LIVE DREAM LOVE

Around the campfire. . .

2011-07-08T00:19:00.000-07:00

We woke bathed
in dew and mist
under layered clouds
penetrated
by the crimson sky
of a new day.

Come on my love
put your boots on
we will be riding
from dawn to dust –

In the stillness
of the mountain air
the distinctive
crackle of dry wood
echoes between the trees.

As I turn to feed the fire
sparks flicker and fly
when the morning
catch of the day
is set upon
the hot coals
of carnal desire

to be continued ...

FF 55

We woke bathed
in dew and mist
under layered clouds
penetrated
by the crimson sky
of a new day.

Come on my love
put your boots on
we will be riding
from dawn to dust –

The distinctive
crackle of dry wood
echoes between the trees
as I turn to feed the fire
sparks flicker and fly
when the morning
catch of the day
is set upon
the hot coals
of carnal desire

to be continued

most images via tumblr- google

Heart it

2011-07-03T01:21:00.000-07:00

Freedom is. . .

When

The pursuit of happiness

Becomes

Our personal priority to

Celebrate

The freedom we enjoy

As the sounds

of the 4th

Start to be heard.

Fin

Sunday 160

True freedom can not happen

until all of God's children

are free around the world.

Martin Luther Kings Address at March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom (Aug 1963)

Excerpt

" Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children...."

...."And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every tenement and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last, free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last."

for the entire speech go here: Martin Luther King

images: 1st smashing magazine;
2nd Willamette River-- Sellwood -Portland Oregon Eagle & nest ;
3rd tumblr:Earth light

Summertime - Every flower has a spirit.

2011-06-24T07:26:00.000-07:00

If I had not gone
     in the garden
          I might have
              missed the jewels

within my vision
calling me
to come closer

     sensuality awakened
            to a strange seduction
       from the heady fragrance

            by the velvet petals
                  with slender stems
                          twisting through time,

moving in a spiral
with flame imbued faces
glowing in a crimsoned sky.

Fin

Friday Flash 55

Photos 2,3, & 4 From artist Cecelia Webber who creates flower and butterfly assemblages from hundreds of nude human form photographs. Cecelia’s photographic compositions can take up to two months to produce due to the complexity of finding the right pieces, for more of her art go to her website here: http://ceceliawebber.com/category/flowers-series/

photo 5 woman with orchids by Anoush Abrar

My favorite Summertime song by Janis Joplin

Unzipped -- Change my day ...

2011-06-17T00:33:00.000-07:00

Tickle me quick fill me

with sensual laughter tickling

my sense and my senses
slowly sinking me
down to my knees
while I explode with

peals of laughter and
experience waves of
seemingly irrational elation;
affectionately unpredictable,
sensual evolution & friendly mischief,
play on and color my world today
with plenty of love and laughter..

Fin

Flash Friday 55

poem or verse in 55 words.

images via tumblr

Then and Now

2011-06-15T02:58:00.000-07:00

Love
It comes it goes
Like water flowing
Like the wind that blows
Like a leaf but not a leaf
Lies discarded by the road,

Now --

after the morning rain,

 what is left? 

But drop after drop 

of parted lover’s tears, 

bitterness dissolved  - 

a strange peace flows through me

Then.. .

I think about the tangle 

of wounded tendrils, the thorns, 

often go unnoticed 
until they draw crimson red blood. 

oh the passion and the pain -

the reality behind the lover’s dance

reflected in the mirror world of the water, 

Who or what will give me the power
to transform the mirror into a doorway
that opens into a pure living intimacy ?

to turn 

the Now into

 a shared timeless happiness 

Not for us now, perhaps never for us

I gaze as if in an eternal trance as 
droplets of water 

sprinkled by swaying branches 
fall off in perfect elegance

forming hundreds of tiny ringlets
in the deep dark waters

White clouds overhead deceives us

with its calm mirror reflection,

the sky has its own threat 
hidden behind its delusion 
with its soothing  water colors,
lays above our head 
with  a scent of uncertainty

we both now realize 

that we had gone too far

to ever find our way back.
fin

One Stop Poetry

photos: fffound 1,2, 8, 9
#3 rodney smith
#4 tumblr underwater ballet
#5 Istanbul underwater hotel
#7 tumblr -Hermes

Writing that Great 21st century novel

2011-06-13T23:04:00.000-07:00

"The notes I handle no better

than many pianists.

But the pauses between the notes—

ah, that is where the art resides."

-Artur Schnabel, in Chicago Daily News, June 11, 1958.

French Connection Piano - Spring Summer 2011

As I think about the pattern and rhythm

of what I do I realize that I have a

lot of different selves in and out of blogging.

I just spent the last couple of weeks

writing research papers, --

always the scientist, the scholar,

the rational mind is well connected for me.

However I also realize there is another dimension to myself that needs expression my feminine side that wants to sing and dance,

pick flowers and getting around to writing

that great 21st century novel this year.

Although, I have a confession as I grow--well older

I find that writing long winded research papers,

has sent both my mind and pen wandering

and saying and writing less then more --

in the interlude

I found great freedom in writing poetry.

Fin

photo credits: 1st French Connection spring summer 2011

lady in white hat-rodney smith -
tumblr: lady at window; two roses in book; young woman with tree book; down the rabbit hole;woman in bookcase

Thank You To Our Fallen Heroes And Their Families:

2011-05-30T11:42:00.000-07:00

"Although no

sculptured marble

should rise

to their memory,

nor engraved stone

bear record

of their deeds,

yet will their

remembrance

be as lasting
as the land

they honored.."

- Daniel Webster -

Time Framed ----- With Each Step

2011-05-20T01:59:00.000-07:00

"In the midst of the ordinary time (kronos),

extraordinary time (kairos) happens."

quote from Dead Poets Society, Professor John Keating

With each step....

I step out on

this mystifying path,

filled with surprises

around every bend.

The “choice” taken has

made me strong

when I was weak.

With each step -forward

I remember - what I left behind,

and can never forget

all those years

of love- laughter-tears,

with each step

the distance grew

between you and me.

