Judith Vriesema

Sometimes,
in the quiet of an autumn afternoon when geese fly through a sun-laden sky,
memories erupt and emerge composing their own symphonies of music.
Light falls through the silence of rooms that are stored with volumes of emotions and words;
...

Morning rush-hour sounds cavort with newspapers
that fly across cobblestone streets into open doorways.
Subway sounds rush through London's waking dreams.
The scent of coffee hovers in the air while music begins to life-play.
...

Shallow words that echo beyond time;
thoughts poised in flight upon a blue monochrome wall,
converge with the early morning sun.
Eyes the depth of puddles try in vain
...

Einstien called it rapture.
Mozart called it failed genius.
God called it the color blue.
All existing in a dynamic;
...

Blue green water lit by moonlight
comes to life as rain from a summer storm falls into its depths.
Life chortles on lily pads,
and the smell of wet earth invades our senses.
...

Leaves swirl across a canvas.
In the hands of an artist,
colour is its own muse.
In the hands of the wind,
...

Seagulls circle and fall from clouds
of aqua and amber light.
Their cries play like jazz silhouettes in the cold Icelandic spring.
From a distance,
...

The wind composed a sonata upon weathered
copper chimes that danced in an ancient tree outside my window.

Birds slumbered and dreamed of songs yet unheard;
...

I close my eyes,
One more time I close my eyes.
Sh!
Listen.
...

The sea challenged the wind to a game of chess.
And the colours
of the sun were drenched in a late summer haze.
The drought began to break under silver clouds that were
...

Lost in a thread,
love chased the wind across the lava rocks
to Reykjavik
to Pingholstraetti Street
...

When the fishing boats come in,
the seagulls gather upon slumbering lava
rocks.
- their beaks alomost orange in the light.
...

Run into a cold morning when trolls sing the sagas to a golden sea.
Run into the colours of the northern lights when Reykjavik dreams.
Run with your eyes closed into the winter wind when candles glow from windows covered in lace.
Run when truth and storm collide on a cold Icelandic night.
...

When the wind sings in gusts of colour,
ghosts dream in the blue of your eyes.
When sagas fall into a fire that lights the night sky with tears,
your heart breaks a glacier and collides with llove.
...

In our hearts,
we would play the cello;
our fingers carressing the strings
as our souls emerged from instruments of ancient wood.
...

Thoughts splinter into dreams that are held by the prison of music.
Crystals fall and shatter into notes-
rainbows crossing the sky.
Elements converge into compositions.
...

After the anger,
after the words were thrown,
the wind carried them away to the sea
beyond the place where seagulls nested;
...

Fragile thoughts,
emotion ebbing and flowing upon a sea of white dreams,
touches my heart
while seagulls carry the soul of poets' words into the arms of the waiting clouds.
...

The sun withdrew into the arms of the moon.
Effortlessly,
seagulls painted stars of lilac clouds across the surface of the sea.
The wind gently called the rain to fall through an orange sky.
...

In a room.
yellow striped wallpaper dating from somewhere in the 80's,
people sit on steel-backed chairs waiting for the miracles to happen;
miracles to fix a life torn apart by lies, deceit and webs of connections to the past.
...