She will never know that on that gloomy night, laden with heavy rain, oil traces and inadvertent happenings, I chose to die in order to keep her alive. I chose to put my body before hers and take that bullet of pain to never see her eyes again. And, in that tragic moment, they reduced me to pieces, smashing all my circuits while she, my dearest one, got out without a scratch. As my heart was still throbbing for life to the bewilderment of all passers-by, I could see her tears invading her cheeks, denying any aid for her safety, being too swift with the policemen and their formalities, asking every single passenger instead to help me, to save me, to do something. They kept her away from me, thinking that I might explode but she wouldnt hear of it. She came directly inside and there, on my mortuary bed, we spent together in tears the most amazing moments.

The modulus of rupture was being tested. She begged me not to go, she asked me to get well, she told me she would find all the money in the world to make me whole again. But I was falling into a coma and, as much as my lights were still addicted to her eyes, her words, her tears, her calling my name constantly and her fight to keep my body stable dimmed in a pleasant sleep, where I could find solace and peace.

They say that the hardest thing to do in life is to separate from a loved one.

I know that even now she looks around to find me in a parking lot and a tear twinkles in the corner of her eye. I know that she exchanged strong words with the workshop which refused to repair me and then she left for good that place. I know that any new companion presented to her with “10 airbags and all-inclusive services” would never match my only frontal one. I know that her last visit to my graveyard was the best ritual she could have given me in front of an unsympathetic taxi-driver. She kissed me from the wheel to my deepest wound in my carroserie. I know she would still give anything to see me well and functioning and that she suffers greatly for losing 15 years of togetherness and memories. But I also know that saving her life was worth it. Her smile still needs to comfort people and she loves greatly every life she touches. Her happiness will be my luminary.

Mutatis mutandis, all that I can say to you now, new steel companion joining her side, is to treat her well and, maybe, she will have you grow a heart between your plastic features and airbags, between that array of eye-catching accessories and the basic needs for safety, hopefully beyond the given warranty. Understand that in order to rejoice her care, you need to be truthful. Dont play dramas with her feelings, dont stress her with broken electric contacts and issues, dont do the self-centred bull**t. Forget about all those trendy automotive hashtags and just be her real guide. Because if you win her loyalty, thats a forever thing. She’s never for half measures, what she gives is complete, at 360 degrees.

And to my owner and my love, tell her that it was an honour and a joy to have lived and died in the pamper of her heart. Give her two advices from my part: to stop having doubts about that guy and to learn, once and for all, how to use that handbrake!!! I hope she wont give you a hard time and that she will allow you to carry her roses and win her care, so that my passing away will not have been in vain. This will feel like “the end of an era” for her, but I arranged with the gods to replenish her new start and to protect the hope she still has in abundance. That was my wish in exchange for my sacrifice. I will never forget how she made me feel amazing, every time…with just one frontal airbag!

Forever hers,
The best car in the world

#soar, #soaringwords, #poetry, #storypoetry, #mylanciamusa, #loss, #life, #people, #passion, #hope, #loyalty, #love.

Picture Credits: private source.

Epistles, Part II: She perspective

25.11.2019

Dear you,

You dont know me, but I saw you the other day handing out flyers at the corner of a venue, with sparkles of conviction in your eyes and gestures of faith in your hand. I didnt catch the words, but your body language told me that words matter. Sharing words matters. Sharing words that matter matters. So I picked up a flyer from the dust, twirled by the wind just before your flip-flops crossed my path, leaving a smile fading in the dim light of a debonair flair intermingled with that art: on the walls, on your counter-hype clothes, on that woke debates ensued from those manifests.

All these details shape you in my eyes as a millennial, so Id rather watch my vocabulary, learn vernaculars and apply euphemisms, in a post-truth age and heightened states of awareness on all levels, from the Kardashians coke during protests to the LGBT representation in Harry Potter books, where jokes become micro-aggressions, compliments are subconsciously biased, uniqueness needs to become inclusive, feminism is not enough if its not intersectional, veganism has its own woke-abulary and places are not cool, unless they are called safe spaces. Things are no longer discussed, they are unpacked, dissected, redefined in multifaceted layers of systems and I am almost feeling bad for being a girl who likes a guy in the regular old-fashioned style, without the need for trans-, cis-,-centric, prefixes and suffixes added to it.

Is it ok if I just want to know you from within, without political labels and activist social stances to it?

