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sebnemsanders

~ ripples

sebnemsanders

Monthly Archives: February 2017

Anemone

24 Friday Feb 2017

Posted by SebnemSanders in Flash Poesy, Uncategorized

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

anemone, beauty within, daughters of the wind, depression, dreams, hope, melancholia, pink, purple, spring, sunshine, weary, winter

anemone-color-meaning

Photo source: http://www.flowermeaning.com/anemone-flower-meaning/

 

 

Daughters of the wind

purple and  pink

dew drops

reflecting the beauty within

spring is on its way

my heart is stuck in winter

dark, weary and uninspired

what will it take to move it again,

why the melancholia of purple

than the hope from pink?

my dreams have sunk

into the pools of depression

no sunshine seems to revive

why has everything gone wrong

when I was

ready to go?

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Light and Dark, flash poesy for thought

21 Tuesday Feb 2017

Posted by SebnemSanders in blog post, Flash Poesy

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

amreading, amwriting, awareness, black, blind, collective consciousness, collective memory, confinement, dark, darkness, deaf, dystopia, enlightenment, eye contact, freedom of speech, grey, ignorance, light, mute, perception, prison, reality, transfer of thought, utopia, walls, white, writingcommunity

light-and-dark

It was a time of ignorance

and a time of enlightenment

an era of awareness

and one of darkness

The enlightened sought

the light in the heavens and beyond

the ignorant worked in darkness

setting light to the treasures of the enlightened,

all buildings, books, works of art and heritage

were demolished under the axes of the demons of darkness

yet, everything remained in the collective memory of the Light-workers

The dark demons built high walls around the prisons

where the Light-workers were confined

Speaking was forbidden, even looking eye to eye

The prisoners who broke the law

had their tongues cut and eyes removed

The blinded and muted Light-workers

developed a communication skill

of transferring thoughts without speaking or eye-contact

Waves of thoughts travelled in the air

while the dark demons carried out their atrocities unaware

The frequencies of thoughts became so high and powerful,

deafening the dark demons who

failed to complete their mission of destruction,

as the wavelength of thoughts

damaged their sensory systems

Unable to move or act, they lay still on the ground

The Light-workers fed their minds with ideas and

knowledge  about the planet and the universe,

theories of law and justice for all,

science, art, history, philosophy, and

awareness of nature and the balance of creation

Dark-workers awoke with the beam of enlightenment

in their eyes.

They learned to communicate without speaking,

seeing beyond the perceived and feeling without using their senses.

Dark-workers became Light-workers

moving humanity into a new dimension

of enlightenment.

Still, some Dark-workers remained,

in the periphery of humanity,

scheming plans to carry out their dark intentions,

to make a revolution to change the world.

Light-workers ambushed them and built high walls around their towns

so that they would stay confined within their own surroundings

unable to infect their backward ideas into the enlightened zone.

The angels in the heavens watched the humans in dismay,

“When will they learn?” they asked their Leader, the wisest of All.

“Only when they discover grey, against the black and white.

It will take time, but I have hopes for my children.”

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My Shadow and Me

18 Saturday Feb 2017

Posted by SebnemSanders in Flash Poesy, Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

copy, eternity, figure, form, identity, intangible, light, outline, perception, reflection, shade, shadow, Shadowland, silhouette, sun, tangible, timing

giphy

media.giphy.com/media/l3q2LN4GoToXK8xbi/giphy.gif

 

I like walking with my shadow ahead of me

She is taller than me, slimmer than me

Her neck is more slender, she has no face, just a silhouette

I like walking with my shadow in front of me

Her graceful figure accompanies me during my stroll by the sea

I enjoy her company

I hadn’t seen her for a while, she is so full of life.

I must have caught the sun behind me at the right time

Is she me or is she a reflection of me?

If the sun wasn’t at a certain angle,

I would have missed her

She disappears in the shades,

then reappears when I’m back under the sun.

I can see her long legs,

even her feet below the Capri pants she’s wearing.

 

Will she be here tomorrow, or will she vanish forever?

I must catch her at the right time or I’ll never see her again.

Where do shadows go when the sun moves?

Do they travel to Shadowland?

If she’s a part of me, do I go, as well?

Will I see her tomorrow?

Will I be here tomorrow?

Or will I also disappear into the Land of the Shadows?

 

There are many other shadows

They reflect the forms they copy and repeat

They have no faces, just elongated outlines

that appear temporarily.