Fin

Friday flash 55

hosted by g-man

write a poem in 55 words

With Each Step

I step out on
this mystifying path,
filled with surprises
around every bend.
The “choice” taken has
made me strong
when I was weak.
With each step -forward
I remember - what I left behind,
and can never forget
all those years
of love- laughter-tears,
and with each step
the distance grew between
you and me.

Fin

photos: via tumblr - 4 through 9 rodney smith

Antigone's Arete

2011-05-06T02:20:00.000-07:00

Tossed up by

the deep–sea-cold

alone shell blown by
'Winds of change'

sails well across

white-cap breakers

Cast -off by its owner

destiny unknown –
dreams change

doubts departing

dancer upon
waves of light

without reserve

Sirens singing
Yes to ‘Arete’

fragile heart abates,

Calm is the soul
that is emptied
of all self.

Fin

Friday Flash 55

hosted by g-man

write a poem in 55 words

Antigone's Arete
Tossed up by
the deep – sea- cold
Alone shell blown by
“Winds of change”
sails well across
White-cap breakers
Cast -off by its owner
Destiny unknown

Dreams change
Doubts departing
Dancer upon

Waves of light
Without reserve
Sirens singing
Yes to ‘Arete’
Fragile heart abates,
Calm is the soul
that is emptied
of all self.

Fin

The noun 'Arete' is Greek for 'excellence, goodness, virtue'. Its application to life is seen in one's living up to one's full potential. It also is seen in one's handling adversity with courage and strength.

The goodness or virtue of a person. Aretē is therefore identified with what enables a person to live well or successfully, although whether virtue is then just a means to successful life or is an essential part of the activity of living well becomes controversial.

Antigone's Arete is shown by her giving Polyneices a decent burial in defiance of Theban King Creon's non burial order. She shows it again, after her arrest, when she says that Creon's order doesn't come from Zeus, the supreme god of Thebes. So she recognizes, and never backs down from, life's guiding principle of obeying god given laws.

According to Aristotle the various virtues consist in knowing how to strike a mean between opposing vices of excess and defect. Greek thought also paves the way for the Christian ideal that the fullest development of aretē for human beings consists in a self-sufficient life of contemplation and wisdom.
The Sanskrit word kusala is used in Buddhism to represent the same association of goodness with the skill of being a good human being.

photos Chiluly glass taken in Tacoma, Wa, #4 & 5 The girl from Atlantis Vogue May 10 voyons-voir #6 Rodney Smith woman on plater

Esprit to Spare!

2011-05-01T03:33:00.000-07:00

The scent of the earth
reawakens

the strangest things
growing in

the same
soil together

Look at the rose vines
How peacefully it grows
With poison ivy.

Fin

Happy May Day!

Sunday 160

Esprit to Spare

The scent of the earth
reawakens
the strangest things
growing in the

same soil together.

Look at the rose vines
How peacefully it grows
With poison ivy.

First Whispers of Spring

2011-04-22T21:40:00.000-07:00

Survivor of the frost of winter
One who had the wilderness
For a pillow
Come spring a great singer

On tiny wings
Over branches, brambles & bushes
Tilts his head & begins to sing
The first whispers of spring

Blue sky sailing

& green grass cities

Teaming with dragon flies,

Snakes & creepy crawly things.

Epilogue
& Thankful most of all
for God’s promise of spring.

Fin

Friday flash 55

Many birds

lost

theirs lives in this last harsh winter

across most of Europe & USA

photo's : 2nd ffffound, 3rd tumblr, 6th ffffound, 7th frozen bird UK Google

Cosmic Kismet

2011-04-20T03:34:00.000-07:00

The winding black crack

Rising out of cosmic dust

Set flame with new stars

Fin

One Shot Wednesday week #42

Recently, astronomers using NASA’s Spitzer

infrared telescope shooting

a “funny cosmic black crack” photo

at a distance of 11,000 light years from

Earth in the constellation Sagittarius.
The serpentine“black crack” is

formed by dust in the universe,

but this meandering “black crack” covers

as large as dozens of the solar system.

Not only that, It is very likely pregnant

with new stars in the cracks.

We can see from the photos,

orange and yellow spots in those cracks

which will be forming new stars.

The spots will launch red light star embryos,

its mass will be approximately about 20 to 50 times the sun.

photo credits: NASA Goolge

Nouvelle 55 -Friday Flash 55

2011-04-15T12:59:00.000-07:00

Lady of the Lake

dwells in the vast,

cool fragrant rooms

of a translucent palace

Surrounded by earthy

and watery companions’

leaves her robe behind

and goes swimming

in the well of inspiration;

bringing the light of spring

to the dark of winter

her reflection shimmers

in every leaf and lingers

on every cool breeze.

Fin

nouvelle 55
Friday Flash
hosted by Galen
Friday flash is a mime written in 55 words and Nouvelle 55 is writing about a painting.
my poem is based on the first (photo) Painting of Jane Morris (1839-1914),
by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882)
Rossetti captures Jane’s beauty as well as her character; she was,
according to contemporary accounts,
an unusually silent woman.

In the 1860s, while painting his first pictures of single female figures, Rossetti fell under the spell of Titian, Palma Vecchio, and the great Venetian masters of voluptuous female flesh. His brushstrokes broadened, replacing what he had described as the “stipple in the flesh” of his earlier, painstakingly detailed Pre-Raphaelite compositions. His head-and-shoulders portraits sold well, and by 1870 he was devoting himself almost entirely to representations of the ideal woman, often in the form of Jane Morris. Rossetti’s later works were embraced by the Symbolist painters, who shared his interest in painting dreamy, introspective women lost in silent meditation and mystical inwardness.

Lady of the Lake

dwells in the vast,

cool fragrant rooms

of a translucent palace

Surrounded by earthy

and watery companions’

leaves her robe behind

her reflection shimmers

in every leaf and lingers

on every cool breeze.

Fin

photo credits: Painting of Jane Morris (1839-1914), by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882):;

2 & 3rd Rodney Smith;tumblr

The Artist Muse

2011-04-10T03:09:00.000-07:00

The Lady of the Willows

imbued with sensuality

wild and mysterious

as the moonlit groves

of an ancient forest

in wordless rapture

basks in unity

with nature.