Let me tell you a little bit about myself: I dont think I am millennial, nor too advanced on the woke-osity, even if I am not denying agency to social problematics, historical truths, power differentials and inequalities. I am in between generations, which has helped me to cherish the assets and values from both and to navigate my way towards the next statistical outcome: the generation W is going to be lit:).
My passion for cultures has allowed me to share my writings with diverse audiences, enjoy up-close experiences and explore my versatility, without casting shadows, but rather shedding light onto anything worth sharing.
I love to chill but I dont do the Netflix thing, I am tight with fun, but I am not too pump on abusing my freedom in clubs, just because we’re in Berlin and that’s the hype of enjoying life. I dont do yoga because its the trend, I dont introvert my love because I already have a pet, I like words that matter and I dont rise to debates if I hear an exotic compliment. High key, I am all about hashtag #hope and hashtag #love as a political stance, if I were to be defined, in this world where we need to be one to survive.

I wonder what you are like beyond those inclusive terms, which come with every newly woke starter-pack, asserting virtuosity in our micro-universes.
I would like to know where you come from….not where you’re from from, but rather which landscapes you roamed as a child while wishing to be an astronaut, and which was the language of your dreams.
I wonder what moves you and what stops you, if your hopes are wide shut, or how was the kiss you gave last time. I wonder if you make your parents proud and if you are humble enough to appreciate the three sentences of life: I love you, Thank you, and I apologize.
I wonder which line of a song makes you sigh and if you would help a ladybug find its way in spring, before writing 40 petitions about plastic. I wonder about what makes you smile and your last thought before you go to sleep. I wonder if you are too woke to enjoy the simple things…..
I wonder if your favourite quote is academic or rather sensitive. I wonder if you use B.A.E., G.O.A.T and emojis on most Facebook entries and if coolness defines you from inside-out instead of from outside-in. I wonder if you move a smile or a life with your words and if you give love to chance or give love a chance instead. I wonder what is beyond the tall, dark and handsome silhouette in flip flops, handing out problematic manifests.

See, I saw you sharing words, with sparkles of conviction in your eyes, killing my song softly, and I wonder…..if you want to hashtag #happiness with me.

Respectfully,
me

(c) Soar, 2019. soaring-words.com. Picture credits: Shape of my heart, National Museum, Port of Spain, Trinidad. #soar, #soaringwords, #storypoems, #shortstories, #humanvalues, #life, #hope, #love.

Epistles, Part I: He perspective

27.10.2019

Can I call you?
I know it’s almost midnight and I know it’s been two years since Ive been silent and kept my distance but Ive been meaning to tell you things that I kept hidden in me and I need to do right by you. I want you to know that you’ve been in my daily thoughts ever since and that I have always respected your memory.
I want to tell you that Ive kept a diary and that you’ve filled my pages with all moods and modal phrasings of should have, would have, could have possibilities.
I want to tell you everything but can I start with what’s been weighing on me?
See last night I saw you by some serendipity, after two years of unseen eyes and voices, my heart pounded, waiting for you to draw near and it felt surreal. You attracted me like a universe pushing strongly, spinning, unwrapping dust clouds from seeds of reality, encapsulating everything and I lost control over my own being. So I had to get away, to escape from you somehow, because I knew that hugging you again would be the end of me.
Thats not cowardice, nor glib talking. Understand that my confession to you has to do with freedom, lack of choices, wishes, warranted fears and with the worth I always wanted to give you.
So can I call you?
I know that the first thing you told me back then was how much you hated the movie Bodyguard with that “I love you, but Ill leave you” line. I know that you write about love many times and that you honour this feeling with concessions and complete devotion and that you hate half measures. Just as much as you despise extremes pushing peacefulness and balance into the abyss of chaos and disruption. Rules are meant to be broken, exceptions reinforce the canons, but in your grammar books those asterisks are just accessories of adventures, growth and learning, never killers of what was built with essence and perdurance.
I know that you came to me with the kindest smile offering me friendship and I rejected it. I must have sounded flaky or too sure of my adamant convictions. But in truth, I was too hurt, too frustrated, too upset in my damnation to never be able to kiss you. See my life is intricate and you deserve no side chair to my table. See I am not free, nor do I want to make compromises with something I want only mine and mine alone to breathe every time your lips would shape our unity. I was too bitter and I deprived myself of your eyes; eyes which haunted me ever since with the doomed taste of punishment.
How many times did I want to run to you and leave everything behind? How many times I rejected you the second after, just to have you grow inside of me like a hidden secrecy of the ultimate intimacy? Your power is addictive and I must confess that your intensity scares me. And thats what I fear the most, as I am not used to happiness and I dont know how to honour such gift.
Yet do you think that we can talk for just a couple of minutes?
I am not trying to play the proselyte just to see whats on the other side, but precluding your right from my life has abashed all those Sisyphean attempts to reach my top, or just the path I still patch with hopes and trials.
I know actions speak louder than words but sometimes words are essential when they disclose the bearings of our souls. I need to talk to you, make it right by you. Its been too, long too much stifling of the truth and too much denial of you. I miss you. Ive followed you from a distance and even though I hardly wrote a Happy Christmas, I was there with you, in all your accomplishments and failures in my absence.
Ever since I gave you that first hug on that summer night where I could feel your eyes from the opposite side and I can still remember all the details of your hair strands, it was clear to me that I will be forever different, that you claimed a place within, which I cant even label, except for the acknowledgement that is meaningful. I can’t go on like this for Im consumed with both the absence and the belonging of you.
Does this make any sense to you? Perhaps one day I can explain in better words or maybe just one hug to send me straight to hell, for I deserve no paradise.
But for now, can I just call you?

