“Immortality is to live your life doing good things, and leaving your mark behind.” - Brandon Lee Coming back to the New What's Going On blog this week. I have gone into the woodwork the last few weeks as there have been many things happening to me and around me: Illnesses, a death, some friends leaving Australia, and I have been busy preparing for a couple of art exhibitions that I had committed to some months earlier. I’m sharing a French song I’ve written with you today. I’ll give you the lyrics and the translation if your French is a little rusty. This song and all my music you can find in my “Otidorchestre” channel or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify, Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites. La Musique de Ta Pensée « De tous les chiffres de l'alphabet, C’est le cramoisi que j'adore… », dit-elle ; Et je la regardai, déconcerté, Amusé aussi par sa propension à colorer Jusqu’au plus terne des sujets. « La mer, elle vole si bien, chassant les rochers Tandis qu'ils s'élèvent vers le fond… » Je lui ai souri, me prélavant dans le soleil De ses hyperboles, m'approchant au plus près de son étoile En ce court instant d'un périhélie hyperbolique. « De ton toucher, j'aime la musique et le miel, »
Murmura-t-elle, sous un souffle de ciel ; Et j'ai chanté l'onde de ma main, trace de soie, Sillon de sucre où mon âme se noie. « Mes pensées secrètes vivent dans un tiroir fermé à clé dans mon ventre… » J'acquiesçai, en caressant son nombril, Voulant ouvrir ses cachettes les plus intimes Pour m'y perdre tout entier. « J'apprécie l'honnêteté des pégases Qui, en période de mue, avouent ne plus savoir voler… » Remarqua-t-elle pensivement, caressant mon omoplate, Et à cet instant, je sus... oui, je le sus pertinemment... « De ton toucher, j'aime la musique et le miel, » Murmura-t-elle, sous un souffle de ciel ; Et j'ai chanté l'onde de ma main, trace de soie, Sillon de sucre où mon âme se noie. Alors que je me préparais à un aphélie perpétuel, Que je l'avais perdue, à jamais... Dernière lettre muette d'un alphabet désormais sans chiffres.
The Music of Your Thought “Of all the numbers of the alphabet I adore crimson…”, she said; And I looked at her bemused, Amused too, by her propensity to add colour To even the dullest topic. “The sea, she flies so well, chasing rocks As they rise up to the bottom…” I smiled at her, basking in the sunshine Of her hyperboles, approaching nearest to her star In that single moment of a hyperbolic perihelion. Of all the music of your touch, I love sweetness…”, she added; And I sang with my hand, Leaving a trace of honey, treacly, sticky, On her smooth skin. “My secret thoughts live in a locked drawer
In my belly…” I nodded, as I caressed her navel, Wanting to open up her innermost Secret hiding places to lose myself into. “I appreciate the honesty of pegasi Who in their moulting season admit they cannot fly…” She pensively remarked, stroking my shoulder blade, And at that moment I knew, As I prepared for a perpetual aphelion, That I had lost her, evermore.
“The classic ‘seven-year itch’ may not be a case of familiarity breeding ennui and contempt, but the shock of having someone you thought you knew all too well suddenly seem a stranger. When that happens, you are compelled to either recommit or get the hell out. There are many such times in a marriage.” ― Kathleen Norris
The New What’s Going On blog has set this theme this week: “Ten Years Later”. In psychology, the term “seven-year itch” describes a period of restlessness or dissatisfaction that couples may face after several years of living together. Studies show that divorce rates often peak between the fifth and eighth years of marriage. Experts suggest this “itch” is often a result of the “honeymoon phase” wearing off, combined with the pressures of raising children or financial stress. On that theme, here is my poem:
Solomon’s Lies
Ah, Love! Sweet love…
He says he loves me as he looks at me; He says I’m beautiful as he kisses me; His hands caress me gently, as he smiles… And yet, his heart is growing cold, His thoughts already distant.
He says my name, his lips so red; He calls out to me, his teeth so white; In his embrace, I feel so warm, so safe… And yet his heart beats slowly, His soul already gone, flown away.
Oh, love, how bittersweet you are, You give me joy, you give me pains… Oh, love, how hard and how bizarre, Your sun shines bright, and then it rains… Oh, love, you lie with bitter truths And in truth you hide sweet lies…
He leaves and says that he’ll be back; He goes away and takes his heart; His eyes grow dark and dull. I look at him, as he hurries away, And yet, he doesn’t glance back.