Fin

challenge in 160 text characters

Sunday 160

Black chalk on paper, dated 1865, 31.5 x 34.5cm, Private collection

'Water Willow', of Jane Morris (1839-1914), by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882)
O il on canvas, dated 1871, 33 x 26.7cm, Delaware Art Museum, Samuel and Mary R Bancroft Memorial, 1935. This painting documents the first period Rossetti and Jane Morris spent together at Kelmscott Manor in Oxfordshire. Rossetti made it to fit a beautiful old frame.

Jane Burden Morris (1839-1914), inspired numerous works by Rossetti and his friends, among them the painter-poet William Morris whom she would marry in 1859. Jane was a remarkable beauty, destined to play a major role in Rossetti’s idealized and symbolic portraits of “stunners”—beautiful women shown at close range in often exotic settings.

Pencil on paper, dated 1857, 47.6 x 33cm,
The Society of Antiquaries of London (Kelmscott Manor)

In 1869, the American writer Henry James described her as having “a thin pale face, a pair of strange, sad, deep, dark Swinburnish eyes [a reference to the poems of the late Victorian writer Algernon Charles Swinburne], with great thick black oblique brows, joined in the middle and tucking themselves away under her hair.” Jane, the daughter of a humble stableman, was discovered by Rossetti and Edward Burne-Jones in an Oxford theater. Thanks to her captivating looks, she was spared a life of poverty and a future in domestic service. Through Morris she was educated privately, mastering French and Italian as well as the piano.

Pencil on paper, dated Aug. 12 1870, 24.1 x 45.1cm,
The Society of Antiquaries of London (Kelmscott Manor)

Capricious Love ---

2011-04-08T02:31:00.000-07:00

Two hearts get entangled
At Café De Flore

Enchanting in an understated way

Small acts of friendly mischief.
Engaging in an innocently
Flirtatious way

Slyly charismatic

The lust of eyes

in stolen glances

Affectionately unpredictable

The passing of love

Like last summer’s sun

gone to quickly

Blown away
By the wind of change

FIN

Friday Flash 55

hosted by G-man

The Café de Flore, at the corner of the Boulevard Saint-Germain and the Rue St. Benoit, in the 6th arrondissement of Paris, has long been celebrated for its intellectual clientele.

The classic Art Deco interior of all red seating, mahogany and mirrors has changed little since World War II. Like its celebrated rival, Les Deux Magots, it has hosted most of the French intellectuals during the post-war years. It is said that Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir, Camus & other writer, poets, & artists, would meet here and discuss their philosophy of existentialism over a drink.

written in 55 words by joanny

Capricious love ---
Two hearts get entangled
At Cafe De Flore
Enchanting
in an understated way
Small acts of friendly mischief.
Engaging in an innocently
Flirtatious way
Slyly charismatic
The lust of eyes
in stolen glances
Affectionately unpredictable
The passing of love
Like last summer’s sun
gone to quickly
Blown away
By the wind of change
FIN

photos tumblr & rodney smith 3-6

East of the Sun-West of the Moon

2011-04-03T02:13:00.000-07:00

A sudden rain shower

Makes the streets look
like mirrored strips

glittering in
the dawning sky

it takes your
breath away

just to start
the day.

Fin

Sunday 160

poem written in 160 text form

for rules to play click on Sunday 160

East of the sun,
West of the moon
A sudden rain shower
Makes the streets look
like mirrored strips
glittering in
the dawning sky
it takes your
breath away
just to start
the day.
fin

for the month of April join in and with other bloggers fighting world food hungry

please feel free to take this blog button below and be sure to go and thank Anne over at

annechovie

photos tumblr

Art of the Bath*The ofuro (お風呂)

2011-03-28T02:32:00.000-07:00

A place of quiet - a private world,

where you can gently put aside

the demands of the busy day

As you immerse yourself sinking deep into the
luxurious warm waters filled with fragrant herbs

&
lotus petals floating in a tranquil tub

allow yourself to drift,

into the wonderful languorous,

sensation of suspended animation

that occurs as you close your eyes

inhale the deep rich aromas

heightening your senses

in this hour of calm and stillness

that allows you entrance to the fabled land

of floating flowers and oriental opulence.

Surrender to your inner most fantasies

inhale deeply the sweet scent of spring.

The ofuro (お風呂), or Japanese bath, is an integral part of Japanese life. The significance of the bath goes far beyond merely washing. For generations the sentō (銭湯) or "bath house" was a focal point in residential areas and a gathering place not just for bathing but for chatting, meeting friends, and generally feeling connected to others in the neighborhood. Today there are fewer sentō as all modern homes have a private bath, but the significance of the bathing ritual — whether at home, visiting an onsen, or at the local sentō — runs deep in the Japanese approach to life, which traditionally is closely tied to nature.

photo's 1st apartment therapy;3rd .bartokdesign.com 5 & 6 Zena Holloway;7 .bartokdesign.com; 8 Voque Nippo-Yoyons_Voir; 9 & 10 ffffound, 11-Zena Holloway

HOPE!

2011-03-24T03:08:00.000-07:00

The Breath of cherry blossoms is carried along the wind

I feel the coming of spring from the warm breeze,

while in the garden a windsock drips fog.

Tenderly placing the kettle on the fire,

I sit down to rest and watch the steam rising,

it fills the room gently with a warm mist.

Pretty purple flowers are arranged in the tokonoma

Woody incense cleanses the air

while my mind roams through ancient realms,

Absurdly moved, my life passes before me like a dream,

from my vantage point of a familiar place,

the hills have hugged this shore for centuries

they never looked more lovelier then they did in that moment,

Overhead birds are unsettled in the trees,

feeling a sense of awe and anxiety

water swells around the island and I try to be strong,

The smell of gyokuro tea, white rice, bamboo, and pine boards

swirls about and engulfs me.

All those years of work are erased in one moment,

it is beyond my wisdom why,

the inherent exuberance of nature is to spill and squander

altering the old to the new,

But where there is life there is hope,

”even from the cliffs of despair”.