(c) Soar, 2019. soaring-words.com. Picture credits: Shape of my heart, National Museum, Port of Spain, Trinidad. #soar, #soaringwords, #storypoems, #shortstories, #humanvalues, #life, #hope, #love.

Confessions of a natural killer

03.09.2019

I am a natural killer. A natural born killer. My name is irrelevant, my size is sometimes a joke, but my force is undeniable. For I dont osculate, I kill – whenever I put my mind to it. While she…(sigh), she is a sweetheart. To define her scientifically in percentages and body masses would read like 55% love, 22.5% passion and 22.5% reason, which sometimes she forgets to implement, just like she forgets the daily water intake of two and a half litres for the safety of the gut and brain. By the way, did you know that 85% of our brain is made up of water? Nothing to do with my story; its just a pointer to show you how smart I am. For if I kill, I need to be extraordinarily skilled, shrewd and savvy. Otherwise I would be lost in the pandemonium of my world where you are sure to perish in pernicious or inane mistakes; or worse, because of lack of faith.

She, the girl accompanying my story, summoned me because of faith and her innate beliefs. Disheartened, discouraged and dismayed, she found out about me one day and ever since then shes relied on me with tenderness, with tears, with patience and with so much affection that one could almost call it clinginess, in this millennial vibe, where everybody is fine with whatever values or lack thereof defined. She wants me to appease her worries. She wants me to reciprocate feelings. And she wants me to be beside her in lifes struggles, joys and further eons of this unpredictable destiny. She trusts me with her life about it. She brings me colours to sinew my vigour, pumps up my volition and strengthens my beliefs. She even eats rainbows for lunch, breakfast and dinner as if the worlds well-being depends on apigenins, lycopines, sulphoraphanes, allicins, or hesperidins — terms which she learned only to impress the needs of my insatiable urges. For I am a master of such parlance and academic speeches. She must love me. To think that she follows the trail of my vices with an adaptogenic characteristic and proliferative curiosity that sometimes Im amazed by her perdurance and persistence. Shes always there for me.

I am part of her 90% serotonin, lying in the places of her body I love to visit. For shes appealing to my senses and sometimes I wish she knew that she is amazing. She doesnt know it, but she dreams, incepts and implements, making me her most precious reality. Me, who cares more about phytoncides, ions and abstract theories, rather than the simplicity of settling down and watching her favourite movie. Its that movie on redemption and hope, the one I also love, but sometimes I pretend to forget, before she makes me forget that I pretend. I know all of her faith quotes, as much as she knows my Sisyphus philosophies and difficult attempts to restore harmony.

And so, I move around, leave, come back, get busy and sometimes lose myself in myriads of useless gatherings where my purpose is forgotten for the instant pleasure of foreign bodies and organisms.
They laugh and think that Im the pleaser of the season. Yet they all seem to forget that I am a natural killer. A natural born killer, creating apoptosis around me. She alone knows the greatness of my inner force. She is a sweetheart. And I ..can make this sweetheart happy.

(c) Soar, 2019. soaring-words.com. Picture credits: pixabay.com. #soar, #soaringwords, #storypoems, #shortstories, #humanvalues, #life, #hope, #love.

Time

07.07.2018

Time is in everything. It encapsulates space and completes fates constraints where four seconds earlier or four months later may mean a totally different path of destiny. And dont we wish it had been different! It presides over the doings and the undone with precise irresponsibility. For it never bears one, it just casts its causes and effects upon ourselves to carry for months, years or a lifetime until we are able to heal its irregularities. If we can.

And when we rebel against it, when we dont accept its misfits unto our serenity, when we fight with hope, patience and faith to change those pointers of a clock our way, we still might end up hurt during the process. While it, it never feels contrite.