I’d like to walk again with my shadow before me

My shadow and I are the same

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The Kiss

14 Tuesday Feb 2017

Posted by SebnemSanders in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

An old post for Valentine’s Day! 🙂

sebnemsanders

The-Kiss  

Gustav Klimt (July 14, 1862 – February 6, 1918)

Among the many pictures

etched in my memory,

not all of them speak to me,

tell me stories or inspire me

to write new ones

this one depicts an eternal moment

of an embrace and a kiss

between a man and a woman

wrapped in a shimmering blanket of gold,

embroidered with a kaleidoscope of beads

Like the hews of the once vibrant carpet at their feet,

the painter, the models and

the influential patchwork have faded into the past,

yet the painting remains

to remind us of that first moment of bliss

between a lover and his beloved

carrying the sparkle of love

into eternity forever.

 

 

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Monsoon

12 Sunday Feb 2017

Posted by SebnemSanders in Flash Fiction, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

attraction, devotion, dreams, endurance, exotic, loneliness, love, loyalty, magnetic, monsoon, mysterious, patience, physical love, rain, storm, theoccident, theorient, true love, void, winds

monsoon

A blank page, that’s how Jeff felt. Lonely, abandoned and unfulfilled. There had to be something more than the physical love in brief relationships that led nowhere. He hadn’t  found the magic told in books or heard in songs to fill the page with words.

The house seemed empty without his mother.  He’d lost her to cancer a year ago. A widow who had brought him up with love and affection, but a tight grip on discipline and manners. He didn’t remember his father who had died of a heart-attack when he was four. Only the images from photos in his mother’s album. A stranger called ‘dad’.

Throughout his education, he achieved good grades, a degree in computer sciences, and had begun a career as a programmer. Science, sports, and a keen interest in arts were the highlights of his preferred pastimes.  He kept away from politics and daily headlines. His mates, mostly married, with kids, teased him on a being a confirmed bachelor at the age of thirty-five.

Yet, his single status came with rewards. He was the sought after guest at dinner parties to balance the number of the male and female invitees. Sometimes he would have a fling with an attractive blonde in the party, other times he would return home on his own.

On one of these occasions, when his eyes landed on a brunette sitting at the far side of the long table, something ticked inside him. Pushing the dark locks away from her face, she seemed to be engrossed in a heated conversation with the guy sitting next to her. He tried to read the movements of her cherry lips as her animated hand gestures accentuated the many rings on her fingers. Then, she had turned around and when their eyes met, she had smiled to him. He smiled back.

After dinner, he followed the trail of her spicy perfume into the lounge and at the first opportunity introduced himself . “Hi, I’m Jeff, friend of Allison.”

Dark eyes lined with kohl perused him. She beamed, perfect ivory teeth peeking between full lips.  “Nice to meet you, Jeff. I’m Monsoon.”

“The artist? How delightful. I love your paintings and the exotic name that complements them.”

“I was born in the Far East, hence the name and the subject matter.”

“Do you live here, now?”

“For many years, but I do visit the Orient, occasionally, to find new inspiration.”

“What is the latest theme?”

“Bali, the Hindu paradise.”

“I’ve never been there. Are you with someone? Can I refill your glass?”

“I’m with an old friend, I’d love another drink.”

They talked the entire evening at the end of which she took him to her studio apartment and to her bed, after slipping off the colourful sarong wrapped around her slim figure.

When Jeff woke up, he was in love, with the artist, the mysterious female lying fast asleep next to him and everything that made up her world.

What Jeff didn’t know about Monsoon was that she was a political activist, a human rights defender in countries where such violations peaked. Indonesia being one of them. A few months later, he took a sabbatical and followed her to Bali, where Monsoon had rented a house by the sea.

Life was perfect until she joined demonstrations on behalf of Amnesty International. She was arrested for disturbing the peace on the island and taken into custody.

Jeff was devastated. He hired lawyers to defend her, yet the authorities were strict and ruthless against protesters who were jailed under primitive conditions. Three months later, when he was finally able to obtain a pass to visit her in prison, he could not believe his eyes. She had lost weight and bruises on her bare arms showed the extent of the circumstances she was confined under.

Her lively eyes clouded with dark circles around them, she gazed at him. “Jeff, you must let go. Go back and live your life. I’ll be here for a while. This is not the first offence I’ve committed in this country. They’re digging up all the information back in Jakarta where I organized many demonstrations in the past. They might relocate me there. It will be a long trial if there is ever one.”

