ARTIST - Eva Lewarne
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Picture
You can order my poetry book now....if you like....from AMAZON 

Stumbling-Towards-Mysterium
Journey into the unknown
...


OR Barnes & Noble
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/eva-lewarne - poetry

REVIEW
It may seem that to find truth is a lost cause. And ditto for happiness. Yet to find both may be possible only when you stare into the oblivion of the blank canvas, hear the noises of the arriving spring mixed with muddy fresh smells or attune your mind to the raven's sacred song. In that confused nothingness of bountiful languages may very well lie the illumination that our soul is after--that beautiful fruit that fills you up while living you empty, that Magna Carta that holds the secret of pure life, pure thought, pure wisdom. In Stumbling Towards Mysterium, Eva Piotrowska-Lewarne introduces us to all this and much more. To read it is to become more aware.

review by:  Irene Marques, PhD (Comparative Literature)

http://www.ascentaspirations.ca/stumblingtowardmysterium.htm

​a bird got my wings
​

a bird got my wings
I lost them and a few other things
when a gale blew me over,
flat on my face, what a disgrace


the bird preened awhile, 
then donned my wings
and flew away with no regrets


my soul, stranded
roamed the earth flightless 
while ice lay threats
making me lifeless


awaiting spring, for the return 
of a bird with my wings
to soar once more
beyond the rain of sorrow
​

I turn my face to the sun
the soft warm breeze
of tomorrow and tomorrow
Picture
Bird Dance
HERE I AM
Here I am like every noon, my morning 
sitting in my well worn chair in front of my well used screen  
with my turkish coffee mug to the right, a dear friend 
praying it doesn't singe my keyboard again

The screen, my friend that never talks back 
that laughs with me, not at me, trusty when working 
a path to a life I really don't have but hopeful someday I may


Here I am again waiting for the end of rain 
for the skies to open to let me play
in sunshine in happiness in peace, in bliss


Away from the screen that burns my lids with tears telling stories of woes, killings and fears 
death, death, death, death, death and yet 
I turn it on every noon hopeful once again  
that it will deliver me from boredom and pain 
let me know my life as is, the life of a common man
has not been lived totally in vain.

poor but elegant


poor but elegant was her motto
a life well lived though never traveled
farther than the corner store
is that all there is she thought, no more?

poor of material possessions
she sat cross-legged with nothing to lose
ignorant of any recessions
looking inward as her toes hit the roof 
racing up to her brain and then 
back again until she went poof

poor and invisible, to others and herself
the others were afraid to look beyond her poverty
and she, she knew that ultimately she wasn’t really there
what was there to dress and who was there to care?

poor of vitals and glands but elegant
in the placement of her hands
she sat awaiting her destiny to be free
of responsibility, awaiting to become the sea

elegantly she peered into nothingness
discovering beauty in her vivid dreams
and what she created on canvas with paint
challenging herself to see more than the eye can behold
actually blessed to be alive if all is to be told

poor but elegant suited her lifestyle
of stillness and space inside and out
a hollow tube of air, lit and unlit
unimpeded by the outside world



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