“Strolling on the Beach with Donna” by Unknown. From Donna's kitchen-dinner-dance-arrangements
Breakfast with Donna Darkwolf, at a guest house by a river.
This is Dessert. Actually. Donna WAS Breakfast . . .
“Strolling on the Beach with Donna” by Unknown. From Donna's kitchen-dinner-dance-arrangements
Breakfast with Donna Darkwolf, at a guest house by a river.
This is Dessert. Actually. Donna WAS Breakfast . . .
This is from a collection of writings that I wrote to Donna Darkwolf over
the years.
I thought it necessary to include them to satisfy my own selfishness.
And to provide my own insights of this most remarkable Spirit.
You have been my Companheiro longo da Vida, all my life-long. My Magic
is not just you.
Magic is finding someone other than ones-self who believes what you believe…
I can claim that I know magick. Now.
After all, I found you…
The enhancement or intensification of ordinary events or common objects,
illuminates them making them shine in their singularity and compelling
us to view their power with new experience.
That is Poetry. What poetry does is show us what parts these singularities
play in our perceptions of love and life.
Poetry does this by “fucking around with syntax”. Re-defining meaning
and overcoming the limitations of language.
“If we spoke a different language, we would perceive a somewhat different
world”.
If you do not understand this, I will explain: This Story is about the
highlights – not the mundane. So pay attention… A story about washing elephants
in the river, gun-ships, love & lost opportunity… per tunia me, e seugar
mar…
It’s poetry.
A poem consists of verses – each of you a magical verse in the poem of
my life. I had to try many verses between you. Wrote so on many hearts,
magicked my way across many salty oceans, to beach myself on so many stomachs.
Just to find the right magic verse for the poem of my Life.
Through her finest robes
her beauty shines as clear
As she sporting naked in
The oceans waves appear
And though her eyes may
promise nights desires to
follow in her steps all day
And her mouth ne’er for a kiss will lack
There can no greater paradise
in all the worlds be found
Nor greater beauty …
Than when she is laid gentle, upon her back.
Moreno Franco Jan 2004
After all, poetry is what civilization ought to be about.
And Magick? Well. I will come to that.
Right: A painting I did in 1982. Donna Darkwolf was twenty then.
And I was dreaming her.
NEXT > Story of Paradox Our Journey
Painted in 1983 - twenty four years before I met Donna.
