Warsaw’s Ash

Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned; The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.

W.B Yeats
Self edited, and taken by My Life As A Photographer

White and storm cloud ash, mingle with the forbidding thunderheads, above.
A remnant of the dead, calling out to the living to be revenged.
Running, we ran from the haughty laughs, of the Dictators ragging fires.
Fleeing, we ran from the cold clicks of their barrels, on our sweaty brows.
Escaping, we ran from from this hellish earth, with one pull of the hangman’s noose.
We didn’t stay, when our comrades body’s cried out from the swirling, pools of blood; for vengeance.
We, all where the Dictators pawns; for him to move as he pleased.
We, all where the scum under his boot, to be thrown to the fire, like a heap of dirty rags.
We, all where the victims of his hate and unjustness.
And in the end, we all would be squash in the Dictators fist.
With the mighty, rush of the Dictators propaganda, are fate’s where intertwined.
Yet, while the dead get their flowers, us—the living must continue to walk through hells flames; with our rewards at bay.
Our destiny is death, and another enemy’s head our compensate.
When we kill, we do not for blood, but to take our country out of the dictators palm.
And to show the world our human hearts, beating, under our gnarled flesh.
Yet, as I lift my face to the falling ash, gliding down, like millions of tiny, shot-down ace’s, falling, from fleet of pipers.
And see the open mouths of the ravished flames, eating at my home, till Warsaw is all but, charcoaled corps and skeleton ruins.
I wonder when God will seem fit to end, this ragging, tide of blood-shead and anarchy.


Joy Tiberend

My inspiration for this poem came relatively, to a tragic date in history: known as the Warsaw up-rising and the burning of Warsaw, during the holocaust, in Poland, 1943. The up-rising begin in a Polish ghetto, where, when the Jewish people inside where being “evacuated” they refused to be hulled off, ‘like sheep to the slater’ and rallied together to fight back.

The ghetto residence, surprisingly manage to hold of the Nazis’ for about a month, from April 19 – May 16. Which was far unanticipated, saying how the Nazi’s far outnumbered them in terms of manpower and weaponry.

Thought, sadly May 16 was their down-fall. The Nazi’s ended up firmly taking hold of the Ghetto and dragging off an estimated 50,000 fighters to extermination or labor camps. Though, some of the fighters managed to escape through the sewer, where they joined Partisans…others committed suicide, instead of being hulled off to death camps.
Proximately 7,000 Jewish lives where taken that day, thought the Nazi’s didn’t get away clean, it is said, that they too lost several hundred men in the uprising.

After the up-rising, Hitler and his SS, decided to make an example of the city, which they had long since selected for major reconstruction as part of their planned ‘Germanization’ of Central Europe. (Ironically, the destruction Warsaw, had been planned even before the start of WWII. The uprisings was really, just a convenient excuse to burn it; like Helen of Troy.) Their big plan was to simply to, whip Warsaw of the face of the earth, and sadly….in the end they exceeded in wiping out a major majority of Poland’s capital. 80–90% of Warsaw’s buildings where deliberately demolished, burned, or stolen of an immense part of its cultural heritage.

Ann Frank, wrote her thoughts in her diary, on the eve of Warsaw’s destruction: “Almost all Warsaw is a sea of flames. To set houses afire is the surest way to deprive the insurgents of their hiding places. When we crush the uprising, Warsaw will get what it deserves – complete annihilation.”

Through, my poem I tried to being out the heart-wrenching and melancholic emotions, that would of been felt, by looking into the soul of an Anonymous, survivor, who fought with their life for freedom, against one man I called the ‘Dictator’.

It was a poem of guilt—a guilt that ate away at the soul with every heart beat of my survivor. A guilt so strong, it wooed this Anonymous character, to write a poem; so the world might look through Warsaw’s ash, and see streakers of the brave-hearted Warriors, living and dead; who fought for the purposes of freedom and unity.

For further information on Warsaw:

https://www.history.com/topics/world-war-ii/warsaw-ghetto-uprising

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Warsaw_Ghetto_Uprising

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Destruction_of_Warsaw

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Warsaw_Ghetto

—Joy Tiberend

Advertisements

Ina son ku: I love you

Images: Pins andhttps://www.pexels.com/

Tiny, bony hands, groping for my golden hair.

A mother, in flowers from head to toe, swaddling a toddler in a sling; with the likeness of a sickly mare.