Time with you has a different dimension, he said to me once. And I didnt understand what he meant back then. For I have loved and hated this notion with the same intensity, every time my car speeded up like a Ferrari to meet him and slowed down like an old carriage after dropping him off to a station. I have strived all my live to cheat on time, disregard it, disrespect it, shrink it and expand it to the expanse of my beliefs that freedom and feelings must interlace unscathed in harmony, without any constriction of time, timings, minutes or other extensions subdued to it. Many times I failed, other times it failed me. And most times my mind wouldnt give up without a fight against its volatile negligence. At least if I fell or hit the wall of hardships, I knew that those bruises were my cause for an outcome worthy of the cause.
They say it takes seven years to change the cells of your body and to get a new one. They also say that seven years of presence in somebodys life is a guaranteed sign of permanence. I guess when they change bodies together with you and they’ve seen all of your atoms, they might as well stay. But time should not define so easily over the frames of fitting. For it’s not the skin-change that matters, it’s what lies beneath. And sometimes one second is enough to know that one mole on a persons hand or a smile right after a kiss will stay for ages, over time and reminiscences.
We have a history, time and me. And I want to believe that its not it writing me, but me writing it. Full of nows, cleaned of nos, spiced with alacrity and dominated by passion in tune with the persistent hope that time itself exists mainly for joys to be lived. I dont want it to linger in the corners of woes and disappointments. I dont relinquish my space in its extent for negative thoughts and intents. In time, weve grown together the habit of coping with one another so that it persists in the shapes I give it when I think of it with intensity, adding fillers of smiles, caring thoughts, and keeping abreast my trust despite its odds.
I am not sure if I have fooled time or it fooled me by making me think I would win in front of it. But there is one thing I am sure of: every time it comes around with its ground rules to challenge me, I give it my best to use it fully so that I make out of those coincidences happenstances and that I can show him, afar or nearby, that he is appreciated.
And who knows, maybe I do fool itor as he says, I make a different dimension out of it.

(Soar, soaring-words.com, Picture credits: emp-online.com and Warner Bros. Entertainment, HP Publishing Rights)
#soar,#soaringwords, #time, #hope, #respect, #appreciation, #trust, #care.

Everything is everything

09.06.2018

Message no. 1. Place: Berlin. Time: midnight. Protagonist: he.
Message no. 2. Place: Berlin. Time: midnight. Protagonist: she.

*

I thought I would write a few words to you. I saw you today and, you looked great, as always.
I thought I would write a few words to you. I saw you today and, you looked wonderful, as always.

I missed you but hugged you with a detached air, turning my cheek away from you. I am sorry I am too weak, or maybe too childish to show you that youre meaningful.
I missed you and I think I hugged you for too long, feeling my cheek redden with embarrassment. I am sorry, but your presence makes me strong and I cant stop my care bursting out with joy.

Your eyes, there’s something about them that makes me too attracted to you. And time, when spent with you, gains a different dimension, making me forget my place in this world.
Your smile, there’s something about it that makes me feel happy. And time, when spent with you, I feel it stops to watch us grow and makes me forget my place in this world.

I feel that you know me so well. You know all the roles I need to play every day, my words, my favourite quotes and my secret flaws more than any other woman in this world. And yet you’re still here and I wonder why I havent sacred you away.
I feel that you know me so well. You know all the roles I need to play every day, my words, my favourite quotes, my secrets and my flaws more than any other man in this world. Thats why I am still here unafraid to explore more, for a great imperfect growth.

You see, my past is full of expectations and abandonment from others.
You see, my past is based on innocence and hope two values Ive kept safe, despite all superficial attempts to hurt and to destroy the essence of my love.

And my future…well, I see myself small and bald in it, and I fear you will leave me for some fancy doctor with shiny teeth. I fear you will abandon me.
And my future…well, I see myself crossing the street holding your hand at 90. As you always guide me when I am lost and you care for my clumsiness. No fancy doctor could take your charm away.

I cant get too close to you and I cant love you…for I dont want to lose you, too. Maybe if I leave this city, it would be better for us both, as we’ll just ignore fate and call it off with an it is what it is quote.
I cant wait to come closer to your dreams, say yes to wishes and have a chance to love you finally. Fate gave us this city but I am willing to leave it for an “it is what we make of it” possibility.

And then time will just give us further chores, buddies to chat about insignificancies, arms to rest our sorrows in, and drinks to forget that we wanted to be loved.
And then time will just smile at our accomplishments, good friends’ company, great little things and travels to enrich our universes. Thats how I see us growing.

I saw you today and you looked amazing, like you always make me feel. I miss hugging you dearly. I think Id better leave this city.
I saw you today and you looked wonderful. I miss hugging you dearly. Lets meet tomorrow in the city.

*

Two messages intersected in a night at the exact same time when two people confessed each others hearts. While time stood by and smiled.

(Soar, soaring-words. Picture: sameness. Picture credits: eskipaper.com)

#soar, #soaringwords, #communication, #time, #hope.

