Cynthia Lewis-Jones
  • Female
  • Dublin
  • Ireland
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Cynthia Lewis-Jones's Discussions

The Soul Doctor

Started Aug 24, 2014 0 Replies

I crawled up to him on my kneesFrom outsdie any loopMy life a map of broken boulevardsThat didn't connectMe a map of different peopleThat didn't connectI didn't know who I wasOr where I came fromIt…Continue

A Letter to Paul

Started this discussion. Last reply by William Zappa Sep 13, 2011. 2 Replies

 I miss you, gentle man of WalesI miss you, and the language we spoke together, the language of usOur languageI miss: US  I know that I write about everything, and everyone other than you. But that…Continue

The Male of the Species

Started Aug 29, 2011 0 Replies

  When I visit Florence I always start my walk at the Piazza della Santissima, I visit the Ospedale degli Innocenti, with it's sweet della Robbia medalions, I'd stop to adore Gherlandaio, the Church…Continue

Sardinian Blues

Started Aug 11, 2011 0 Replies

"The sea water is so blue, and soooo clear here" she  said"that you can see right through it!." "Like a pool of crystallinewaters".  "We  ate pureed Aubergene with Sweet Rosemary Bread for…Continue

 

Cynthia Lewis-Jones's Page

Cynthia Lewis-Jones's Blog

Archived

Posted on December 4, 2014 at 3:10 0 Comments

I lived in the archive of

His  colourful, chaotic past

For two months

Sleeping with the Dust and Boxed Relics

Of his old life

The life he said he’d out grown

The Skin he said he’d Shed

His fashionable fox fur coat

And Hall of Packed Paintings

His One Hundred and One Shirts…

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Inspirations.

Posted on June 19, 2011 at 23:30 0 Comments

 

 

Up in the warm womb of Heidelberg

surrounded by lush sub tropical plants

palms, and the song of the Thrush

embraced by the ever changing skyline

wave riders, and Atlantic winds:

the  stream of consciousness flows...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Where the Atlantic becomes the Caribbean (through a childs eyes)

Posted on June 11, 2011 at 10:30 0 Comments

......it was a few days  out past the island of Haiti, and stories of the White Witch of Rose Hall, where the rough indigo blue of the Atlantic became the far gentler turquoise waters of the Caribbean. (I was only eleven years old) . The Atlantic ocean seemed like a  lonley and desolate expanse to me: the murky blue waters,extending all the way out to the horizon, on all sides, the ocassional passing of ships, the constant churning of the waves, the eternal rocking motion of the…

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