Sunday, February 27, 2011

Ides of March


As the March wind blows
waves break 
on rocky shores


Low tide tosses up
Pretty painted faces

 In a viscous pool
Covered with seashells
 Distance separates


Fate has brought 
 
Me to these shores


Fin

Sunday 160

painting by joanny
 
As the March
wind blows
Waves break
on rocky shores.

Low tide tosses up

pretty painted faces
in a viscous pool
covered with seashells

Distance separates
fate has brought
me to these shores

Fin 




 

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Swirls of Sensitivity


Who can daydream and pay attention 
to their dreams to the point 
where a certain charm arises from it 
and the world becomes endowed
through its wild innocence.  


The truth is I am lost in it. 
There is no question here of work, 
as my pen traces a few lines,
 the spectacle of nature distracts me, 

gently swirls around my feet
and submerges me in it. 




The End 


photo tumblr: dream sign;.baby chick, ribbon

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Natural Forces: A line - a shade - the color



of everything after a storm
from the play of light
on the distance clouds

 A radiant sun that
gives off its fiery force
that streams its expression

into the language of flowers,

  oceans - mountains,

and the human form

 Glistening morning mist
 a harmonic symphony


Of drop by drop 


of the morning dew

The grail of the early spring flower

The aching beauty of a new born swan



A thousand unspoken words
all in a transcendental language
the interplay of the senses and the soul.

fin  



Natural Forces
A line - a shade - the color
of everything after a storm
From the play of light
on the distance clouds
A radiant sun that
 gives off its fiery force
that streams its expression
into the language of flowers,
oceans, mountains, the human form

Glistening morning mist
a harmonic symphony
of drop after drop
of the morning dew.

The grail of the spring flower
the aching beauty
of a new born swan.

A thousand unspoken words
all in a transcendental language
of the senses and the soul.
fin


photos: via tumblr
Barcelona.- font magica,
tumblr icy mist; couple & pink flower drop,
gpacheco-fairy with three swans.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Terms of Endearment



He: Mon amour what would you like the most,
  A wine cellar
 
 Or a romantic getaway?
Me: But mon cher
we don't have a cellar? 
- Okay than surprise me. 

 He: Surprise
for you
mon amour.
 fin
 Me to He:  Kiss,
you have my heart.


photos 3,tumblr 4 louis vuitton suitcases tumblr last iheartit, glass wine cellar unknown.

I received two lovely blog awards from two fantastic ladies, Olga  from Artful Nuance; and HulaBuns  from Binderclips and HulaBuns; will post about these wonderful bloggers this coming week.,but do give them each a visit for they will light up your world.
Enjoy the rest of your week end everyone.
joanny

Thursday, February 17, 2011

In an Elevator Minute


I met him in an elevator minute
That’s all it took for the ride.


He turned to me and said 

"This was fun 
let's do it to again, sometime”
"When" - I replied?
 “ Find a way to me, said he.
We stood silently together
Listening to music 
From a different generation
The rest of the elevator minute ride.
 Fin
 Friday Flash 55
Say your poem or prose in 55 words then link to FF 55

photo credits:  tumblr art deco elevator; 2nd photo 1411 4th Ave Seattle, Wa, 3rd Chrysler Building NYC;  4 &5 google random images.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Tale of the Red Silk Scarf


Is more than a scarf
It’s a forgotten language
in an atmosphere
of elegance, mystery,
and androgyny.

A time when the air
is filled with remnants of silk
and the fragrance
of fresh strawberries

The very fabric is alive
with future memories –
that taste delicious.