Wiggling free the heap of bones comes to me, on wobbly feet and a rounded, bloated, stomach.

I scoop her up in my foreign arms, and kiss her till l’m sure my heart will not obliterate this epoch.

Mud, smeared faces and bodie’s resembling a pack of battered skeletons; Climbed over me, like a pack of wild monkeys, squealing with anticipation and glee.

I picked the babie’s up; one by one. With stricken eyes and tender hands, I healed their wonds, smoothed the evident bruises, and kissed their tears to jubilee.

I heaved big, wet sobs that slid down my face and ran through their dry, cracked features. Pain and death may rain here, but their safe, for awhile, in our loving care.

“Ina son ku,” I whisper in the attentive ears. Bobbing their coco heads, they take their grimy palms and wipe away my tears.

Thought their hunger rages like a fire and pain and death creep closer. They can look into my bright, blue eyes and see a violent storm. And with the dirty hands and quivering lips; they attempt to calm the stormy waves.

Kissing the coffee, heads, on last time. And look into the hazel eye’s, I notice a distant ralm, barring the knowledge of sorrow and wisps of great deaths; harshly engraved.

The walking dead, only thirst for human love to heal the scares of their pain. Their pulsing hearts mimic ours, same needs and together we can give them that one drop of desire.

Like meany, little thumping drums, they call to me, ”Uwar!” “Uwar!” “Uwar!” Forming a choir.

With a single hug and a million little kisses, I have become their, ‘Uwar’—Mother and they my children.

“Ina son ku,” I call through unshed tears.

“Ina son ku,” they reply, their little voices echo through waves of anarchy.

I shall not forget the love that was spread, that day, even if I where to reach million.

Joy Tiberend

‘Ina son ku,’ is the Nigerian word for: I love you, in the Hausa language. Love is a very powerful thing, it can bind people together and express deep feelings, the way no other word can accomplish. Though, a lot of poeple have a mixed idea of what love really is. Most of Hollywood’s romantic, starry eyed books and films seem to paint a picture of two people falling in love and their lives being filled with roses, and happily-ever afters.

Love is so more then just attraction and bliss. It’s a deep commitment that bindes one, to another. Love is forgiveness, when anonther has wronged you, and mercy to the broken-hearted and destitute. Love is conditional.

My inspiration came, one day, when I was scrolling on the web and I came across a few of the pictures (view at the top) portraying theses girls loving on a knot of happy foreign children. Their faces so jovial and oddly peaceful wooed my heart to know what kind of love made people, fly half way around the world, just to ministers to some ragged and homeless kids. I wanted to know what those kids felt when a girl with bright, blond hair hugged and kissed them.

I had arduous time at trying to write this post and it wasn’t just writers blog! I wanted to portray those feelings I saw, through my writing, but at the same time couldn’t understand a love that would undertake such devotion and take away all analytically. Or maybe, it was logical and I just couldn’t see the logic…?

My mind was pop’in questions faster then I could answer them. I almost gave up working on this paper, but then I remembered a popular scripture in the Bible that states a deep reality of what love really is. It said: “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13)

Well, now I know that they where doing a great love by, giving their lives and professions for those children, but one question remained unanswered: why?

As I digged deeper, all throughout the Bible their where continual verses that state that if we don’t love others, then we aren’t loving God, (John 13:34) and to love, above all, because love covers over a multitude of sins. (1 Peter 54:)

This eye-opening truth, was telling us to love others because he first loved us. To love others with a burning love, so strong that it would conquer every obstacle and selfish desire. When God called them to go, they went, because they longed to covey the same love He showed them, to the lost and dying world.

This is Love. To sacrifice your wants, desires, needs, and life for others. To love conditionally and willingly. There is no greater or truer love then this.

I was so touched by these images; theses girls just simply loving on the children, with happy and willing hearts. And to imagine the children feeling that expression of love. To them, it was most likely greater than a drop of clean water or a morsel of food. For one, compassionate moment of love, could have fill their hearts for a a life time, than a crumb of food that would of filled their stomachs for only a moment.

I tried to explain this beautiful truth and feeling through my poem, wheather I acomplished it or not; is a short goal compared to loving others verbreuntly every day, as I tried to communicate with all this rambling. 🙂 So, please understand, that there is so very much more to love then being attractive to someone or loving a piece of Chocolate cake.

