Tag Archives: collageart

“The Taste of Hope” by Ezequiel Piola

The word is here, hope.
The eyes are clear. A near star,
Humans never far. (jf)

“The Taste of Hope” by Ezequiel Piola

Picture by Ezequiel, poetry by Jonathan.

Advertisements

“Sketch of Rotating Sentiment” by Ruth Coleman

The right to feelings:
Even the judge trusts in his
Inner believings. (jf)

“Sketch of Rotating Sentiment” by Ruth Coleman

Picture by Ruth, poetry by Jonathan.

“Why We Are Here” by Mietzekatze3847

Just love.

This we ALL have in common, every single person. Like this we are all united, without borders, hate, anger, exclusion…

These turn difficulties into horror. And arrogance, dominance and ignorance are the course to hell.

“Why We Are Here” by Mietzekatze3847

Picture and words by Mietzekatze3847.

“Transcellular Energy Exchange” by Evamaria Freshmaker

The feather: Bird’s sword.
The bug: Bird’s food. The sun: Bird’s
Map. The human: Bird. (jf)

“Transcellular Energy Exchange” by Evamaria Freshmaker

Picture by Evamaria Freshmaker, poetry by Jonathan.

“Blindfisch” by Evamaria Freshmaker

Vom Regen in die Traufe, ohne Reißleine, steh ich in meiner Idee und die Fische verstummen um mich herum, eingeschlossen ohne gefangen zu sein, obwohl das Ufer nicht weit weg ist. Der Vogel wartet nicht auf dich, lern doch endlich fliegen, sagt Mutter. Türen schließen sich hinter mir, durch transparente Wände wandern Hände, während ich endlos wirkende Stufen erklimme und hoch über mir der blaue Himmel erscheint, der mit deinen Worten meine Gedanken auf Reisen schickt und rotes Bonbonpapier sich vom Wind treiben und fallen und fallen und treiben lässt, bis das Wasser zum Halse steht und nur noch die Fische im Angesicht der Realität fröhlich Saltos schlagen. Und er denkt immer noch, es gäbe eine Liste…

“Blindfisch” by Evamaria Freshmaker

Picture and poetry by Evamaria Freshmaker.


Blindfish

From the rain to the eaves, without a ripcord, I stand in my idea and the fish are silenced around me, trapped without being caught, even though the shore is not far away. The bird does not wait for you, learn to fly at last, mother says. Doors close behind me, hands wandering through transparent walls as I climb endless steps and high above me the blue sky appears sending my thoughts on the road with your words and red candy wrapper dripping and falling and drifting until the water is up to throat and only the fish in the face of reality happily do somersaults. And he still thinks there is a list… (translated by jf)