June

I’m besotted with June,

When all the roses bloom.

I’m head over heel with the scents,

The roses exude.

Though they prick me.

Oh yes, they prick me!

I’m too infatuated to care.

D. Yustisia 06/12/16

pinkroses1

pinkroses

pinkroses3

The Autumn Flame

It’s November again and I have been lacking in writing my journal. The long gloomy days have produced some restless thoughts. Autumn begins to unravel and soon all the trees will be bare. Yet another November comes to mind and the flame that has hidden, arises.

autumn-leaves2

HIDDEN FLAME       –       John Dryden

I feed a flame within, which so torments me

That it both pains my heart, and yet contents me:

‘Tis such pleasing smart, and I so love it,

That I had rather die than once remove it.

Dear Diary: Letter for an Old Boyfriend

bronzeleaves

Dear old boyfriend,

I found your emotions typed neatly on a piece of yellowing paper.
I read the contents of your heart in the A-B-C’s of your unsophisticated language.
In those whirling-twirling, upside-down and lopsided world we called “our world”, I was yours and you were mine.
I have listened to the relentless words upon words from your lips.
You whispered some nonsensical dreams that I didn’t mind at all.

And I had heard them in the hundreds hours we shared. I have felt them through your fingers.
Then you came, and you have come, and you made me glad. You made me mad about you.
We spoke about life, though we must’ve sounded pathetic.
Did we have some memories then? Here and there, have you ever looked at them? Searched for them, deep in your mind?
Then, you remember. I, too, remember a part of us. The way we were.
I called you ‘my beloved’ and you let me. You let me.
I let you submerged in my ambiguity and I called it LOVE.

Ever yours,

D. Yustisia 05/28/15

Romance

ROMANCE, who loves to nod and sing,
With drowsy head and folded wing,
Among the green leaves as they shake
Far down within some shadowy lake,
To me a painted paroquet
Hath been – a most familiar bird-
Taught me my alphabet to say-
To lisp my very earliest word
While in the wild wood I did lie,
A child – with a most knowing eye.
 
Of late, eternal Condor years
So shake the very Heaven on high
With tumult as they thunder by,
I have no time for idle cares
Through gazing on the unquiet sky.
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings-
That little time with lyre and rhyme
To while away – forbidden things!
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.
 

Edgar Allan Poe

Taking a Bath (Burnett Fountain)

 

The first time I knew of Edgar Allan Poe was when I was in college. I wasn’t accustomed of getting to know an American poet ( I was still living in Indonesia back then). I read his poem called “A Dream Within A Dream” and “To My Mother” and fell in love right away with his words. When my mother passed away several years ago, what came to mind to describe my mourning was Poe’s poem about his mother. I felt as if the poem was my own words to relieve the pain from losing someone so dear in life. Then, when I took the scene above when my girls and I visited the Conservatory Garden in Central Park, New York, and thought of using it to represent another poem, Poe’s “Romance” was it.

Trees

Many a tree is found in the wood,
And every tree for its use is good.
Some for the strength of the gnarled root,
Some for the sweetness of flower or fruit,
Some for shelter against the storm,
And some to keep the hearthstone warm,
Some for the roof and some for the beam,
And some for a boat to breast the storm.
In the wealth of the wood since the world began,
The trees have offered their gifts to man.
 
 

Roots

But the glory of trees is more than their gifts:
‘Tis a beautiful wonder of life that lifts
From a wrinkled seed in an earth-bound clod
A column, an arch in the temple of God,
A pillar of power, a dome of delight,
A shrine of song and a joy of sight!
Their roots are the nurses of rivers in birth,
Their leaves are alive with the breath of the earth;
They shelter the dwellings of man, and they bend
O’er his grave with the look of a loving friend.
 
I have camped in the whispering forest of pines
I have slept in the shadow of olives and vines;
In the knees of an oak, at the foot of a palm,
I have found good rest and slumber’s balm.
And now, when the morning gilds the boughs
Of the vaulted elm at the door of my house,
I open the window and make a salute:
“God bless thy branches and feed thy root!
Thou ancient, friendly, faithful tree!”
 

                                      Henry van Dyke

 

When I was visiting the Old Sturbridge Village in Massachusetts, I came across this tree. Its roots spread out almost everywhere that it’s absolutely stunning to see. It looks ancient and yet, it also looks young. I just had to find a perfect poem for the picture I took that day. I found one, called Trees.