Sunday, October 31, 2010

Hestia’s Hearth


- Fire needs Water  -
To do its kitchen work
combining fire and water 
Brings together 
the two great 
principles of the soul: 
the Yin & Yang
of Cooperating 
Creating
 & to Sustain Life.
 Fin

photo credits #3 unkn #4 rodney smith, #5ghost, #7 work

Friday, October 29, 2010

SEIZE THE NIGHT

Trembling
with a kind of fascination
 I climbed a majestic Moonbow in the sky


Rushed 
till I reached the heavens. 

Resting  
on the sky,
soaring above the clouds,
half swooning with terror and delight
I take my first glimpse around me, 

Inhale 

the night air, 
Sipping cool drops of refreshing  moonbeams.
Ah!  soothing, calming influence on the mind.


Fin
 *  * * 

woke with a start, 
out of breath, was this a dream and all in my head? 














They say Moonbows are rainbows that are a rare sight, a night time phenomena, the biggest chance you have of ever seeing a moonbow is when the moon is full (or near to full), when it’s the brightest, but there are other conditions required. The sky has to be very dark (close to black), and, of course, there must been rain falling opposite to the moon. 
now for you all join in some fun go visit Friday flash 55 
over at G-man's house of fun.

photo credits: fffound-- girl in bed Tim Walker-tumblr

Monday, October 25, 2010

Unguarded Moments - Mag 37

Outside stands the dark of night, 
a sexless lamppost dances 
in the mirror world of the water
gathered at its base, 
the bare branches of an old oak tree 
sways in the wind
to a perceptible movement of a wave 
of  wet damp air that breaks in and fills my lungs,
I am caught naked in an unguarded moment, 
the devil enters the chambers of my mind uninvited.
Like a wild animal being hunted as prey,
I toss and turn in my sleep, 
dreams of you are all I know.
In this dim light I  search every face, 
with your image fashioned in my mind,
 
A thousand possibilities stand outside
the darkness of my thoughts,
no one knows these dreams of mine, 
I carry my nemesis within me
  Bitter tears I have shed 
Yearning for your warm embrace, 
longing for you to come back to me,
My friends tell me 
-In time, this experience will fade, 
So in the end who was to blame?
An answer swiftly comes,
it is time to let go and move on. 

 UNGUARDED MOMENTS


 Outside my open window a sexless lamppost dances
in the mirror world  of the water gathered at its base,
the bare branches of an old oak  tree 
sways in the wind  to a perceptible  movement of a wave of  wet damp air
that breaks in and fills my  room , 
I am caught naked in an unguarded moment, 
the devil enters my chambers  uninvited.

Like a wild animal being hunted as prey, 
I toss and turn in my sleep,
dreams of you are all I know,
in this dim light I search every face, 
with your image fashioned in my mind,
A thousand possibilities stand outside the darkness of my thoughts, 
no one knows these dreams of mine, I carry my nemesis within me.

Bitter tears I have shed yearning for your warm embrace
longing for you to come back to me, 
my friends tell me -
In time, this experience will fade, 
So in the end who was to blame? 
An answer swiftly comes,
it is time to let go and move on. 
Fin
photo credits:  ffffound #1 barbara cole; #2 fffound unkn;#3, 4, 5, 6, ffffound tim walker; # 7 tess kincaid aka Willow


Saturday, October 23, 2010

Painting is Poetry is Painting!

Painting is poetry that is seen rather than felt, 
& Poetry is painting that is felt rather than seen. 
~Leonardo da Vinci
 I curiously watch a spider crawl up my leg
How is it you still do not have wings?
 Wouldn’t you like to fly?

 As free as the hawk?   
 With one stroke I dust him away.
Fin
Epilogue  

 Brush away the spider 
Darn little creepy crawly thing
It bit me any way!
There’s nothing more to do, except to say, come play 
photo credits; #1 smashingmagazine, #2, 4, 9 rodneysmith, #3, 5, 6,joanny, # 8 fffound

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Moments as Jewels!

The night sky is a Maxfield  Parrish blue
The moon spills light on the stony path,
 
Leaves cascading  like flakes of snow,
caught in blades of grass, 
  They dance for me like stars in infinite space, 
the trees aware that autumn will soon be gone, 
 Birds settle in the remaining leaves,
hoping to survive the coming frost.
 fin
say it in only 55 words...

The night sky is a Maxfield  Parrish blue –
the moon spills light on the stony path,
leaves cascading  like flakes of snow,
 caught in blades of grass,
 they dance for me like stars in infinite space,
the trees aware that autumn will soon be gone,
 Birds settle in the remaining leaves,
hoping to survive the coming frost.
hosted by g-man
photo credits, maxfield parrish, ffffound.