Sayonara

The Breath of cherry blossoms
is carried along the wind
I feel the coming of spring
from the warm breeze,
while a windsock drips fog.

Tenderly placing the kettle on the fire,
I sit down to rest and watch the steam rising,
it fills the room gently with a warm mist.
Pretty purple flowers are arranged in the tokonoma

Woody incense cleanses the air
while my mind roams through ancient realms,
absurdly moved, my life passes before me like a dream,
from my vantage point of a familiar place,
the hills have hugged this shore for centuries
they never looked more lovelier
then they did in that moment,
and will never look the same again.

Overhead birds are unsettled in the trees,
feeling a sense of awe and anxiety
water swells around the island and I try to be strong,
the smell of gyokuro tea, white rice, bamboo,
and pine boards swirls about and engulfs me.

All those years of work are erased in one moment,
it is beyond my wisdom why,

the inherent exuberance of nature is to spill and squander

altering the old to the new, but where there is life there is hope,
”even from the cliffs of despair”.
Sayonara

Japan is a special place and my heart breaks for them now as they are in need,

as do so many other nations affected by the recent quake.

Let's give them the love and support if you can.

Listed below are a few places you can donate.to.

    * To donate to American Red Cross Relief, text REDCROSS to 90999

    * To donate to GlobalGiving, which focuses on “grassroots projects in the developing world,” text JAPAN to 5055
    * To donate to The Salvation Army, text JAPAN or QUAKE to 80888

    * Human Society International
http://www.hsi.org/news/news/2011/03/japan_aid_plan_031411.html

Websites that are officially connected with the help for Japan:
      * Oxfam America - www.oxfamamerica.org

      * World Vision- www.worldvision.org

      * Catholic Relief Services - http://crs.org

Every $1.00 help's and that is what they need.

photo credits: 1st photo Japanese woman -Madame Butterfly; 4th woman in water-Yanire Smashing Magazine, 7th woman in water Hatcher Smashing Magazine; 10th Woman with Red butterfly -Madame Butterfly; last photo, tumblr, Willamette River, Portland Oregon, Sail Boat Willamette River, all others Japanese Tea house. quote from Anne M. Lindberg.

Morning Light

2011-03-20T19:40:00.000-07:00

Silver sunlight streams
through the trees
carrying minute size
droplets of morning dew
beading upon
jade tipped leaves
and soft petal flowers
tremble in the breeze
while the swans swoon.

Fin

Sunday 160

Streaming Down Rain . . .

2011-03-17T10:36:00.000-07:00

Faster and faster I walk
stealing a glance as I pass
the cold dark alley
piled high garbage
sat on by cats
with watchful night eyes.

Thinking doubt soaked thoughts
race through my mind
as I turn and make my way
toward 5th and Main,

stepping over side walk cracks
and side stepping deep puddles
with floating bits of refuse,

Silently I pause waiting
for the traffic light to change,
in a split second, violent gale winds
send spinning my umbrella
dancing down the street.

Rain soaked, barely breathing,
startled by my reflection,
the intimate connection
with silenced white face
dressed in expensive
store dressings,
passing unsettled.

Luminously livid skies,
gives way to a foggy night,
droplets shine
like silver beads blooming
under lit lamp posts,

A voice whispers my name,
drowns out the roar
of my heart pounding,
doubts departing
in the lovers embrace.

FIN

via photos tumblr

Streaming down rain
faster and faster I walk
stealing a glance as I pass
the cold dark alley
piled high garbage
sat on by cats
with watchful night eyes.

Thinking doubt soaked thoughts
race through my mind
as I turn and make my way
toward 5th and Main,
stepping over side walk cracks
and side stepping deep puddles
with floating bits of refuse,
silently I pause waiting
for the traffic light to change,
in a split second, violent gale winds
send spinning my umbrella
dancing down the street.

Rain soaked, barely breathing,
startled by my reflection,
the intimate connection
with silenced white faces
dressed in expensive
store dressings,
passing unsettled.

Luminously livid skies,
gives way to a foggy night,
droplets shine
like silver beads blooming
under lit lamp posts,
a voice whispers my name,
drowns out the roar
of my heart pounding,
doubts departing
in the lovers embrace.
           FIN

Ides of March

2011-02-27T02:30:00.000-08:00

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

Swirls of Sensitivity

2011-02-24T22:00:00.000-08:00

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.

Friday Flash 55 dreamers go visit here

The End

photo tumblr: dream sign;.baby chick, ribbon

Natural Forces: A line - a shade - the color

2011-02-23T22:06:00.000-08:00

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

one shot wednesday #34
imperfect prose

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.

Terms of Endearment

2011-02-20T01:55:00.000-08:00

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.

Sunday 160

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

In an Elevator Minute

2011-02-17T23:46:00.000-08:00

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.

Tale of the Red Silk Scarf

2011-02-16T15:28:00.000-08:00

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

Earthy Elegance: le chasseur de truffes

2011-02-04T03:51:00.000-08:00

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

As Night Falls

2011-01-30T04:11:00.000-08:00

On the amusement park,

The carousel’s magical charm

Comes to life

With the menagerie of animals

The mythical and familiar

The ride goes up -it goes down

round and round -- thrills and chills

Riding on brightly painted ponies

Reaching for the brass ring

While lovers steal kisses

in the gondolas

Away from prying eyes

Fin

As night falls
on the amusement park,
the carousel’s magical charm
comes to life
with the menagerie of animals
the mythical and familiar
the ride goes up -it goes down
round and round -- thrills and chills
riding on brightly painted ponies
reaching for the brass ring,
while lovers steal kisses
in the gondolas
away from prying eyes.

Fin

Sunday 160

photos tumblr --- carousels courtesy of National Carousel Association
Noyce Gallopers Owner Tom Noyce-pigs and horses
Made by Savages of Kings Lynn, Anderson carved animals,1890s
Ecomusee Carousel, brightly colored horses & gondola, 2nd gondola Brooklyn New York

Time is but a Paper Doll

2011-01-26T20:09:00.000-08:00

The artist was busy painting

Pretty pouting lips on a paper doll,

Casting pleasing shadows

on the wall

She is but a paper doll

It won’t talk, or even walk,

Why then do you believe,

She will dance for you?

