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Alexandra* OneLight*® Authors & Creations

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  I remember (the evolving awareness of scarlet)
by Alexandra* OneLight*® Authors & Creations
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
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Recent poems by Alexandra* OneLight*® Authors & Creations
•  Bird and the moment
•  Alexandrism (Beyond the species)
•  Encounter with a wolf (or Looking into the eyes of ONE)
•  One more Alexandrism
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(written on the anniversary of the “carnation revolution” in Portugal
- April 25th 1974)

art by Rafal Olbinski

I remember (the evolving awareness of scarlet)


I remember being unaware.

the day had a scent of carnations
scarlet as so many scarlet things
from blood to summer fruits.

but it was spring and the fruits
were only perceivable in suspended
gestures like so many expectations
caught in snapshots, which I remember
mostly in black and white, in spite
of the scarlet and the scent.

as for the unawareness, I remember
its ambiguous sharpness prodding
at senses which were much too young
and thus much too open, unreservedly open
like a simple eagerness to inhale and exhale.

in the colour as in the scent there were
beginnings and I remember their hums and their
clatters now blending and then clashing
as they made it through that opening
and all breathable air. songs, marches
feet, ears, mission, words, liberty, repression
confidence, fear, war, no more, union
and severance. promises – again the scarlet
of fruits – and premises – the scent of scarlet
which can be carnation but can be blood
blossoming from the end at the beginning
of each gun. I remember inhaling it all
and exhaling bewilderment, most of all.


then I remember the back of a car
and being numb. don’t breathe in
the flashlights, don’t breathe out
the night or the scarlet dash upon
that voice which you are not to hear
least of all bleed. don’t exist so that
you may exist. I remember fighting
the absurdity of an urge to laugh away
the blanket covering my numbness.

and I remember the pain in those feet
desperately trampling the absurdity of
my sensed urge and making my own
subliminal pain absurd. I remember
the urge, in the despair of those feet
to convey a suppressed urge to weep
and an awareness. the awareness of
a green light of hope beyond the scarlet
hopelessness in the night.

I remember being no one as I made myself one
with the floor under those feet and that blanket
in the back of that car, so that I could be.

then I remember becoming aware
and not quite knowing what to make
of the blood or the fruits. I remember
deliberately obliterating carnations from
scents inhaled and I remember pondering
on how much I still liked scarlet as a colour
even as I disrobed it from more than the skin
and ripening passions, to capture and yet
exhale all my nudity in more snapshots to wear
in black and white.

like those times that came and went
and which I remember with the awareness
of a blur of coloured pains and lessons
and no longer absurd urges “not to laugh nor
 to weep but to understand”(*).

but all the variants of scarlet within
the magnitude of change held in the scents
of blood and of the pulp of fruits ripened
from that day of my unawareness, so many
springs and summers and snapshots ago
are what, in the green light of being
and hoping, I remember best

inhaling and exhaling, eagerly.



© 2006 Alexandra* ~ OneLight*®


(*) quote from Baruch (Benedict) Spinoza


for further readings on the April 25th 1974 revolution, please go to:


Carnation Revolution

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Reviewed by Joseph* OneLight*® 4/29/2006

The link provides an interesting study of Portuguese history and your poem (based on your personal experience of that time) lights a candle whereby the reader can catch a glimpse of what all the senses observed and recorded for human awareness. It's amazing when you ponder that all this occured just 32 years ago. The moments of wisdom which you gained are now seen in the beauty of your eyes. This poem stands as a historical monument for all and also as a gift to the resilient spirit of the Portuguese people of which you are one of the finest they can be proud of.

With a deep sense of admiration and respect for both you and your amazing writing talent,

Reviewed by jude forese 4/27/2006
the passionate layers of this poem is extraodrinary ... outstanding iamges expressing the zeal for knowledge within the depths of your lives ...
Reviewed by Regis Auffray 4/27/2006
A wonderful tale beautifully expressed via your verses, Alexandra. Thank you for sharing this gift. Love and peace to you,

Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner 4/27/2006
Superb poetry, very well imaged and written; well done!

(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Reviewed by Mr. Ed 4/27/2006
The population, holding red carnations, convinced the regime soldiers not to resist. The soldiers readily swapped their bullets for flowers.

A fascinating story, Alexandra; and a most magnificent poetic piece to recall it.
Reviewed by Peter Paton 4/27/2006
A soft and tender account of the Day of the Carnations, that almost bloodless coup in Portugal in 1974....
Like Jerry below, I was unaware of this significant historical and social upheaval, however your delicate words convey the full lurid picture of the emotion and intensity of that momentous occasion...
Excellent work my friend
Love and Light
Reviewed by Felix Perry 4/26/2006
This is beautiful and the images dance around in my brain long after I finished reading, I will save this one to read again perhaps while sipping a glass of scarlett coloured wind.

Reviewed by E T Waldron 4/26/2006
You are such a gifted writer Alexandra, it is a pleasure and a gift to read you! Thanks for sharing this exceptional piece!

Reviewed by Retta (Reindeer) Mckenzie 4/26/2006
This is absolutely outstanding. I read it, then read your link, and re read the poem again, and found myself lost in the beauty and outstanding poetry that so clearly and insightfully describes this day.

Reviewed by Jerry Bolton (Reader) 4/26/2006
While I know not of the revolution in Portugal, I do know superb poetry when I read it. You took the reader on a journey of ambiguity insofar as the wording of scarlet was concerned. Scarlet, as in the scent of flowers and then, later, the blood-red scarlet of the wounded annd dying. The passageway of the stomping I found most horrible, although you tended to make it at least palpable by your avoidance of the rude and crude. Still, the rude and crude was there hidden not far from the surface of your words. Excellent poem, now I have to go and read about what happened on April 25, 1974.

Books by
Alexandra* OneLight*® Authors & Creations

Antologia Poética Amante das Leituras 2008

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Universes Beyond the Visible Elements of Dream

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Antologia Poética Amante das Leituras

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  4. Again I Ask For More...
  5. This Woman
  6. The Freight Train
  7. What Will Be
  8. The Dancer
  9. Absurd Valley
  10. The Dream Me
  11. Standing Tall
  12. I Wish I Knew
  13. an aging man still searching...
  14. What is Left
  15. Women Are Women
  16. Dew Drop Clause
  17. We Were Blessed
  18. Reciting Those Words
  19. Word’s Amative Verse, of Baccara’s Black R
  20. Sundown in Thibodaux

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