Luchetti damore

31.05.2018

There are two types of love givers: those who give love in exchange for the love they receive and those who give it in the hope that one day it will be requited. The second type is harder as it feels like an expectancy, even though it is richer and more loyal than the former. The former is not an initiative, it is a sheer extension of somebody elses feelings. A reply, a reaction, a smouldered heart. The latter is an engine. An endeavour, despite all odds, not to give up on that marvel which is nurtured only by occasional memories, unbridled passion and daydreaming. It is the inception of love. Unconditionally strong, like a seed in a womb expected to conceive a human after 9 months of diligence. Except that in this case, the 9-month outcome is not guaranteed. Nothing is guaranteed; just the hope that somewhere in the universe karma and other deep notions of unexplainable happenstances and serendipity would grant that love with its fulfilment.

Sometimes, the former, who plays by the rules of give and take with better marketing skills, is happier, sooner. While the latter, who constantly breeds love from the roots of values, with attributes often astray from social constraints while faithful to the individual imprints, remains suspended, undefined, boldly defying the constructs of the human mind. For there are things that the human mind doesnt understand, yet the same things are meant for the heart to fully comprehend.

And then there is the addressee who receives these types of love. Occasionally, life dramas give them both to one, within a complex matrix unable to fix measurements of time. While the two lovers, the sidewalk, with pre-arranged signs, and the lane, faithful to the truth inside, are the ones to make the triangle fit the circle of life. A circle which becomes a spiral, once the dues towards the first have been honoured and consumed, so that the latter can breathe. For, no matter the short shape of one or the long manifest of the other, it is clear that, if the sidewalk gets most of the footsteps, it is the untethered lane bringing out the worth.

While the universe never really stands by, nor is indifferent to wasting undaunted particles of hope, but it conspires with delay and an unhurried delight to safeguard and protect that fight, without protective means bar a bare heart, which keeps the deepest love alive. Hopefully, after nine months, five years or 346 pages, that seed in the womb will be fulfilled. For hope is a good thingand no good thing ever dies. (Shawshank Redemption).

(Picture credits: webitmag.it, Soar, soaring-words.com, 2018.)

#soar, #soaringwords, #luchettidamore, #lovetypes, #souldiary, #love, #hope.

That way

She was weak that way. Its what she thought she was. In the way she established priorities with the only logic of loyalty to feelings. In the way she was a renegade to constrictions of time and space impeding her faith. In the way she broke her walls before she remembered to redeem the coupons of reciprocity. In the way she honoured him with truth and her last sweated penny. In the way she crafted art around those eyes and mouth only. In the way she defied his struggles and trembled before his dreams, being there for both, as if they were hers. In the way she pampered the thought of him and felt amazing in his reality.

She was strong that way. Its what he thought she was. In the way he saw her hope even in the darkest spots with blind reasoning and acute sensitivity. In the way little disappointments were tricked with a caring thought or a self-knitted sock to keep his feet warm. In the way he could count on her choice to forget only to forgive moments cheating on serenity. In the way he couldnt see negative outcomes if he looked too long in her eyes. In the way he cared for her pride she gambled only to keep his word safe and maintain the level of trust. In the way he surrounded her with little things, for her moments of silver screen. In the way he knew, every time she was around, that he was wonderful.

She loved that way. Its what she took pride in the most.

(Picture credits: TomNeil-FiveWishes. Soar, soaring-words.com)

#soar, #soaringwords, #thatway, #lovetypes, #souldiary, #love, #hope.

Distance – a story poem

Same heart. More love. Undoubted hope. Selected for final screening at the Film Poetry Festival and the International Poetry Festival, 2017-2018.
14.02.2018

Soar at “TIME is Love – International video art program”

10.01.2018

I am very happy to announce that I will be part of the “TIME is Love Screening – International video art program, 11th Edition (February- December 2018) at galleries, institutions and festivals worldwide.”

This is great news, thank you so much to all those who supported me!

In faith and hope,

Soar Soaring-Words

*”TIME is Love Screening – International video art program – announces the official list of participants of the 11th Edition (2018) at galleries, institutions and festivals worldwide. Time is love screening is a video art cycle that travels to the largest cities in the world exploring the theme of love in difficult times of life. Love stripped of its traditional clichs and timeless idealism. These works address the complexity of human relations regardless of language, individual sensitivity or collective history. The programme proposes a reflection on revolutions, borders and customs in our modern society.”
www.timeisloveshow.org

#soar, #soaringwords, #poetry, #videopoetry, #internationalfestival2018, #screening, #timeislove, #2018.

Interview for Slam Contemporary Poetry, Italy

10.12.2017

An interview for the Slam Contemporary Poetry, Italy.
(https://wp.me/p67VL0-Mi)

1) You use different expressive languages such as music, video, writing and poetry. About music, for example, you say “When words are suspended between the past and the future, music is the paramount present”. What are the points of union or contrast among them? Don’t you risk losing your focus in one of them?