Time is but a paper doll

Where there is no time at all

With swirling white hands

Chasing their mates

Visions softly floating

Neath the flickering candle

Catches her silhouette

Pretty pouting lips on a paper doll

Casting pleasing shadows

on the wall.

Fin

One Stop Poetry -Wednesday Dreams

Imperfect Prose - if eden murmurs

The artist was busy painting
Pretty pouting lips on a paper doll,
Casting pleasing shadows on the wall
She is but a paper doll
It won’t talk, or even walk,
Why then do you believe,
She will dance for you?
Time is but a paper doll
Where there is no time at all
With swirling white hands
Chasing their mates
Visions softly floating
Neath the flickering candle
Catches her silhouette
Pretty pouting lips on a paper doll
Casting pleasing shadows on the wall
Fin

photo credits tumblr

Good Morning My Love!

2011-01-23T00:18:00.000-08:00

Lovers don't finally meet somewhere.
They're in each other all along." Rumi

Sometimes in the

very early hours

When the morning

light is just perfect

The air crisp and cold

I sit within the day

And ride the wind

that stirs the strings
of my soul.

fin

Sunday 160

Sometimes in the
very early hours
when the morning
light is just perfect
the air crisp and cold,

I sit within the day
and ride the wind
that stirs

the strings of my soul.

Fin

photo credits 1,4& 5 tunblr, 2: Mt St Helens Willamette River, 3, Mt St Helens, Portland Oregon Skyline

"Style is the Man" Le style est l'homme meme

2011-01-20T07:06:00.000-08:00

“Style is the man”
It is true…
A precocious poet
Public and private,
Unique verve and eloquent
Classicism tempered by
A grasp of modernist
And the vicissitudes of fashion.

With his
Rebellious kinky hair,
Antennae like
Protruding ears
Always in motion
A jittery jaguar
A lyric movement
A dynamic rhythmic body,
Forever pacing - proclaims
"Let’s get our dreams unstuck"

With a wave of the muse's magic wand,
Whilst a self conscious artist
The pen draws
Books are written,
Plays are acted.
Through the
“Blood of the Poet”
Films are made.

A friend of Picasso,

A collaborator with Satie,
Stravinsky,
Diaghilev,
Coco Chanel

And a group of composers
known as Les Six.

Through turbulent times
Rocked by scandal,
Reoccurring broken dreams
lost loves
Triumph

and

Tragedy

In the company of
Ecstasy to opium,
Some jealous,
Call him robber,
Call him liar,
"Yes, but of course,
They are right
For the wrong reasons,

Ces, cons-la’!"

There is this void
in which we send
our poems,
our art,
our reviews
“I’d take the fire”,
said
The
French
poet,
writer,
artist,
and
film maker
life is theater
theater is life.
Jean Maurice Eugene Clement Cocteau!

July 05, 1889- October 11, 1963

fin d'une époque

Jean Cocteau.com

The intriguing intersection of lives: The artist Jean Cocteau died of a heart attack at age 74 at his chateau in Milly-la-Foret, France after hearing the news of the death of another friend, the singer Edith Piaf. Cocteau, chivalrous at the last, obeyed the rule of ladies first. "Ah, la Piaf est morte," he said on the morning of October 11 1963. "Je peux mourir aussi." [Ah, Piaf's dead. I can die too."] And then he promptly died of a heart attack. Or so legend has it.

Edith Piaf and Jean Cocteau , 1938

The quotes were from Jean Cocteau. A literature monthly posed the question to several writers: If your house was burning down and you could take away one thing,what would it be?" Replied Cocteau, "I'd take the fire." and I believe as others that he did.

photo credits: scanned images: 1st image by Man Ray 1926, Cocteau drew his hand holding his own image.
2nd image by Paul Thevenaz of Jean Cocteau, 1917. 3rd image by Jean Hugo of Jean Cocteau and his muse. 4th image Poster from film "Blood of the Poet'.
5th image, a letter from Picasso to Cocteau-with a penned cartoon of Olga Picasso, Cocteau, and the Cubist Master.
6th image Coco Chanel , she was closely involved with Jean Cocteau for over forty years. Coco designed her first theater costumes for Jean, provided him with places to live, supported his attempts to give up opium and helped bury his deceased lovers.
7th image via the Book Opium and the drawing by Cocteau to depict the agonies of addiction.
8th image Cocteau smoking opium. , 1938,.
9th image The hard core surrealist who were Cocteau's implacable tormentors throughout the 1920's left to right, Tristan Tzara, Andre' Breton, Salvador Dali, Max Ernst, & Man Ray. rear: Paul Eluard, Jean Hans Arp., Yves Tanguy, and Rene' Crevel.
10th image of Jean Cocteau in his last years, and last11th image Edith Piaf and Jean Cocteau by Serge Lido , 1938.

poem without images,

Le style est l'homme meme

“Style is the man”
It is true…
A precocious poet
Public and private,
Unique verve and eloquent
Classicism tempered by
A grasp of modernist
And the vicissitudes of fashion
With his
Rebellious kinky hair,
Antennae like
Protruding ears
Always in motion
A jittery jaguar
A lyric movement
A dynamic rhythmic body,
Forever pacing - proclaims
"Let’s get our dreams unstuck"
With a wave of the muse's magic wand,
Whilst a self conscious artist
The pen draws
Books are written,
Plays are acted.
Through the
“Blood of the Poet”
Films are made.
A friend of Picasso,
A collaborator with Satie,
Stravinsky, Diaghilev
Coco Chanel
And a group of composers
known as Les Six.

Through turbulent times
Rocked by scandal,
Reoccurring broken dreams
lost loves
In the company of
Ecstasy to opium,
Some jealous,
Call him robber,
Call him liar,
Yes, but of course,
They are right
For the wrong reasons,
Ces, cons-la’!

