Thursday, August 28, 2014

Carnival of war



Foggy memories emerging
 After so long
Of the full-fledged
Carnival of war
In the ill fated country
That ceased to exist
Soaked up in flaming blood
Of unfortunate innocent souls

It happened
Just after we took our wedding vows
We were spinning around in the chained seats
On the carousel of blazing madness
Trying desperately to wake up
And shake off the nightmare
While every new morning
Brought only one after another
Rude awakenings

World said:
Never again
We can’t let it happen ever again

Two decades passed since
And it happened
Again and again
At many
 Too many tormented places


The Carnival of war
Tours this sad globe
In a perpetual heinous cycle

With no end in sight

8/2014
© Mirjana Cesar

Monday, August 18, 2014

Coal miner



I wrote this poem when I was in 12th grade.
It was written in Croatian originally. I found it recently and translated it to English: 


Coal miner

Thunder at the end of the night
Storm with iron-gray towering clouds
Wind howling somberly fiercely
Around the battered old trees
Raindrops frantically
Endlessly
Falling down on mushy earth

Finally

The first hesitant ray of sunshine emerges
Behind the hill
Man comes out of the valley
Trail leads him through the woods
Each step more difficult
Heavy mud clinging to his heavy shoes
Few more drops fall from the sky
On his numb rough face
His dull shining eyes
Tormented
By the misery of a trivial hard life
His heavy dark garb
Impregnated with fine black dust

Coal miner

Hurrying to the mine shaft
He becomes a mole
In a minute

His eyes have blurred vision
Since they’re not accustomed to daylight
His hands have a rough firm grip
Since they’re not accustomed to tenderness
Yet in his character
There is something that draws attention
Because he doesn’t ask for anything
Earning bread with his hands
He sleeps heavy
Because he’s too tired to dream

He goes to spend a day in the dark
By the twinkling light of a miner’s lamp
At dusk he shall return
The same way
With laborious steps
Unknown heavy thoughts
Not ever noticing
A thousand stars in the sky
His tired eyes fixed on the narrow trail
Which never ends



In memory of my grandfather
Stanko Novak
A coal miner


© Mirjana Cesar
1982

Friday, July 11, 2014

Violette, fiber art bird

 


Violette is the french version of the latin name Violet, meaning the flower and color. Violet is the color of amethystlavender and beauty-berriesIt is one of the oldest colors used by man, dating back thousands of years. It has been found in prehistoric cave art in France.
It has been used through the centuries and had many special meanings and symbolisms attached to its use.

Personally, I love all the shades of violet and purple, so naturally I had to make a bird in these shades:

Monday, July 7, 2014

Marinel, fiber art bird


The origin of the name Marinel is latin, and the meaning is "Of the sea".
Every time I finish a new soft sculpture bird there is the final task of naming it.
Usually I look for a name associated with the colors of the bird.




In this case, it reminded me of the colors of a deep sea.






Thursday, July 3, 2014

Morning light in the Appalachian Mountains


Two weeks ago we traveled to North Georgia to spend a week at our friend's estate, Bear Paw.
From the moment we drove through the entry of the property we fell in love with it.
The views from their storybook lodge were just magnificent.











We would wake up early in the morning while it was still dark and ventured outdoors. Waiting for the daylight to emerge through the valley mist was the most beautiful part of the day. Our souls felt an absolute peacefulness in the stillness of the eternal moment. The only sound surrounding us was of birds singing in harmony and pure happiness. 














We took long morning walks when sunbeams started dancing gracefully with tall elegant trees. Nature awakened by their gentle touch. Mystical forest life unfolding. 






We ventured to the beginning of the Appalachian trail, wondering how many feet walked the same trail before us. Feeling the same delight, the same infatuation with nature in all its wonder.




Streams performing their perfectly conducted symphonies. Moss covering softly rounded rocks emerging from the water.










Returning from the trail we found ourselves in a meadow greeted by Queen Ann's Lace's blooming flowers. The meadow looked like it was sprinkled with hundreds of lacy doilies waiting for butterflies and Ladybugs to visit.