top of page

ART OF COMPASS ROSE

Connecting to artists

pursuing

eco-centered

vanity-free 

healthy arts

Fall In Love with World of Rose,

Speak in lyrics, not in prose...

Rosalia with Compass.jpg

In my environmental video to my own music I use elements of my dance to enhance my connection with the natural environment that we take for granted and rarely nurture.

 

Nature is being conquered by humans who gradually destroy whatever they may use for profit, entertainment and warfare.

 

We need to evolve to become responsible for changing this around, enrich, cherish and replenish our natural environments!

This video has been deleted.
I%20am%20a%20singing%20tree%20sm_edited.

A SINGING TREE 

that dances in the dark,

A poet’s dream 

that coos like a lark,

A summer’s oar

that rows off the mark,

A kitty’s paw 

that miaows at the bark

Of mighty oak steeped in iron ark,

Kissed by the dogs 

that always duly bark,

Named after car 

that’s never fully parked

In flame of sword 

of blessed Joan D’Arc.

© Anna Lieta Keen

John Donne sm.jpg

THE TRIPPLE FOOL BY JOHN DONNE
circa 1624


I am two fools, I know, 
For loving, and for saying so 
In whining poetry; 
But where's that wiseman, that would not be I, 
If she would not deny? 
Then as th' earth's inward narrow crooked lanes 
Do purge sea water's fretful salt away, 

I thought, if I could draw my pains 
Through rhyme's vexation, I should them allay. 
Grief brought to numbers cannot be so fierce, 
For he tames it, that fetters it in verse.


But when I have done so, 
Some man, his art and voice to show, 

Doth set and sing my pain; 
And, by delighting many, frees again 
Grief, which verse did restrain. 
To love and grief tribute of verse belongs, 

But not of such as pleases when 'tis read. 

Both are increased by such songs, 
For both their triumphs so are published, 
And I, which was two fools, do so grow three; 
Who are a little wise, the best fools be.

 

REFLECTIONS ON JOHN DONNE 

The Word Crystallized In A Rhyme Is Indeed
A type of a concord between different deeds,
The rhythm renders music which will be intact
Divided by even numbers of tacts.
The role of the key is harder to grasp -
For that you would need to look in the glass
Of your inspirations, or who is above,
Or maybe below, your secret enclave.
Combined with your Muse,

your heart and your beat,
The verse does amuse, recharges and treats
Your word like a song, forever alive,
In which to believe you don’t need to lie
From top of your feelings – you wouldn’t deny
The measure of wheeling that renders the rhyme
New ease in the dealing with word so dry
And tattered that peeling it wouldn’t survive,
But а touch of new coat of polish revives
And doesn’t agree that he loses who tries
To look for new order in tuning the keys 
To steаl it from neighbor, or be its jockey*
To stretch and to sing another’s heartbeat
May be inspiration to measure the feat
Of visible maker to match with his Muse
And so to take its daily obtuse
And overstretched bucket to fill it with ore
Derived from the farthest visible shore
To find new agenda and meaning of word
To use it again like a fearful sword
To cut and unpeel,
To dare and feel… 

                                                                   
*DJ disc-jockey

 
 
© Anna Lieta Keen

 

    See My Bio In Poetry...

bottom of page