He gives his heart to another, His soft whisperings in her ears; She smiles as she believes him, And gives him her soul, as I did… Gives him her heart, as I did…
Oh, love, how bittersweet you are, You give me joy, you give me pains… Oh, love, how hard and how bizarre, Your sun shines bright, and then it rains… Oh, love, you lie with bitter truths And in truth you hide sweet lies…
The poem is set to music, and you can find all my music in my “Otidorchestre” channel or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify, Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.
Please note there is delay between uploading the song onto the digital music platforms, so persist in hunting it down if you wish to listen to it.
“Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go.” - Hermann Hesse This week, The New What’s Going Blog has set as its theme: “Letting Go”. I think that letting go of a relationship that is over and done with is a very difficult thing to do. However, unless we gather enough strength to let go, we cannot move forward, and of course cannot open ourselves up to a new relationship… Here is my poem (and song!) on precisely that. White My tablet’s scraped clean; My life a palimpsest keen New scripts to receive. A page bleached, all blank So white, so frank… The past behind to leave. I start again, hope dressed in white Showing me paths to futures bright; I throw all painful memories away, And bold, I face each new day. The sun is shining, candid above It lights the world, fills it with love; My heart now dares faster to beat Wakened by Spring’s soft heat. New love, all innocent and pale, Grows tender, burgeons quick, Enters my every fibre to assail; And lights my soul’s spent wick. On milky white page, so clean A new story to write I’m keen… Your snowy hand I want to hold, My burning love to warm its cold; Your heart vulnerable to render Your castle strong to make surrender. Let’s live a love that’s strong Beautiful as a sweet song; Through a prism our white Will myriads of colours light. New love, all innocent and pale, Grows tender, burgeons quick, Enters my every fibre to assail; And lights my soul’s spent wick. On milky white page, so clean A new story to write I’m keen… The poem is set to music, and you can find all my music in my “Otidorchestre” Instagram Channel or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify, Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.
“Always do what you are afraid to do.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson The New What’s Going on Blogthis week has as its theme: “Words of Fearlessness or Courage”.My poem is below, but this time, the “song” that accompanies it relates to the very last line of the poem and illustrates perhaps the reason for the fear… Fear “Why be afraid of the dark,” she said, “Close your eyes and you will see A great light and rainbow colours, For within you burns a sun Brighter than the one up high.” “Why be afraid of evil,” she said, “Open your heart and you will find Goodness beyond measure, This kindness inside, it is enough To annul all wickedness.” “Why be afraid of hate,” she said, “You have the strength to fight it, Your courage is beyond measure, Bravery within you lies untapped, Enough to let you win.” “Why be afraid of love?” She said, And she paused, thinking hard. “Ah, indeed, love’s a force to be feared And no matter how hard you try There’s no way to counter its invincible power. Respect it, harness its potential, enjoy its pleasures, Be grateful for its presence in your life; But be afraid of love; be very afraid of it…” She said. The poem relates to the music, and you can find all my music in my “Otidorchestre” channel or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify, Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.
“The darkness of death is like the evening twilight; it makes all objects appear more lovely to the dying.” - Jean Paul Poets and Storytellers this week is asking us to take inspiration from what we like about the dark. Darkness is a state of mind that can manifest itself in the full sunlight of Summer or in the flowery extravagances of Spring. It can be felt amidst a happy gathering at a party or the joyous shouts of children playing. If the dark is within us, it can be difficult to escape from it. I remember an interview that Reba Mcintire gave and she said something like: “For me, singing sad songs often has a way of healing a situation. It gets the hurt out in the open into the light, out of the darkness.” Here is my dark, sad song: Spring Funeral A funeral in Spring, Much pain will bring; Spring comes, nears, Raining bitter tears… Spring wakes deep in earth the sodden seeds Making more acute my pressing needs; The rain that gently falls will wash me clean No more will I my painful memories glean. I loved you such a long time ago And yet I chose dreams to forego. The greenwood leaves unfurl and open fresh The breeze still cool, tempers my burning flesh; Desires, passions, loves I bury deep in earth Path chosen, heart dies, mind more is worth. I loved you such a long time ago But now allegro turns to largo. As flowers fresh are laid by a new dug grave Your thinly disguised betrayal I forgave; The falling night will usher in the stars Silence – except for mournful cries of nightjars. I loved you such a long time ago Now where to turn? To whom to go? The poem is set to music, and you can find an index of all my music in my “Otidorchestre” Instagram channel or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify, Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.