There is this void
in which we send
our poems,
our art,
our reviews
“I’d take the fire”,
said
The
French
poet,
writer,
artist,
and
film maker
life is theater
theater is life
Jean Maurice Eugene Clement Cocteau!

fin d'une époque

Joie de Vivre "La vie est belle,. . .

2011-01-15T03:17:00.000-08:00

". . .voila le quadrille,"

'Life is beautiful, here comes the cancan."
Toulouse-Lautrec

Le Moulin Rouge, Le Moulin Rouge
On opening night, October 6, 1889
Where all Paree’ long to be.

Under the windmill red light sails
As they begin to turn
Le Moulin Rouge Le Moulin Rouge.

Skirts flying, legs kicking,
Offenbach music playing
Where all Paree’ long to be.

Cancan girls gorgeous and tall
Les chahuteuses- Louise, Jane, Nicole & Nina
Le Moulin Rouge, Le Moulin Rouge.

A happy world of boisterous rhythm,
patrons singing:"ooh-la-la, ooh-la-la',ooh-la-la"
Where all Paree’ long to be.

Oui, Louise, la Goulue will go down in history
As the undisputed French cancan queen
Le Moulin Rouge, Le Moulin Rouge
Where all Paree’ long to be.

Fin

Joie de Vivre

Le Moulin Rouge, Le Moulin Rouge
On opening night, October 6, 1889
Where all Paree’ long to be

Under the windmill red light sails
As they begin to turn
Le Moulin Rouge Le Moulin Rouge

Skirts flying, legs kicking,
Offenbach music playing
Where all Paree’ long to be.

Cancan girls gorgeous and tall
Les chahuteuses- Louise, Jane, Nicole & Nina
Le Moulin Rouge, Le Moulin Rouge

A happy world of boisterous rhythm, patrons singing
"ooh-la-la, ooh-la-la', ooh-la-la, oooh-la-la,
Where all Paree’ long to be

Oui, Louise, la Goulue will go down in history
As the undisputed French cancan queen
Le Moulin Rouge, Le Moulin Rouge
Where all Paree’ long to be.
by joanny
a villanelle style poem

Fin

photo credits: via tumblr Diorcancan, courtesy of toulouseLautrecFd.Moulin Rouge cancandancers, Moulin Rouge Juliet Prowse,1959, showgirl

Before My Time - But in My Blood -

2011-01-11T04:18:00.000-08:00

I woke up one mornin’ and heard this tapping

rhythmic sound to a crazy beat.

My momma was watching this television show

Had-da HADDA Had-da HADDA ho!

Ms Hadda Brooks show

She instinctively found pleasure

at the tumultuous stepping
Now a dancer obsessed with the acoustic beat

Momma's body was
Moving and grooving
Swinging and swaying
Stomping with lightening
Fast flying feet

A dancer dancing to different times,
with an imaginary partner
that had long ago been agreed upon
between Composer, choreographer

the dancer is transfixed

by the metronome beat.

Every generation has their songs,
mine is rock and roll,
till I heard the Rhythm and Blues
Before my time – but in my blood
That Boogie Woogie eight in a bar beat.
Oh Lord, I got the Boogie Woogie Rhythm & Blues

Thrilled by the heart pounding stepping
Made me forget about
Saturday night live

clubbing with Coldplay
and do the jukebox 78
Jitter-bug shuffle.

I take leave of the thirties
type jive step

and
dance without a partner
stepping crazy patterns
with

my hipster dancing feet.

For it is the one sound
that is fusion
between the races,
and across generations

Before my time – but in my blood
That Boogie Woogie - eight in a bar beat.
Oh Lord, I got the Boogie Woogie
Rhythm & Blues

photo via magpie tales by Willow

Fin

for

Magpie Tales # 48 hosted by Willow

and

One Stop Poetry

Before my time, but in my blood,
That Boogie Woogie eight in a bar beat.

I got up one mornin’ and heard this tapping
rhythmic sound to a crazy beat.
My momma was watching this television show
Had-da HADDA Had-da HADDA ho
Ms Hadda Brookes Show!

She instinctively found pleasure
at the tumultuous stepping
Now a dancer obsessed
with the acoustic beat
Momma's body was
Moving and grooving
Swinging and swaying
Stomping with lightening
Fast flying feet.

A dancer dancing to different times,
with an imaginary partner
that had long ago been agreed upon
between Composer, choreographer
the dancer is transfixed
by the metronome beat.

Every generation has their songs,
mine is rock and roll,
till I heard the Rhythm and Blues
Before my time – but in my blood
That Boogie Woogie eight in a bar beat.
Oh Lord, I got the Boogie Woogie Rhythm & Blues

Thrilled by the heart pounding stepping
Made me forget about
Saturday night live
clubbing with Coldplay
and do the jukebox 78
Jitter bug shuffle.

I take leave of the thirties
type jive step
and
dance without a partner
stepping crazy patterns
with my hipster
dancing feet.

For it is the one sound
that is fusion
between the races,
and across generations.

Before my time – but in my blood
That Boogie Woogie eight in a bar beat.
Oh Lord, I got the Boogie Woogie
Rhythm & Blues

Fin

photo credits: via tumblr images 3 & 7-- #2 & 8 Hadda Brooks http://www.virginrecords.com/hadda/wikipedia commons 5 & 6 google

Postscript
Born Hadda Hopgood on October 2, 1916, in Los Angeles, CA; died on November 21, 2002, Los Angeles, CA; married Earl "Shug" Morrison, 1941 (died 1942).
Education: Attended Northwestern University, Chicago, IL; attended Chapman College, CA.

Career

Singer and pianist, 1945-71, 1987-2002; television show host, 1951-1960s; actress, 1947-2000.