I would also like to past a few verses of what the Bible teaches as about love, so next time when you’re tempted to think This is true love then stop, and read this woundedful truth:

—Love—

  • Love is patient
  • love is kind.
  • It does not envy,
  • it does not boast,
  • it is not proud .
  • It does not dishonor others,
  • it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered
  • it keeps no record of wrongs.
  • Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
  • It always protects,
  • always trusts,
  • always hopes,
  • always perseveres.
  • Love never fails.

1 Corinthians 13: 4-8 https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1+Corinthians+13%3A4-8&version=NIV


Seeing the World Through the Eyes of an Artist

“A painter should begin every canvas with a wash of black, because all things in nature are dark except where exposed by the light.” 
― Leonardo da Vinci

Photo from https://www.pexels.com/

Nature with its majestic domes, flying vapors, enchanting greenery, dashing white caps, and its waters turquoise hue can be alluring to any eye – whether artist or not. Though, through the eyes of one that has come to see art in any surrounding; nature and it’s exuberant colors can be transformed onto paper or camra through the eyes of one that sees every light brush of snow, every wedge of rock, dusting of seeding or shrub.

Nothing escapes the eye of an artists. Every perfect and unique detail gets captured with one snap of the leans; one stroke of the brush; and a few patient dustings of lead from a pencils tip. Though their eyes and the art that an artist creates, the world is enabled to partake in nature’s beauty; just because the artists took the time to snap the lends or move the paint brush at the right moment.

“Where the spirit does not work with the hand, there is no art.” Leonardo da Vinc

You see through anyone that has the ability to see and mimic creation into sculptures or sketches. Humanity will be seeing through your eyes, the eyes that saw its beauty in every beautiful or imaginable way. We all don’t see beauty or draw it the same, but what we all see is art and what comes out of us is so unique that no other being can try to master are very own ways of ‘drawing’ art.

The world is so beautiful that is has caused me many times to stop and make somthing out of it, so that meany more people can enjoy. I have found that art is really a way to express the emotions and images of what we see and feel – inside and around us. If we aren’t motivated, or are depressed and forget to look around us, we can miss a lot.

So, keep your head up, get along for awhile, breath in the scents, vapors, sights, and sounds of nature; and learn to cherish and grasp it so others also can enjoy its magnificent beauty.

“Eleanor was right. She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.” 
― Rainbow Rowell, Eleanor & Park

Another breath-taking thing to realize is that you, yourself are art. You ask, “How could I be art?” Or more precise, “How could one so flawed be art?” No one’s perfect, we all have are misgivings and flaws; but the glorious thing to realize that art isn’t perfect either! Art was never meant to be perfect. There will always going to be some kind of flaw or thing we don’t see right about it, but art was never meant to be perfect. Art was meant to make you feel somthing or see somthing a different way. Just remember, art is you, and what you create, no matter how flawed or unworthy of expectation. Always remember that others can see threw your eyes and what you see must not be perfect, but mystifying, breathtaking and will make another shout,“supercalifragilisticexpialidocious!“

Whether you are good at art or not; it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you are able to express yourself and find beauty in the small things.

Plus art isn’t just charcoal and paints: it’s elaborate sculptures, well-structured businesses, industrial wonders, beautifully, crafted pastries, exquisite flowers, elegant outfits, awing sketches. Theses all are true works of art, and threw them we can see nature and beauty.

Always remember that at the hand of an artist extraordinary things can arise, and that your not perfect, but through you the world can see the art of nature. So, in the words of E.A. Bucchianeri, from Brushstrokes of a Gadfly, “Make your lives a masterpiece, you only get one canvas.” 

Here’s a few images of my kind of art, thought definitely not without a-few imperfections. Even though, I tried to show nature, humanity, and feeling threw theses few imperfect sketches and photos:

My art:


“Art is not what you see, but what you make others see.” 
― Edgar Degas

Me, practicing the scorpion (and failing miserably) in this stunning AK winter-wounderland.
—Ancient Rome. “Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” Confucius
“Oh, winters golden drops and summers honey dew—how could I ever choose?”
“Black and white creates a strange dreamscape that color never can.”
Jack Antonoff

I have shown you my art, what’s yours? Comment below if you’d like to convey you art. And thanks a million for checking my post out.

Keep shining and enjoy the wounders of nature!