Please note that there is delay between my uploading the music and your being able to access it. YouTube is generally the fastest to release the song.
“You are my best friend as well as my lover, and I do not know which side of you I enjoy the most. I treasure each side, just as I have treasured our life together.” - Nicholas Sparks
The New What’s Going On Blog has set a theme of “Friendship” this week, one that I covered last week in my poem. I don’t think I am too much off-topic if I present a poem on a special kind of relationship: The one that begins between two people who have a lot in common and where the special closeness and bond of friendship develops. As the relationship progresses, love enters the equation and the two become a couple. This to me is more preferable than the “love at first sight” situation, a relationship that is often like an exploding firework that fizzles out.
Together I saw you, you saw me, we clicked: We chatted, we laughed, time ticked. Love at first sight? No, just good fun. The night was so bright, Something had begun. I called you, you called me, You spoke, you enthralled me. We went out and dined, Was all so civilised. Your mind a great find, Your company prized. And then love stepped in slowly, It overwhelmed us wholly; You kissed me, I kissed you, How could I resist you? We watched the stars rise, In each other’s eyes. You stayed over, I stayed over With breakfast moreover; Became an odd couple To never decouple. With days so exciting, And nights like lightning. I moved in, and we both thrived, Our house a calm, serene haven Our lives renewed and revived, You are at love a great maven. We are together, to part never You and I, a couple forever.
This poem is set to music, and you can find all references to my music in my “Otidorchestre” channel, or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify, Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.
“Optimism is the madness of insisting that all is well when we are miserable.” - Voltaire
This week, Poets and Storytellers United has as its theme: “Starting Over (Again and Again)”. It reminds me of a proverb I first heard from my grandfather, which said: “If you realise you’re on the wrong road, don’t mind how far down it you’ve gone, go back to the fork to find the right road and start walking on that again.” Here is my poem on that theme:
Awakening
Awaken, awaken, Seize the day!
The long black night ends, at last And I can banish all that’s past; The new bright morning breaks gently While my heart beats all the more intently…
Breaking free from chains of sorrow I can look now at my tomorrow; Awake, fly to heaven, oh my soul, Escape from yesterday’s black hole.
Today, I have a chance at happiness again My heart beats free, no longer in pain. My arms are loosed from bonds and ties Ready to stretch, to reach new highs.
Escaping from the prison dark, I venture out, walking in the park; The trees, the breeze, and golden sun Are mine again, life’s just begun.
The sky’s fresh painted a happy blue; I’m ready now to see the world anew, My eyes wide open, bright and grateful, Seeing nothing evil, bitter or hateful.
Today, I have a chance at happiness again My heart beats free, no longer in pain. My arms are loosed from bonds and ties Ready to stretch, to reach new highs.
Awaken, awaken Seize the day!
And once again, here’s the poem set to music and you can find all my music in my “Otidorchestre” channel or listen to it on YouTube, Spotify, Amazon, Deezer, Flo, Pandora, and other music sharing sites.
“When one with honeyed words but evil mind Persuades the mob, great woes befall the state.” ― Euripides, ‘Orestes’
Welcome to the Travel Tuesday meme! Join me every Tuesday and showcase your creativity in photography, painting and drawing, music, poetry, creative writing or a plain old natter about Travel.
There is only one simple rule: Link your own creative work about some aspect of travel and share it with the rest of us. Please use this meme for your creative endeavours only.
Do not use this meme to advertise your products or services as any links or comments by advertisers will be removed immediately.
Mount Olympus (Greek: Όλυμπος, romanized: Ólympos,) is an extensive massif near the Thermaic Gulf of the Aegean Sea, located on the border between Thessaly and Macedonia, between the regional units of Larissa and Pieria, about 80 km southwest from Thessaloniki. Mount Olympus has 52 peaks and deep gorges. The highest peak, Mytikas (Μύτικας Mýtikas), meaning "nose", rises to 2,917.727 metres and is the highest peak in Greece, and one of the highest peaks in Europe in terms of topographic prominence.
