Petra Hermans's Blog: The Religion of The Blue Circle

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Photograph I : Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

The last wish

It was an old book, he had in his hands.

You could hear the leaves of autumn,

in the woods, hidden far away.

There was an old man in the woods,

somewhere far away,

whenever I look in his eyes,

blue silver light, a memory in my heart.

No one told me about the book,

until someone holds it All together,

one day.

They say, you can’t write

unless you might feel another day,

a week, one month and a year.

He said it by his eye.

In the last wish, one deep love

has rhymed my oldest poem,

if you would like, to hear the sound

in a book, he holds it All in his hands.

Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

Europe, the Netherlands, Tilburg,

January 17, 2020

© 2020 Petra Hermans

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/10122498-in-light-of-night-silver-diamonds-on-my-coat-shine

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/10120310-the-blue-silver-light-woke-up-the-day-starts-in

Photograph II : Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

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Photograph I : Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

The Tree in Life

In my youth, my younger years,

I always had the same shelter

behind a window.

As a child, I never knew, anything better.

When I learned, that happiness

is a symbol of silence, the music

started to dance, all day & night, 

long … longer than I could hang on,

back in my Wind!

Under the highest roof,

I woke up that day, and I realized,

the window had one dimension,

I could not see, at all.

I looked, I look over to see him,

under my Tree, but All I listen, to

is the sound of leaves, leaves of autumn.

Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

Europe, the Netherlands, Tilburg,

January 12, 2020

© 2020 Petra Hermans

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/10119193-in-the-glance-of-the-past-a-remembrance-of-memory

Photograph II : Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

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Photograph I : Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

One past in memory

In small letters, I touch pages of the Past.

In little numbers, I hear a walk in my Path.

The time passed by, I pronounced

the first letter until the last one,

to make sure the story has been known.

All in the eye, of a small body,

an open mind and deep spiritual soul,

I heard a new song in the silent dark woods,

without life, without light and a soft whisper

would sing, endlessly.

I touch a butterfly, I love the tiny specific

sensitivity in the light.

In the strict same book of memory,

one is a number after two numbers.

I cannot remember, who has given me

the spirit to rhyme.

I can be given, a soft spark behind the eyes,

and in my ears I always look for the special,

strong music, in my Night.

Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

Europe, the Netherlands, Tilburg,

January 11, 2020

© 2020 Petra Hermans

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/10118236-the-whitest-pavilion-ticks-the-oldest-clock-by-time-itself

Photograph II : Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

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Photograph I : Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

The fairytale castle

In a far away Castle, upon a Roof,

you had a story, it would not end or start.

Let me tell you, a story.

Dr. Frankenstein never had clouds in his mind,

or worms, food stamps and meatballs, over there.

He was acting, strange, stranger than strange can be.

Mr. Einstein, almost the same name,

walks different, right and left, and back.

He was too late for the Barber; that’s obvious.

The fairytale Lady, has endless curls in hair,

so beautiful, you almost love to touch.

And then, we have, next to all pavements,

a kind of Tackle, continually between my legs,

I can’t help.

And after that, in the fishes of all Ocean,

I hear a sound over and over again,

in a book on the Table.

There is a mirror in it, you see, easily.

Behind a dimension of the mirror in the book,

a depth was seen, in the Desk.

I see, the dot-dot-dot of her Ink, 

it is dry by now and all that is left, is a pencil.

Very, very simple.

But, can you imagine, from 14:00 till 2:00 AM,

what does it matter, if the Clock strikes 3, 

after 15:00 PM, the birds returned, … ,

the last day in December, until January 2020!

Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

Europe, the Netherlands, Tilburg,

January 11, 2020

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/10094261-braindead-is-a-term-to-say-you-are-lucky-not

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/10094255-when-you-start-all-over-the-next-year-the-past

© 2020 Petra Hermans

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/9098979-there-was-one-thing-i-never-understood

Photograph II : Rooi Pannen, Tilburg, the Netherlands, January 2014

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Photograph I : Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

Across all silver Air

In that days, those days to be remembered,

longer than always, someone took one decision

to make it All, last.

I was looking at a Bridge, no one could cross,

not I, not me, though I was.

The oldest English is not correct,

that ways of all bridge in One.

I saw it all reflected in two eyes

without a guidance, simple, and honest.

They say, the Russians knew how to protect

the wind, nor the old memories in a book.

You see, I am, what you ought to saw,

whenever the country fell in pieces in one mind.

Those memories will not last, sure longer

but one still looks, in a sky …

Across all silver Air!

Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

Europe, the Netherlands, Tilburg,

Fryslân Bobbe!

De Kast – Eltse Grins Foarby

January 11, 2020

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/10093990-the-ordinary-portuguese-folks-know-how-to-crack-an-oyster

© 2020 Petra Hermans

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/10091451-ebenezer-scrooge-was-written-by-charles-dickens-and-not-because

Photograph II : Rooi Pannen, Tilburg, the Netherlands, January 2014

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Photograph I : Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

In a small Vestibule

In a distance, a far distance,

I watch the Clock change, 11 to twelve.

