Archive for the ‘All Souls Day’ Tag

All Souls Day   2 comments

Procession (1 of 1)-8-Edit-art-2-72All Souls Day (Tucson’s All Souls Procession) — Photo-Artistry by kenne

“Everybody dies instantly. It’s the only way you can die.
You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive, then you’re dead.”

— Steven Wright

Souls Passing Like a Whiff of Air   Leave a comment

All Souls Procession“Souls of the Lost Visit Each Night” — Computer Art by kenne

I sometimes imagine that the souls of the lost

are compelled to walk through its streets perpetually.

One feels them passing like a whiff of air.

— William Butler Yeats

All Souls Day Selfie   Leave a comment

All Souls Procession

All Souls Day Selfie — Grunge Art by kenne

All Souls

THEY are chanting now the service of All the Dead
And the village folk outside in the burying ground
Listen–except those who strive with their dead,
Reaching out in anguish, yet unable quite to touch them:
Those villagers isolated at the grave
Where the candles burn in the daylight, and the painted wreaths
Are propped on end, there, where the mystery starts.

The naked candles burn on every grave.
On your grave, in England, the weeds grow.

But I am your naked candle burning,
And that is not your grave, in England,
The world is your grave.
And my naked body standing on your grave
Upright towards heaven is burning off to you
Its flame of life, now and always, till the end.

It is my offering to you; every day is All Souls’ Day.

I forget you, have forgotten you.
I am busy only at my burning,
I am busy only at my life.
But my feet are on your grave, planted.
And when I lift my face, it is a flame that goes up
To the other world, where you are now.
But I am not concerned with you.
I have forgotten you.

I am a naked candle burning on your grave.

— D. H. Lawrence

ALL SOULS DAY Photographic Composition   Leave a comment

All Souls Day Photographic Composition by kenne

Let’s go our old way
by the stream, and kick the leaves
as we always did, to make
the rhythm of breaking waves.

This day draws no breath –
shows no colour anywhere
except for the leaves – in their death
brilliant as never before.

Yellow of Brimstone Butterfly,
brown of Oak Eggar Moth –
you’d say. And I’d be wondering why
a summer never seems lost

if two have been together
witnessing the variousness of light,
and the same two in lustreless November
enter the year’s night…

— from All Souls Day, by Frances Bellerby

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