In Greek mythology, Olympus is the home of the Greek gods, on Mytikas peak. The mountain has exceptional biodiversity and rich flora. It has been a National Park, the first in Greece, since 1938. It is also a World Biosphere Reserve. Olympus remains the most popular hiking summit in Greece, as well as one of the most popular in Europe. Organised mountain refuges and various mountaineering and climbing routes are available. The usual starting point is the town of Litochoro which lies in the eastern foothills of the mountain, some 100 km from Thessaloniki.
Taking the opportunity today to direct your attention to the Greek entry for this year’s Eurovision Song Contest. It is sung by Klavdia and is called “Asteromáta” (Starry-eyed one). It’s a beautiful song and Klavdia has a rich, expressive and lucid voice. The song is about loss - loss of loved ones, loss of one’s homeland and loss of all things that one holds dear.
“There’ll be bluebirds over The white cliffs of Dover Tomorrow, just you wait and see…” – Vera Lynn (lyrics by Nat Burton) Welcome to the Travel Tuesday meme! Join me every Tuesday and showcase your creativity in photography, painting and drawing, music, poetry, creative writing or a plain old natter about Travel.
There is only one simple rule: Link your own creative work about some aspect of travel and share it with the rest of us. Please use this meme for your creative endeavours only.
Do not use this meme to advertise your products or services as any links or comments by advertisers shall be removed immediately.
The White Cliffs of Dover are cliffs that form part of the English coastline facing the Strait of Dover and France. The cliffs are part of the North Downs formation. The cliff face, which reaches up to 110 m, owes its striking appearance to its composition of chalk accented by streaks of black flint. The cliffs stretch along the coastline for 13 km, spreading east and west from the town of Dover in the county of Kent, an ancient and still important English port.
The cliffs have great symbolic value in Britain because they face towards continental Europe across the narrowest part of the English Channel, where invasions have historically threatened and against which the cliffs form a symbolic guard. The National Trust calls the cliffs “an icon of Britain”, with “the white chalk face a symbol of home and war time defence.” Because crossing at Dover was the primary route to the continent before the advent of air travel, the white line of cliffs also formed the first or last sight of Britain for travellers. In World War II, thousands of allied troops on the little ships in the Dunkirk evacuation saw the welcoming sight of the cliffs.
That makes calamity of so long life;” 'Mortal coil' is a poetic term that means the troubles of daily life and the strife and suffering of the world. It is used in the sense of a burden to be carried or abandoned, most famously in the phrase “shuffled off this mortal coil” from “Hamlet”. Apropos, I feature the eighties British pop group “This Mortal Coil” The track “Song to the Siren”, originally written by Tim Buckley, is sung by Elizabeth Fraser of the Cocteau Twins; it was released as a single and brought the “It’ll End in Tears” (1984) album to prominence. The music is considered Goth, as the songs have been described as haunting and harrowing, yet ultimately uplifting or even timeless. Song to the Siren On the floating, shipless, oceans I did all my best to smile Till your singing eyes and fingers Drew me loving into your eyes. And you sang "Sail to me, sail to me, Let me enfold you. "Here I am, here I am waiting to hold you. Did I dream you dreamed about me? Were you here when I was full sail? Now my foolish boat is leaning, Broken lovelorn on your rocks. For you sang "Touch me not, touch me not, Come back tomorrow." Oh my heart, oh my heart shies from the sorrow. I'm as puzzled as a newborn child. I'm as riddled as the tide. Should I stand amid the breakers? Or shall I lie with death my bride? Hear me sing: "Swim to me, swim to me, Let me enfold you. "Here I am, Here I am, waiting to hold you."
“I put my heart
and my soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process.” - Vincent VanGogh Vincent Willem van Gogh
(30 March 1853 – 29 July 1890) was a Post-Impressionist painter. He was a Dutch
artist whose work had a far-reaching influence on 20th-century art. His output
includes portraits, self-portraits, landscapes and still lifes. His iconic
renderings of cypresses, wheat fields, sunflowers and starry skies have made
him a popular and well-known artist. He drew as a
child but did not paint until his late twenties; he completed many of his
best-known works during the last two years of his life. In just over a decade,
he produced more than 2,100 artworks, including 860 oil paintings and more than
1,300 watercolours, drawings, sketches and prints. Van Gogh was
born to upper middle class parents and spent his early adulthood working for a
firm of art dealers. He travelled between The Hague, London and Paris, after
which he taught in England at Isleworth and Ramsgate. He was deeply religious
as a younger man and aspired to be a pastor. From 1879 he worked as a
missionary in a mining region in Belgium, where he began to sketch people from
the local community. In 1885 he painted “The Potato Eaters”, considered
his first major work. His palette then consisted mainly of sombre earth tones
and showed no sign of the vivid coloration that distinguished his later paintings. In March 1886,
he moved to Paris and discovered the French Impressionists. Later, he moved to
the south of France and was influenced by the strong sunlight he found there.