Life's Work

During the post-World War II years, Hadda Brooks burst on the scene as the "Queen of the Boogie," releasing hot piano numbers that burned up jukeboxes across the country. Soon she picked up a microphone and let loose her smoky bedroom voice on chart-topping ballads that had couples swooning on dance floors nationwide. She sang for Humphrey Bogart, the Queen of England, and the Pope. Her talents landed her on both the big and small screens and sent her soaring around the world on tour. She was hot, but by 1971 she'd had enough and retired into semi-obscurity. However, someone remembered her soul-infused singing and by the 1990s she had reemerged from retirement to enjoy another round of celebrity. She became a darling of the club circuit, seducing packed audiences with her piano virtuosity and vocal passion. At the age of 79, she signed with Virgin records and released two albums. She appeared opposite Jack Nicholson on the big screen and counted some of Hollywood's hottest talents among her close friends. Hers was a talent that transcended generations. As her official website noted, "She continued to delight her fans up until her death, at age 86, with the same impassioned brassiness as she did in her recordings and performances from the 1940s to the 2000s.... From Analog to Digital.... From 78 Records to MP3's."

Read more: http://www.answers.com/topic/hadda-brooks#ixzz1AjAUzdL1

Ballet of Bedmaking: 'Comme on faict son lict, on le treuve'

2011-01-07T02:26:00.000-08:00

'As one makes one's bed, so one finds it"

15th century French proverb

a more recent translation:

'the way you make your bed is the way you lay in it'

It is a strange paradox
   The world in which
        I sleep and dream
                 The bed I lay down on
                 Must accommodate
                                       My hearts desires:

The

Romantic

Earthy

And...

Sensual

Beautiful

Bookish

& Bare Bones

Room enough for coffee

Served in Bed

All belong to my inner sanctuary,

which brings the color I need to reality.

Fin

55flash fiction

Ballet of Bedmaking: 'Comme on faict son lict, on le treuve'
It is a strange paradox
the world in which
I sleep and dream
The bed I lay down on
must accommodate
my hearts desires:
the romantic, earthy, & sensual ;
beautiful, bookish, & bare bones,
room enough for coffee
served in bed.
All belong to my inner sanctuary,
which brings the color I need to reality.
Fin

photo credits: fffound & tumblr, 1st tumblr/Izabel, 2nd,tumblr eugeniorecunco, 3rd tumblr/timwalker, 6 & 9 Lelove, 10-rodneysmith

Captured Solar Eclipse.

2011-01-05T13:00:00.000-08:00

Embrace Warmth

The sun slowly makes it way

over the horizon,

lighting the way with a miraculous

power and awe inspiring beauty

that is purposefully

alive at every moment.

It repeats it's stellar performance

for us every morning

when we wake up early enough

to watch it in all its glory

coming up over the horizon as it has been doing

for hundreds of thousands of years.

In this moment in time

I cannot comprehend my own

seemingly unimportant existence

as the rays of the sun wash over me

but I am eternally grateful for being alive.

Fin

One-Stop Poetry

photo creditor of the 1st photo of the partial solar eclipse

Ace astrophotographer Thierry Legault found a way to make today's partial solar eclipse even more memorable" by "capturing the International Space Station (ISS) as it transited the sun." The article called the image "one to remember. ... The ISS transited the sun in less than a second (0.86 seconds to be precise), so not only did Legault have to be in the right place to see the ISS dash in front of the sun, his timing needed to be perfect

FLY AWAY

2010-12-29T02:13:00.000-08:00

Fly away free and unfettered
On the last rays of December days less bright

Past the grasslands, mountains and oceans

Toward the pure blue heavens and the forgiving stars,
Where our mind is eased of sorrow and pain.

Sailing on the transport of delight
through to the deep places of creation,
Into that creative zone where time stops,
And boundaries cease to exist,

Seek there a righteous place,

To laugh and love,

sing and play.

Even before you have come back,
I have become intoxicated,
With much joy in anticipation,
when you set
your pen to paper and write

about truth and beauty that sets us free

Come then let us celebrate and fill our cups

with the gratitude of acceptance
and the colors of peace

for the new year.

From the corners of my mind.
joanny

fin

One Stop Poetry

photo via tumblr images: red leaf; red dress-Anatoly Beloschin: Beatrice Woods gold luster ware cup

Soul on fire!

2010-12-18T23:33:00.000-08:00

Fiery Flamenco over the dance beat

exuding passion and fire for each

makes fire dance
tap tap tapping to the heavy pounding
twisting, arching,

foot fast rattling
tap tap tapping to the flamenco beat

excerpt from my poem Steps in Time for the full version go here

fin

Sunday 160

photo ffffound flamecowoman

Et pourtant

2010-12-17T00:04:00.000-08:00

It was in Roueu, a quaint picturesque

old city on the river Seine,

that I came upon this place.

It was jutting out every which way, carved delicately out of stone.

It looked abandon ----
Et pourtant

The afternoon sun and the play of light dancing on the water

Seemed to awaken it to life..

Or did my eyes deceive me?

In I stepped...

Joyeux Noel

Fin

Friday Flash 55.....hosted by g-man

Monet's painting of Rouen Cathedral; Rouen is the ancient capital of Normandy
Chateau -Dordogne, France:
google image of girl in doorway
Italian notebook Presepe -angel in doorway artist Mario Carotenuto

note: I changed this post -- originally it was intended for a much larger prose - so it did not make sense when I edited it down -- therefore from a few comments I revised it and removed Rodin's painting of Minerva and added the girl in the doorway and the painting by Signor Carotenuto.

The Bewitching Hour!

2010-12-13T23:05:00.000-08:00

A feeling of aliveness

City lights glare

Wide as high as near as far

An array of color floods into my eyes

Ah,

light shows at the

asphalt are playing tonight

No need to look up

ORION

appears just above the billboards

the universe of stars is barely visible

through the dazzling display of nightlights

on the freeway wall

MMM, the taste of dust on my tongue

just as the roar of the hot red car

speeding by drowns out my thoughts

gives me chills under my warm coat.

the car purrs along

while my thoughts return to you

makes my skin melt like butter.

Rain drops like silver glisten –

A red maple leaf spins with the wind and hits my windshield

I drive mesmerized and hypnotized

by the silver pools of water splashing up

from the pavement while the windshield wipers

keeps time to the raindrops rhythmic beat.

Cars passing on by pay no attention

to the fate of the red maple leaf

cut loose by the wind tossing and tumbling and rolling

along side my car trying hard to keep up

a train whistle’s shrill voice quivers in the night air

like a sail made of stars singing a-cappella

Wiper blades joins in to a 4/4 beat

Car engine whirling sounds like

.. my true love gave to me...