“I will not, my love,” Jeff said, adamant. “I’ll be wherever you are, until they set you free. It’s not like they’ll give you life sentence. I’ll wait.”

“What about your job? You can’t ruin your career and stay here indeterminately.”

“I’m a computer programmer. I can find a job anywhere in the world, working freelance. All the global companies are here. Don’t you worry about that. If necessary, I’ll sell my house in England.”

“This makes me sad, Jeff. I’ve been nothing but trouble to you. I’ve run over your life like a hurricane, destroying your peace. Please, forget all this and make a new start.”

“I can’t, Monsoon. You taught me love, filled my life with that warm breeze, and the soothing rain that comes afterwards. The winds can be fierce at times and the torrential rain can cause floods, but I’m strong enough. I’ll endure the pain.”

He held her hand and brought it to his lips. “Marry me, Monsoon, even the wildest storms subside in time.”

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Inner Voice

03 Friday Feb 2017

Posted by SebnemSanders in Flash Fiction, Uncategorized

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

animated, anonymous, artistic, B&W photos, colour photos, grave, hope, image of life, life, multi-coloured, popular, roadmaps, sophisticated, the full spectrum

photo-brunch-grand-azur

photo-brunch-grand-azur-bw

 

Something in April’s head told her she wasn’t good enough. Not talented enough, like the others. That had always been the case. Everyone was better than her. Everything they did, even their lives were better than hers.

She’d failed in marriage, and it ended in divorce. Her career in retail had peaked sharply over a few years, then declined and faded. Lastly, her lifetime passion for photography remained a hobby despite her efforts for getting recognition. She knew she lacked promotional skills as well as networking and building a fan base.

Like roadmaps of her past, her travels and memories of those instances she was unable to share with the world, black and white photographs hung on her walls.  Rejected portfolios gathered dust inside the cupboards. Why hadn’t she come up with a meaningful idea, something that grabbed people’s attention and sparked their imagination?

A confetti of snowflakes illuminated the night sky, muffling the sounds from the traffic on the street. One landed on the window, hung on briefly, then trickled down to the sill and mixed with the others. Anonymous. Like fading hopes for acknowledgement.

April pondered on taking up another hobby, one that doesn’t require recognition. Exotic cuisine, trekking, or gardening. She moved to the settee, picked up a cushion and hugged it, contemplating. Her gaze following the pictures on the wall, she scrutinized her work. Dull, tedious, and conventional. Ballerinas, glum portraits, dark streets, old building. No colour, no life. Unimaginative, ordinary. Those subjects had been done over and over again. She dumped the cushion on the sofa and poured a drink.

Sipping the wine, she looked for answers. Her eyes drifted to the patterns on the cushion. Hand-woven fabric with bold ethnic colours and figures she had sourced and photographed many years ago. She had not dared to submit these prints as black and white was the in thing. Artistic and sophisticated. Cool versus animated.

April retrieved her portfolio and reviewed the photos. Could she – face another rejection, a further stab at her ego?

She spent the night uploading the pictures on her website and writing tags. Falling asleep in the early hours of the morning, she lay still. After breakfast, she opened her computer to see if anyone had commented on her posts. The number of “likes” and comments made her heart beat faster and flushed her cheeks. They liked it. People liked colour. None of her black and white photos had provoked so much feedback over the years.

Grabbing her camera bag, April rushed to the photo shop and bought colour film. She strolled through the streets taking shots of red buses, winter blooms, florist windows, carpets and festive decorations.

She returned home and developed the films. Pleased with her work, she uploaded her favourite shots on the website, and collapsed on the bed with her clothes on.

 

In her dream, two critics stood before her photos, examining her work. A sophisticated man in a dark suit said, “Too colourful, almost blissful.” A young guy in a red jumper over ripped jeans replied, “What’s wrong with that? Life is dreary. Looking at vibrant pictures gives hope that it continues in its mysterious ways.”

April awoke with the words of the two men arguing in her head. Life is not black and white. It’s multi-coloured. An image of life should represent the entire spectrum, despite the odds.

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  • A Gift to Remember, a Christmas Story
  • My Flash Fiction Story, Elsewhere, is at the Ekphrastic Review
  • My Flash Fiction Story, Désirée, is at the Subject and Verb Agreement Press Blog Spot
  • My flash fiction story, Interstellar, is at the Ekphrastic Review
  • My Story, The Stranger, is published in Pure Slush’s Appointment at 10.30 Anthology

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SebnemSanders on A Gift to Remember, a Christma…
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