His paintings grew brighter in colour, and he developed the unique and highly
recognisable style that became fully realised during his stay in Arles in 1888.
After years of anxiety and frequent bouts of mental illness, he died aged 37
from a self-inflicted gunshot wound. The extent to
which his mental health affected his painting has been widely debated by art
historians. Despite a widespread tendency to romanticise his ill health, modern
critics see an artist deeply frustrated by the inactivity and incoherence
wrought through illness. His late paintings show an artist at the height of his
abilities, completely in control, and according to art critic Robert Hughes, “longing
for concision and grace”. “The Starry
Night”, above, painted in Saint Rémy, in June 1889 (oil on canvas, 73.7 x 92.1 cm and
exhibited in the Museum of Modern Art, New York) is one of Van Gogh’s most
well-known paintings. The artist reveals this about the painting: “This morning
I saw the country from my window a long time before sunrise, with nothing but
the morning star, which looked very big.” Van Gogh wrote this to his brother
Theo, from France, and it is these many letters to his brother that tells us
much about his art and the artist. Rooted in
imagination and memory, “The Starry Night” embodies an inner, subjective
expression of van Gogh's response to nature. In thick, sweeping brushstrokes, a
flame-like cypress unites the churning sky and the quiet village below. The
village was partly invented, and the church spire evokes van Gogh’s native
land, the Netherlands. Here is Don
McLean singing his beautiful “Vincent” – a fitting tribute, on the 125th anniversary
of van Gogh’s death:
“Nostalgia is
like a grammar lesson: you find the present tense, but the past perfect.” -
Owens Lee Pomeroy Gilbert Bécaud -
the legendary “Mr 100,000 volts” of the French music world - rose to fame in
the 1950s and enjoyed a successful career spanning more than 40 years before he
died in December 2001. One of the most popular music French stars of all time,
Bécaud performed at the famous Olympia music hall in Paris 33 times, a record!
Gilbert Bécaud,
was born François Silly in Toulon, a lively port on the Mediterranean coast on
24 October 1927. François had a relatively happy upbringing, despite the fact
that his father abandoned the family while François was still in early
childhood. Madame Silly’s new partner, Louis Bécaud, raised François, Jean and
Odette as his own children, although he was never able to marry their mother
(her first husband steadfastly refusing to consent to a divorce). From an early
age, François showed an enormous musical talent and he was able to study in the
Nice conservatory until the war put an end to his studies in 1942. During the
war François and his older brother Jean joined the resistance. After the war
the family settled in Paris where François began to work in nightclubs and
wrote songs.
He soon met
Maurice Vidalin and Pierre Delanoë, fellow songwriters and the team wrote many
successful songs well into the ‘50s. He met Edith Piaf, wrote her some songs
and went on to manage Edith. In 1952 François officially adopted his new stage
name, Gilbert Bécaud. It was also around this time that the singer began to
forge his legendary image, sporting the famous spotted tie, which would appear
around his neck at every single concert throughout the rest of his career.
In 1954 Bécaud
was invited to inaugurate the newly refurbished Olympia music hall in Paris and
such was the excitement of the crowd that they began ripping out seats and
destroying L’Olympia’s brand new decor. This kind of behaviour at a concert was
totally out of the ordinary in the 1950’s and the French press had an absolute
field day over the affair. Numerous papers and magazines ran stories on
Bécaud’s explosive concert, dubbing the young singer “Monsieur Dynamite”, “The
Atomic Bomb” and, most famously of all, “Monsieur 100,000 volts”.