In my hands, a feelings rests, through

a simple daylight.

Younger, as I was, in those days,

I have seen, clothes and coats,

falling down in all skies!

I played, no cards of chest,

I laid no laughter of a Game,

the 17th and 18th Century

gave you the fool in all Times.

In twelve cards, you see,

the Joker, the 10 commanders of rabbits

with long white teeth, and mushrooms

in the woods haven’t grown, green or grey.

If you can’t write, or read, 

you have not understood,

the level of my houses,

the hearts in the winds of Air.

Do not mind, I ask you a question,

to be in Time; it asks, nothing more,

than being charmed by silence in a dining room.

Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

Europe, the Netherlands, Tilburg,

January 10, 2020

© 2020 Petra Hermans

Photograph II : Rooi Pannen, Tilburg, the Netherlands, January 2014

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Photograph I : Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

The whitest Pavilion

High in the sky, emotional intelligence

has not been acknowledged.

I saw it All, coming down, in those days.

I write, I can write without a teacher,

numbers of letters, in and out my lines.

I will not mention, your style.

In my hands, the left of all rights,

lives the eye of a child.

She does not write, she does not think,

it is a child without a mind.

The white Pavilion has a guidance,

I cannot listen, to, in a way.

It is a temperature, across all 5 winds,

left, right and behind.

In all small worlds, the alphabet

is not mine, exactly, by an optical sphere.

The glasses have a special dimension,

I do not need.

When you look, a little closer,

the smallest child in our world

has a name.

It won’t be shared, that easily.

In all dimensions, in the silence of all skies,

it is good, it’s nice to come Home.

The pair of glasses is next to my bed,

not in the office.

It is, how I look at the end of the white waters,

I see them all, coming in, and coming out.

While, in the meanwhile, the optical sphere

has been silenced in complete harmony.

Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

Europe, the Netherlands, Tilburg,

January 9, 2020

© 2020 Petra Hermans

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/10112934-in-the-hands-of-a-child-a-small-eye-is

Photograph II : Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

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Photograph I : Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

The oldest clock

I entered his Home,

before the doorbell,

after one time of two times.

He looked at me, twice and then

we embraced and kissed, as always.

He looked at me, more than twice

and the whitest coat of all times

was respected, in his hands.

Then again, he said I changed,

twice again.

I heard it, immediately, I did not see,

the clock watched a new wind.

It was a sound, you cannot feel,

where it takes me, all along a year, twice.

It was a Manic Monday, that day.

I got my ice cream, Dame Blanche

with whole nuts.

I learned how to count my coins,

by small fingers.

The joke is not mine.

The theatre of the world has been

learned in all a Roman library.

For those, who do not listen.

I remember, how he walked me Home,

over again.

We did not talk, he watched me

by the suit that bought me.

Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

Europe, the Netherlands, Tilburg,

January 9, 2020

© 2020 Petra Hermans

Photograph II : The Crystal Ball in the middle of my window

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Photograph I : Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

An optical sphere

The whitest path is guided

in a white Pavilion.

I would like to say, a small sound

is heard.

In large wide areas, across all fields,

you see a tiny bell above the small sound

of a lot of bells, in the wind of free lines.

All along, the page of my writer,

inside the optical sphere,

peace breathes through the air

above a tiny little area.

I must be mistaken,

who ever wrote her poetry,

was it a child, was it a poem,

a memory in the sky tells me

a colour lives behind the sphere.

In all minutes of one watch,

I can feel that in the eye

of one point of view, one silent bell

sounds in the love of my nights.

Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

Europe, the Netherlands, Tilburg,

January 6, 2020

© 2020 Petra Hermans

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/10111329-the-small-bells-shine-in-the-sky-like-diamonds-in

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/10111072-a-timeless-lecture-changes-one-thought-into-another-letter

Photograph II : Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

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Photograph I : Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

A timeless lecture

It started with a sigh.

As always, my hands change

the pages of the past.

On Sunday, I look back 

at Saturday, when the farmer

takes care of the light in autumn.

A farmer has a title beyond our human race.

Soft, and slowly, I hesitated,

what I should say, then,

whenever you would listen,

more than ever.

I, who do not touch letters …

it is just an imaginary softened light,

in shades of shadows.

What should I move, in my whitest coat,

in a moment in which all colours are the same

around a face, it is a simple answer.

I cannot listen, I cannot hear, I cannot dream

while I come Home, looking in a sky 

with yellow, silver stars upon a moon.

Across the blue dark sky, I hear something,

I hear anything elsewhere … it is the sound

of a sort, a kind of bird, we used to call her a white owl.

The owl has eyes, a watch ticks a new song

in an easy book, where inside the letters 

change faces in a far, far removal of all loves.

Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

Europe, the Netherlands, Tilburg,

January 5, 2019

© 2019 Petra Hermans

https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/10106886-i-do-not-take-the-whitest-stairs-but-i-walk

Photograph II : Petra Cecilia Maria Hermans

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