Monday, October 18, 2010

The Uninvited - mag 36


My consciousness emerges
from the night and awakens 
to the morning light 
streaming in through my window 
the light that woke me up
disturbed my dreams,


A  modest wish--
I long to remain –
to linger a little while longer,
caught in between worlds,
the place where one is 
not yet fully awake,
barely a toehold
in my dream-scape. 
Drifting in its currents
I try and translate the images but now only 
see with eyes of this world, fleeting thoughts 
of endless possibilities playing in my head
Ideas which I toy with 
and create out of curiosity and wonder,
slipping away as  the light
draws me further into the day, 
casting its net around me
anchoring me in 
this world of experience
Eyes wide open, 
mesmerized by the light stream
I try and get my
bearings in this day, 
to this hour,
The familiar landscape 
of this world of reality, 
my senses reaching 
out towards the new day, 
I search in the light for the variations 
of the changing images
that translate into 
the language of the senses  
which bears my name 
and gives meaning to my life.
fin

Tweedledum and Tweedledee  could not decide but will go for it for there are many great writers for post on
 the 10DOM muse, hosted and created by Jeff

poem below without photo's

The Uninvited

My consciousness emerges from the night
and awakens to the morning light streaming in 
through my window
the light that woke me up - 
disturbed my dreams.
A modest wish-- I long to remain –
to linger a little while longer,
caught in between worlds, the place where 
one is not  yet fully awake,
barely a toehold in my dream-scape, 
drifting in its currents 
I try and translate the images 
but now only see 
with eyes of this world,
fleeting thoughts of endless possibilities 
playing in my head --
ideas which I toy with and create 
out of curiosity and wonder, 
slipping away as the light draws me further into the day,
casting its net around me
anchoring me in this world of experience – 
eyes wide open,  mesmerized by the light stream, 
I try and get my bearings in  this day, to this hour, 
the familiar landscape of this world of reality, 
my senses reaching out towards the new day, 
I search in the light for the variations 
of the changing images that 
translate into the language of the senses  
which bears my name and
gives meaning to my life.
           fin

photo credits: 1stBbrabourne Farm, 2nd Willows From Magpie Tale #36, 4 & 5 ffffound 6 &7tumblr, 8 Voque, Anoush Abraram

Friday, October 15, 2010

EARTH ▲ AIR ▲ FIRE ▲ WATER

Lovers caught up in the swirl of the storm;
synchronize their trajectory, 
with the moving mass of patterns. 
 With both emergence and acquiescence 
they became part of the dance,
moved by the touch of the potters hand 
there is a sense of the eternal and timeless.
 Through art and spiritual practice 
they allow the moment to find them.
Fin
 
 photo credits and movie from Ghost and the you tube version is the best cut on this scene, although ..... well you will see...



Wednesday, October 13, 2010

The Artist’s Studio

With its South facing windows frame
the most rugged Mountain View, 
a peaceful place fragrant with chaparral,
The sun awakens the studio with the first lit flame 
of early morn sending rays of brilliance
spreading across the floor; 
looking much like the fingers from the hand 
of the artist carrying light into the room.
Places where the light has not penetrated
cast deep shadows that ‘mold their forms like the potter’s’ hand. 
Brightened with pure light the water and the clay –
there is a sense of spiritual energy emanating 
from the lustrous pottery repose 
on pedestals and shelves that line the ‘little artist’ studio.
Cascading fires of soul come to life 
with shades of gold and ruby reds, 
dancing in the light wearing 
colors of a gorgeous patina – 
once rough clay now perfected 
 by a mantle of molten golden orbs.   
The smell of wet clay and clean water
tingle’s her nostrils - 
following the movement of the sun 
from dawn to dusk, 
she works with only an artist vision 
shaping that perfect vessel
that will hold that elusive beauty 
and the magic of transmutation of
earth, air, fire and water. 
  A small lovely lady her appearances’ elegant and refined,
draped in an embroidered Indian sari, 
her long silver hair swept into a knot at the nape of her neck, 
she was from a wealthy family,
but her fortune had withered away
  after a long and fascinating life, 
comes into her own as an artist in her eight decade.
She reaches for a colorful lustrous tea cup,
the one that started this all, she muses,
“this is how I do pottery against all the rules”, 
her melodic laugh fills the room, through mastery of technique,
hers were loose and unconventional
"freely exploring form, glaze combinations and happenstance -
exhibiting an embrace of artistic naiveté 
and the unexpected results of the kiln."
Her clay is filled with magic, 
the world comes pouring in her hand 
as the wheel is being spun in a centrifugal force 
and the work of the potter’s spirit is imbued in each piece 
bringing to life the invisible trapped in the clay
made visible to a moving piece.
Beatrice Wood with a 'Dadaist sense of humor '
and a' romantic view of life,'
had an intuitive use of color and form that served her well, 
as she continued working in her studio to the age of 104.
Fin

"Beatrice Wood passed away in 1998
at the age of 105 years of age, 
with the last 25 years of her life the most productive, 
creating work to satisfy a growing market for her ceramics,
writing books and visiting with 
the hundreds of people who showed up on her doorstep. 
When asked the secret of her longevity, 
she would simply offer “art books, chocolates and young men”.
Beatrice Wood (March 3, 1893 – March 12, 1998)
was an American artist and studio potter.

photo credits ! & 2 rodney smith, 3 & 4 * 8 google image, the rest of Beatrice Woods Center for the Arts.