Poetry-in-Motion (by Soar) is a project very dear to my heart, meant to intertwine various forms of artistic manifests such as imagery, sound, animation, dance and motion pictures, all with the sole purpose of bringing poetry vividly closer to the audience in a present characterized by speed, variety, versatility and multi-tasking. Its purpose is not to change the essence of my poetical message, which recalls a vintage flair upon the seed of sensibility in an artistic shell, but rather to adapt the form in which such message is to be perceived and hopefully welcomed. I feel that the anchoring from past depths to modern needs is important and prolific.
There is no concrete balance or contrast between the artistic elements I use. They are meant to accompany, guide, succour and harmonize the poetical expression to the point of an intermingled form in unison in order to bring the audience its own personal experience, based on the synergy created with each of them and especially with the whole. While the beauty of it all is when the result is different every time, individually.

2) Can you explain to us what you mean when you say “Words are never enough to express emotions and feelings. Words are static, often in black, unattractive attire upon white thin pages, overloaded with hidden meanings”?

I personally believe that music reaches further than words, undoubtedly because of my hidden passion for music. I often lose myself in it and come back by means of poetry. Its a reversed ongoing process from the starting point to the goal: I search for my own musical shape with the help of words which, once construed within, become in return my essence, attired melodically and transmitted to the world. It is amazing to lose oneself in a form and to find oneself back again under another one; or even better, under a combination of both.
Like previously stated, I sometimes use other elements to help me, such as dance or photography, but essentially it is music and poetry which have had a decisive impact on my work and life.
As to the written form and this quote in particular, words are never enough to convey feelings or emotions. They need their addressees reactions or actions in order to come to life, fulfil their purpose and complete the circle. In that sense, it is the writers task to wrap them in such a way as to awaken individual experiences on both sides, whether lived, relived, or simply enlivened. Words alone are never enough, no matter how savvy they may appear to be.

3) In your Soul diary you deal with topic such as truth, sexuality, love, hope, freedom and elegance. These themes have been continuously addressed in the past. Why this choice?

It is not a choice, it is an as-is status. My literary approach unravels certain themes, keywords or symbols, which recur in my writings as part of my being and beliefs. I included eight keywords and four different forms of art in my upcoming book as short stories with an allegorical touch and a sense of positive teaching or outcome. I have been influenced by them all my life and wish to emphasize, remind of and fight for those forgotten values or little things of worth which can save us from hardships, doubts, dismay or the overwhelming status of our society, constantly refilled with cybernetically enhanced problematics.
Surely these topics have been dealt with in the past, but the point is maybe not to create something new every time, all the time, at the risk of losing ourselves in a void of newness; rather, to go back to the roots and envisage the most important things in life from a different perspective and, from there onwards, to hold on to that essence no matter what the future preserves, for that is the definition of our true selves.
Many readers who approach me to talk about my work dont necessarily confess to have been stimulated towards new adventures, but to have been reminded of the times when they used to be better, do better, love better and they miss that genuine approach to life situations, which sometimes is very simple and achievable if we have the right hope about it.

4) As regard to your poetry, I was impressed by a B. Iliescu’s consideration “You write in a feminine way without falling into feminism”. What’s your goal? What are your most recurring themes?

My main goal was stated many years ago in my article The Prostitution of Writing (2012) and surprisingly enough, despite the growth I have experienced over the years, it has remained the same. “In a world attuned to loneliness and individuality through ever-growing virtual networks and business-framed societies…its not the time to stay obsolete, neither to play confused in a myriad of anti-/neo-/post- trends with contradictory tendencies. Rather, its the time to bring out the best from within, with charm and originality….I will gladly wear colourful miniskirts upon white sheets of settings ensconcing the motion of my emotions, yet I wont prostitute my writing to fit in the stretch outfits of the given industry. A touch of life is more than enough purpose for me. Hopefully.”
As far as feminism is concerned, you can be a feminist, while still being feminine. There are many ways and tools to express a message and fight for a certain goal. Some use riots, strong words, placards or pink pussy hats as symbols. But one can also use different attitudes and approaches like sympathy, empathy, an encouraging language and positivity. I dont want to recall Mother Theresas lenience or Martin Luther Kings passive resistance against violence. Like any human, it is my duty to fight for fairness and, sometimes, being blunt and open is the quickest way to cure injustices. Yet, I feel that our current crusaders are so overwhelmed by bitterness and aggressiveness that adding another drop to a full bucket of harshness and negativity wont change much. Instead, maybe we could make a difference by really being different, despite the trends and the requests. I was often worried that my themes and messages were too soft or not in trend with the world, just to realize from my audience and from time itself that remaining true to ones own expression is a greater value than the one following the hypes. I have never written a poem about a political figure, but I have written many poems about sufferance, hypocrisy, fairness and any other emotions that the socio-political problematics entrench in our everyday life. Maybe my way of addressing such issues is slower and takes longer to grasp, but I am sure the outcome is still colourful and pleasant to reach by those who entrust me with my message.

