notes to; a painter, a mum, Sintra, a whale, a poet

[Cate]

Directions as you fly over.

I live on the last great lake over, the smallest one I think. See
the brightest lights on the north western shore? That’s me,
well not me, but where I am looking up wondering which small light
might be yours. See the end of the Lake, where it narrows and
tunnels into the beginnings of a river? That is where I grew up.
The only big lights there, are from the prison but you still
might be able to make it out if

. . . the moon is bright enough. After the narrows, the river
widens and speeds up to become the mighty St. Lawrence. As a
little girl I had dreams of a canoe, filling it with oranges, oatmeal
cookies, and comic books and setting sail for the ocean. I’ve been told
that beluga whales can be seen playing in the river away from the
heavy salts of the Atlantic. I’ve never seen them myself but if you
happen to spot what looks to be them, please send me a note.

with warm regards,
cate – north western shore of the smallest great lake




(edit note - breaks)

[Manna]

Note to the Beluga

You probably don't know yet - they've made your likeness
in plush. I've often thought of having that done, myself.
It would be nice to have a warmer, fuzzier version to
bring to parties. Cate said you might be in the frigid waters
off the Northern coast, which reminds me - you may be getting
more real estate soon.

Seeing you there reminded me of war and it's put me in a
sour mood. You were swimming in formation like fighter jets,
and that Chad asked me just this morning what the root
of all our problems was. He shouldn't ask questions like that.
I said, "we are." It didn't have anything to do with you.
I'm sorry if we fuck up the whole world. Truth is, from 8 miles up,
I'm not even sure if what I saw was you at all.

I'll write a better note next time,
Manna

[Cate]

love it! xx

[Manna]

Thanks, Cate.
I loved yours too.

xxoo

[Sanverp]

Hey,

I also love writing poems. I'm having a blog that I sometimes put a poem on, or a sketch or some pictures from the countries I'm tavelling to.
The blog is: http://sandblogging.wordpress.com

Next poem was during my visit in Sintra, Portugal and was based on historical facts



Portuguese roots

I came to this place, just to discover your roots
To see who you are, to taste from your fruits
I wasn't searching the Grail in the castle of the Moors
But I tried to find out if there's a way to be yours

I walked in the forest, that was feared by your foes
And I would fight them all, but they didn't came close
So I buried the hatchet and went back to my house
And I imagened your body without any clothes

They put your mountains in fire, destroying your forest
You must have felt abbandoned in the hand of the poets
While I distinguished your voice from a thousand choirs
I climbed your mountains to snuff out your fires

Your body was curved with two graceful hills
The sound finally faded away of the military drills
I called you from now on the promontory of the moon
As I knew that I was going to see you very soon




Kind regards,
Sanverp

[Cate]

Hi sanverp, I'm not sure if love writing poems or if I'm just compulsive.

You're poem is very lyrical. The reader starts to get a good picture of the land that N is visiting. I liked that the land itself seemed become like the woman who came from it. I wondered about the fire on the mountain?

[Sanverp]

Hey,

Thanks for your interest. There might be some misunderstandings in the poem, as English is not my mother language, but how I love the English language.

The fire is a historical fact. The forest was so thick that the enemy never would have a chance, so they put the forest in fire trying to take over Sintra.

In the sentence before, you can see that the main actor already imagined Sintra without clothes, meaning without forests.

Anyway, at the other side, I am talking about a Portuguese woman, which I wanted to learn to know, by trying to find her roots.

With 'her mountains' that have been put in fire, I mean that she has been tasting love, but not in a good sence. That's why I wanted to snuff out the fire. As a consequene of that, the military drills are fading away.


Kind regards,
Sanverp

[Cate]

Hi again S.,
Your English seems very good. I felt that your poem created a clear picture for me and it actually was pretty close to what you were actually writing about so that's always nice.

The fire is a historical fact. The forest was so thick that the enemy never would have a chance, so they put the forest in fire trying to take over Sintra.

they set the forest on fire - wow, that's quite the event.
Thanks for letting me know more about the fires. I had wondered about what and how of them

[Sanverp]

Hey Cate,

The information I have got from wikipedia. The page I started was this one: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sintra_Municipality

Anyway, I have been searching but could not find it back, only a fire in 1966.
I hope that my historical fact is not a fantasy of me , but I really believe I have red it somewhere.

Kind regards,
Sanverp

[fishfishquaileye]

sometimes I'm naughty
and not very nice
sometimes I drink
my milk without ice



this poem I wrote in school today and is especially for my mummy, she is the bestest mummy in the whole world!!!!

Cynthias age 7

[Cate]

Sanverp
historical fact or fancy - it's all good.

~~

sometimes I'm naughty
and not very nice
sometimes I drink
my milk without ice



this poem I wrote in school today and is especially for my mummy, she is the bestest mummy in the whole world!!!!

Cynthias age 7

hello Cynthias, that's a very pretty name - one of my favourites.
I bet your mummy is going to like your poem very much because you wrote it and were quiet for a few minutes while you wrote it. I wonder if milk is a metaphor for scotch as putting ice in milk we be weird. For me, ice or no ice is equally unpleasant but I've heard that without ice is better and a sign of a refined palate - I know image is important in grade 2.

[fishfishquaileye]

Hello Mummy, is that you xxxx


Cynthias

[Cate]

(well I do have at least one child with one of your names)

ohhh hello Cynthias - I thought the name was familiar.

Please go an' clean up your room!

[Cate]

Note to a painter who left her work hanging in a cafe


I have been dating your art.
It just occurred to me today when I drove 20 minutes in the wrong direction (passing two other Starbucks) so that I could have my afternoon break close to that beautiful yellow woman holding a stringed instrument. I hope that she’s not attached. I can’t help but notice that you’ve left her alone in a café for months now, so I’m assuming that there is another adorning your wall at home or hanging on your easel.
Please know that my intentions are completely honorable. Mostly we just sit quietly while I sip my tea … I can’t help but notice the way that she smiles at me as as I drizzle honey into my cup and so feel that this would be a good match.

with warm regards,
c

By the way, I have been practicing the moonlight sonata for guitar, every night, for the last month. When she finally does come home with me I shall play it for her.

[lizzytysh]

Carried me away to good places... the whole of this thread.