In 1961 Bécaud
rocketed to the top of the French charts once again with his enormously
successful hit single “Et Maintenant”. This was written by Pierre Delanoë and
would prove to be one of the most famous songs of Gilbert Bécaud’s entire
career. The song would be covered more than 150 times by a host of French stars
and the English version of “Et maintenant”, entitled “What now my love”, would
go on to become an international hit in its own right.
In 1964 Bécaud
returned to the studio to record a new single entitled "Nathalie".
This single proved phenomenally successful, selling thousands of copies within
months of its release. Indeed, "Nathalie" would go on to become one
of the most famous hits of his entire career. Later that same year Bécaud would
perform "Nathalie" live on stage at the Olympia, during his tenth
concert performance at the legendary Paris music hall. He went on to record
many more hits and remained a successful singer/songwriter until his death in
2001.
It is this
last-mentioned song that I wish to share with you today as I associate it with
some of my earliest childhood memories in Athens. We had the record at home and
I remember hearing it often and being enthused by its poignancy and vibrancy
even at my very tender age.
Nathalie, Gilbert Bécaud
La Place Rouge
était vide
Devant moi
marchait Nathalie
Il avait un joli
nom, mon guide
Nathalie
La Place Rouge
était blanche
La neige faisait
un tapis
Et je suivait
par ce froid dimanche
Nathalie
Elle parlait en
phrases sobres
De la Révolution
d'Octobre
Je pensais déjà
Qu'après le
tombeau de Lénine
On irait au Café
Pouchkine
Boire un
chocolat
La Place Rouge
était vide
Je lui pris son
bras, elle a souri
Elle avait des
cheveux blonds, mon guide
Nathalie,
Nathalie
Dans sa chambre,
a l'université
Une bande
d'étudiants
L'attendait
impatiemment
On a ri, on a
beaucoup parlé
Ils voulaient
tout savoir
Nathalie
traduisait.
Moscou, les
plaines de Krim
Et les
Champs-Elysées
On a tout
mélangé et on a chanté
Et puis, ils ont
débouché
En riant à
l'avance
Du champagne de
France
Et on a dansé
Et quand la
chambre fut vide
Tous les amis étaient
partis
Je suis resté
seul avec mon guide
Nathalie
Plus d'questions
de phrases sobres
Ni d'au
Révolution d'Octobre
On n'en était
plus là
Fini le tombeau
de Lénine
Le chocolat de
chez Pouchkine
C'est, c'était
loin déjà
Que ma vie me
semble vide
Mais je sais
qu'un jour à Paris
C'est moi qui
lui servirai de guide
Nathalie
Nathalie
Nathalie by
Gilbert Bécaud
The Red Square
was empty
In front of me
walked Nathalie;
She had a pretty
name, my guide:
Nathalie.
The Red Square
was white,
The snow made a
carpet.
And I followed,
on this cold Sunday,
Nathalie.
She spoke in
sober sentences
About the
October Revolution.
I thought that
after seeing the tomb of Lenin
We would go to
the Pushkin Café
To drink a hot
chocolate.
The Red Square
was empty
I held her arm,
she smiled
She had fair
hair, my guide, Nathalie,
Nathalie.
In her room, at
the university
A group of
students awaited us impatiently
We laughed, we
spoke much.
They wanted to
know everything,
Nathalie
translated.
Moscow, Kremlin
square,
And the
Champs-Elysées -
We mixed
everything up and we sang…
And then, they
opened,
While laughing,
in anticipation,
A bottle of
French champagne,
And we danced.
And when the
room was empty
When all the
friends had left
I remained alone
with my guide,
Nathalie…
No more
questions, nor sober sentences
About the
October Revolution.
I’m not there
any more.
The tomb of
Lenin is no more,
The chocolate of
the Café Pushkin
Is far away
already.
Now my life
seems empty,
But I know that
one day in Paris
It is I who will
be Nathalie’s guide,
Nathalie…
Nostalgia is a
bitter-sweet emotion and what better accompaniment to it than an old song that
reminds us of those times long ago?
I have been blogging daily on this platform for several years now. It is surprising that I have persisted as the world is changing and "microblogging" is now the norm. I blog to amuse myself, make comment on current affairs, externalise some of my creativity, keep notes on things that interest me, learn something new and to surprise myself with things that I discover about this wonderful, and sometimes crazy, world we live in.
I sometimes get the impression that I am on a soapbox delivering a monologue, so your comments are welcome.