5) What structure do you use more in your poetry? For example, can you comment on part of your poem “The undone”: Its done, the undone\ with a rebound of life \ where an unconditional soul \ clung between the doings of \ sometimes and hope \ for no other reason than \ the biggest love of all \. Who are your favourite poets?

I dont follow specific writers or trends, even though Sallinger and Prvert are still my favourites. I believe that becoming a writer is not about finding similarities, nor following the same trends, with different accessories. I often un-follow subscriptions and newsfeeds when I want to write about something. When I write I follow, read and am inspired by life, people and passion.
As for the structure, I have always run away from stereotypes and given rules. I think the best reply I can give here is one of my poems, which synthesises how I normally write and structure my pieces.

To make a poem right
all you need is distraction and water
to flow and entangle your thoughts
into drops of feelings
pouring out as if they never existed before
at full speed and intensity
reaching to some sort of confusional awareness
in the bewilderment of the moment
while water runs loose and keeps the noise constant
dragging you along while you try
to stop
something you want to go on
to take over the pre-set logic of the mind
running for the dress code of the metaphors
raw and virgin in your palms
it flows
before you have a chance to put down
or at least to remember
through key words and broken lines
that uniqueness to define
with unabashed focus and stillness of time
a poem, made out right.

6) Are you used to reading poetry at public readings. How important is the voice to poetry? What is the link between a book and an audio book?

I have only been performing poems/reading stories for about two years, so I am still very new to the stage. I always find it fascinating, scary and emotionally charged in a way that it is challenging because its different each time.
I come from a background of book writing and my stories and poems are meant to be intimate messages to be read without being disrupted by waiters, or without needing applause or acclaim.
Needless to say, the mind-set of a reader is different from that of a spectator. In my article The Prostitution of Writing, I tackled this subject and made a not-so-nice comparison between the two. Meanwhile, I grew wiser and more tolerant towards any form of expression, as long as the message is perceived and not taken as some sort of sheer entertaining service. An artist on stage should never have the feeling that he/she is subdued by the audiences whims or expectations. A piece can and should always be adapted to fit the audience, but it should never be transformed to the point of being deprived of the artists truthfulness.
When I started performing my own poems I was worried about such inevitable transformation, yet, now, after more than two years, I am more relieved about the fear of losing my essence in emptied glasses of strong spirits. Now I embrace the live performance as a powerful means and an outlet for all artists who want to be heard and understood at least by their presence, and I would recommend it as a personal experience, regardless of the lack or presence of acting skills.
The voice is also an important asset to the artistic manifest as it reflects ones conviction about the personalized message to emit. If you are not yourself convinced about it, you cannot reach the audience, no matter the given mic, speakers or presence on stage. Because of the nature of my poems/stories, a belligerent or ironic voice doesnt suit me. I dont think its about the strength of the voice or how controversial the subject is. You can perform something about butterflies if you know that you have been professional enough in your research and truthful to your beliefs about them. Many times, I am off topic at events, but at the same time, I have often altered my performance just before going on stage, according to the atmosphere created at the given time of my performance and the people attending the event. I believe its a matter of respect to be aware of the audience with whom you want to connect and interact through your piece and with your presence.

7) Your video poetry “Empire State of Love” (Poetry-in-Motion Project, 2014) synthesises your voice, your poetry and the images. Can you tell us the equilibrium you got, and, in general, what a video poetry is for you?

My Poetry-in-Motion Project was my next step towards my development as a writer and my choice to grow artistically using auxiliary forms of art. As I mentioned in my introduction, it is meant to bring hearts together on more waveforms or rhythms and make poetry more accessible in a demanding and sceptical world, when poetry would most likely be the last resort to solve things with, while still being the one to voice at best the inner side of ourselves, with all the tribulations, fears, courage, doubts and joy.
Empire State of Love was born from an old movie and a vision of the future, while gazing at the world from the emblematic Empire State Building, one of the highest points in New York. It is one of my signature pieces and it expresses the beauty of unconditional feelings, beyond time and space constraints and constructs. It also deals with hope and redemption, amongst other values and virtues, such as loyalty and trust, very dear to my heart and essential in my writings. The animated characters, beautifully designed and animated by two other artists, are meant to be ageless, coloured only by their own emotions, truthful to any situation anywhere in the world and, in this sense, bearer of the universal message of positive feelings, despite the unanimated, metal-like grey scenery. I created it a long time ago and it still defines me as an artist.
Regarding the artistic elements, as I mentioned before, I never follow a pattern in which to combine exact percentages of such elements. Every piece, whether spoken, danced, animated, photographed or just written, needs to fit the intended message, while avoiding excessive expression. Finally, it is simply my wish to connect with my audience on at least one level of communication and the video poetry is an incredible way to reach on many levels. Besides, art through art becomes, in turn, a new form of art and often a stimulation not only for the reader/viewer but also for the writer/artist.
As for the content of my videos/poems, I don’t know exactly what the readers want or expect from me. I am neither a world “saviour” nor a coach/therapist of virtues; nor do I follow gleeful trends or harsh sarcastic tendencies. If the world has become now gothic and realism, I believe it is still important to remind ourselves about renaissance and romanticism, as long as the purpose is to be true to oneself and to others, in respect of life and the beauty of its meaning. We are on this earth not to harm each other, but to learn from one another and to share care and love. There is no “mind” limit to the beats of a heart, and we should never be afraid to listen to it and to make sure it survives. Thank you!