Entwined in a timeless moment
the distance approaches
her appearance is
wild, free and unencumbered
what is that---
she wears upon her head?
Blood red in a display
as passionate and brilliant
as the sun itself.
what need has Othello of that scarf?
For She is her own alibi

Wrapped  in long, red silk
flowing over her shoulders
dancing on passing clouds
into the dream of the new world


When days and years are fused
into a single moment
the stillness of the
air is crystallized
where desire
is purified and made lucid
Listen carefully
she is telling her story
like  a symphony you once
heard in a dream -
Dare come as your dream

Fin 


One shot poetry 

Imperfect prose

Tale of the Red Silk Scarf
 

Is more than a scarf
It’s a forgotten language
in an atmosphere
of elegance, mystery, and androgyny.
 a time when the air
is filled with remnants of silk
and the fragrance of fresh strawberries
 

The very fabric is alive
with future memories –
that taste delicious
 

Entwined in a timeless moment
the distance approaches
her appearance is
wild, free and unencumbered
what is that she wears upon her head?
 

Blood red in a display
as passionate and brilliant
as the sun itself.
what need has Othello of that scarf?
For She is her own alibi

Wrapped  in long, red silk
flowing over her shoulders

dancing on passing clouds
into the dream of the new world.


When days and years are fused
into a single moment
the stillness of the
air is crystallized
where desire
is purified and made lucid

Listen carefully
she is telling her story
like  a symphony you once
heard in a dream -
Dare come as your dream


photo credits: dreamer-pierrot; tumblr, underwater-Anatoly;rodin-minerva; via Les Deuxgarcons; underwater-Zena Holloway; Venice-Carnivel; beauty Anoush Abrah

Friday, February 4, 2011

Earthy Elegance: le chasseur de truffes

Reminiscent of the candelabra
that light the dining guest
On the eve of the first full moon
after the crocus bloom.


Evening flights and daytime rambles -
Here I am between two rhythms
The season approaches and it gives
me the greatest pleasure
The trees grow entangled
their brambles overlap
Where the thickens part,
I follow this path
I am returning
to the forsaken places of my loves.
Nimble, curious, resourceful
like the leprechaun
I obey the rules of the fairy tales
Outside a diminutive unmarked door
offers no sign to passerby
For the creator needs his privacy --
inside masses of dried grasses,
feathers and seedpods,
pine cones and pretty stones. 
What emerges from these
ominous roots and bulb
when they‘re at home?
They sleep and think
 I sleep and that
my awaking awakens them
 Their torpor condemns them
to taste nothing
but the musky organic
disregard of grace poetry
that is at our fingers tips.
The phantasmagoria of thirst
and lingering echoes
spurs me to dig deep into my past
Exposing all to see
I unearth a tuber – 
with its earth still clinging to it.

I draw closer to the terrible
mysteries of love,
by doing what I chose to do,
Now I know my rhythm
---The truffle hunter.---

Fin

Earthy Elegance: le chasseur de truffes

Reminiscent of the candelabra 
that light the dining guest 
on the eve of the first full moon
after the crocus bloom

Evening flights and daytime rambles -
Here I am between two rhythms
The season approaches and it gives 
me the greatest pleasure
 
The trees grow entangled 
their brambles overlap
Where the thickens part,
I follow this path
I am returning 
to the forsaken 
places of my loves.

Nimble, curious, resourceful
like the leprechaun
I obey the rules of the fairy tales --
Outside a diminutive unmarked door
offers no sign to passerby
For the creator needs his privacy --
inside masses of dried grasses,
feathers and seedpods,
pine cones and pretty stones. 

What emerges from these
ominous roots and bulb
when they‘re at home?
They sleep and think I sleep
and that my awaking awakens them 

Their torpor condemns them to taste
nothing but the musky organic
disregard of grace poetry 
that is at our fingers tips.

The phantasmagoria of thirst and lingering echoes
spurs me to dig deep into my past
I unearth a tuber– 
with its earth still clinging to it.
I draw closer
to the terrible mysteries of love,
Now I know my rhythm
---The truffle hunter.
Fin

photo credits: !- arredamento giardino epoca , tumblr #3 rodney smith girl in fog, #6  eugenio recunco-snow white, #7 tumblr-tree tureen,#9 truffle farmhand