Happy World Poetry Day!

21.03.2017

ONEness

(POEM)

Speak to me the outspoken so that I won’t have to make silent speeches of fear for your unspoken feelings. For fears and feelings are kin, merging in bits of spoken realities pertaining to outstretched candid fantasies unspokenly voiced beyond our boundaries.
You above me.

All you and I know so far is the unknown, but isn’t it beautiful to know what we don’t know and to value it as if we’ve known it ever since we wanted to know? I crave to unknow the know of what I still want to know….so that it remains ours alone.
You beside me.

For we are one plus one hoping to become one, but our oneness is defined by the blurring rules of the important none, allowed to be broken bar the one that makes us one. Tell me, how can I portray one dream in a plus-one choices reality, when one is all we need.
You within me.

soaring-words.com, 2017. Picture credits: private source.
#soar, #soaringwords, #poetry, #worldpoetryday2017, #hope, #love, #oneness.

Feminine

08.03.2017

(POEM)

Re
you see it one day on a playground
shine in the happy curls of a little girl
who puts smiles in your heart with gestures of
laughter and sheer innocence
transmogrifying your daily choirs into hopes
as you stop to memorize that light
like an invisible good fairy to bless your future mishaps;
you let her play and walk away
hoping for that miracle to be yours one day.

Gaea
her feline walk and talk is like Egyptian goddesses
not easy to decipher by the unappreciative
nor by the superficial daunted by transparency
shes joyful and romantic in the same card
singing, dancing, wearing sexy with charm
as though its always her prime time
and your smile is the law she abides by
in her playful ways not to win your heart
but to give hers away along with the cake she baked for you last night.

Aura
fighting with you like a lioness
for better days and unrelenting justice
with no bargain as to assuring rightfulness
casting away pain with bravery
putting herself back together after the broken and defeated
while still keeping the best part for her king
made out of the strongest and most fragile pearls
engendering miracles to praise your seed and legacy
and wearing the weight of life like a queen.

Aqua
sometimes the warrior you need is her acumen
as shes the first to compromise and make out of failures
grounds for your new accomplishments
holding the balance of your yin and yang
pouring sympathy, care and strength into your veins
especially on those nights when your hopes are gone
and you remember that sunray seen once on a playground
sculpted in her with all the light shes given you so far
and you cant help, but smile.

Man, if you see her in all her shapes,
dont walk away in fear, doubt or disarray
dont put her down and dont deny her worth
hold on to that wonder on your course

for Feminine is but
a child with hopes bigger than its size
a girl with audacity and tenderness
a woman of a cosmic love and fragility
a mother of ambition and diligence
a grand-mother of wisdom and patience
a soul of harmony and lenience

by your side, always!

Feminine by Soar, soaring-words.com, 2017. Picture credits: private source.

#soar, #soaringwords, #poetry, #womensday, #feminine, #love, #hope.

The Undone

27.11.2016

Its done, the undone
with a rebound of life
where an unconditional soul
clung between the doings of
sometimes and hope
for no other reason than
the biggest love of all

stared at in silence
judged with no temperance
balmed on the wounds from others
used to enhance confidence
admired at the whims of chance
and stored
in a black box of porcelain

while she got dressed in the scars he had
upon his path
where present turned too easily into past
and future wasnt too much to expect
yet it guided her faith
towards the unknown fate
paid each time with coins of confidence

and there at the layer of patience
melted into the thick fog of recurrence
the undone was impertinently waiting
calling for the nothingness
to rewind the doings of causes and effects,
to obliviate their remembrances
and annihilate all happenings

yet the doings had a secret essence
which rose awareness every night to find
their mate care and to produce delays on the circuits of haste
calling off pride for the aftermath
and adding up uniqueness on the strings of facts
so that the undone could never initiate
and the doings could mend all that was needed

for the magic to perpetuate.

(2016, Soar, soaring-words.com, Picture credits: private source.)
#poetry, #storytelling, #soar, #soaringwords, #undone, #doings, #truth, #love, #life.