3 French Hens

2 Turtle Doves

And a Partridge in a Pearrrr..

Brake

lights

head!

smell of pine scented smoke and

car exhaust mingle in the cold night air.

Home at Last!

a bit of holiday sparkle --- you are waiting there!

Fin

the author of this blog!

One Shot Wednesday hosted by Claudia…
photo tumblr-sail dress-bed

The Best Morning Ever!

2010-12-12T09:02:00.000-08:00

Mt Hood at Sunrise

Have a beautiful day everyone!

image 2nd photo rodneysmith

The Interplay with Nature!

2010-12-03T03:54:00.000-08:00

Serpentine pathways
harbor surprises
simple and rustic,
constantly changing
creates

a different rhythm
in cadence with each step
from one pattern to another

the pause in between
strikes the right chord
of inner balance

forming the intimate
mood of harmony

combining the interplay with nature

and the duality of forces

pairing the elements

of yin and yang

in one single step!

Friday Flash 55 --hosted by g- man

"The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."
---Lao Tzu

Portland’s Lan Su Chinese Garden is an authentic Suzhou-style garden and was created to nurture and inspire all who visit, it is little changed from what might have greeted you during the Ming dynasty in China.

December Morn - Silver Lining

2010-12-01T17:04:00.000-08:00

"Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud
Turn forth her silver lining on the night?"
Milton's (1634)

* * *

Emerging under a canopy of cloudy skies,

the pale gold of a new day

in silence - makes it's entry

this wet December morn.

Rain drops sprinkled by swaying branches

glitter against my window pane

they live - like a memory of a dream

that never grows old, and the darkness

of night evaporates in the interplay

of the pale light of the dawn,

There at the edge where

water and light embrace

to be united and absorbed

join in the wilderness

with the call of one solitary bird

breaking the silence - with sustained grace

ushers in the miracle of the morning
of this incredible place!

Fin

Imperfect prose

Thankfully Simple!

2010-11-25T02:14:00.000-08:00

Let us come together and celebrate

Each other and the Goodness

Of the Abundance of the Earth.

May your Thanksgiving

Rise above

the clamor of all that has yet to come!

Fin

photo credits fffound- girl in water

A gift from a far away place!

2010-11-20T20:51:00.000-08:00

With a cup of coffee in hand --

listening to new songs with old words

I lift the curtain and see,

brightened by the afternoon sun,

a timeless joy

...a breath of flowers ...

with a note...

...comes along the wind.

art by joanny

Fin

Sunday 160
Sunday Sketches

photo #1 fffound- rodney smith, 2 fffound, #3,4,5 by joanny, painting by joanny

Love Potion Number Nine

2010-11-14T02:15:00.000-08:00

Time Passes.....

Morning follows night

Seasons come and go

Love waxes and wanes
Distance separates.....

I still taste your lips
Smell your hair
Feel your touch

My Heart aches for you

fin
* **

* * *

Sunday 160

photos via tumblr

Indefinable Grace!

2010-11-12T00:24:00.000-08:00

Choreography of great pleasure

The leaps soar and subside

Clearness of placing
The sureness of timing
A delicate balance

Standing with bent knee on one foot,

The other leg horizontal and downward

Drive the velocity and force
With which her free leg deploys

Its mass from the leg she stands anchored on

Her prowess and her dance instinct collide

Fin

* * *

friday flash 55 hosted by G-man

* * *

imperfect prose hosted by emily

Choreography of great pleasure
The leaps soar and subside
Clearness of placing
The sureness of timing
A delicate balance
Standing with bent knee on one foot,
The other leg horizontal and downward
Drive the velocity and force
With which her free leg deploys
Its mass from the leg she stands anchored on
Her prowess and her dance instinct collide

fin

Friday Flash 55

imperfect prose

photo credits ffffound and tumblr sketches by joanny

THE LAKE HOUSE

2010-11-07T03:48:00.000-08:00

Once youthful

now hath grown old
with character, charm & cherished memories
the history of it all
without trying to be anything
other than what it is

at the heart of its architectural soul.

fin

* * * *

Sunday 160 hosted by monkey man

* * * *
Flash Fiction Friday 55, hosted by Mr. Knowitall.

* * * *

*I can't help reminiscent, on how I came upon

this beautiful weathered stone Lake House-

While casually exploring, looking for the view,

the path wound in and out along the shoreline.

Making my way around the bend

across an ancient bridge

and down the stone steps, it felt oddly familiar.

I suppress a shiver, the Lake House

is drenched in radiant light

looking like some mythic fen

at the edge of the world.

I knew at once

that I would paint the scene;

*It stirred my soul*

The End

photos 1-5 boat house that is situated on its own private island in Lake Oswego, Portland Oregon.
This most unusual boathouse, designed by architect, Richard Sundeleaf, in 1933, is constructed of stones, sculptured turrets, wrought iron gates and exposed beam interiors. Inside, on an old stone bench, the owner can sit, look at the lake, and beyond see an unimpeded view of Mount Hood.
photo 7 tim walker - girl in sail boat

The Spirit of Montmartre.

2010-11-03T21:52:00.000-07:00

Montmartre, the Mecca for the Bohemian

world the fin de déclin de siècle

where once pious nuns did pray

now throngs of local patrons seeking

pleasure of sensuality sublime as they beg

for something more:

Mon cher mon ame et corps tu me fait un grand plaisir

A virtuosity with color,
both compassionate and voyeuristic

a most perplexing young man was he,

though small in stature,
somewhat harsh, witty,

a chronicle of the bawdy,

lived a life among the sordid,

using only a paintbrush he surpasses

the language of the senses

and immortalized the unknowns,

singers, poets, and can-can girls.

Temptation of the soul whispering taunts,

with a skewed perspective,

illuminating the shadows with lurid colors

the young unknown artist paints

the aching beauty of the naughty girl

with low neckline and tossed up skirt,

with all the follies and sins despite,
shrouded in ambiguous, artificial light,
the chanticleer of Pan’s nightlife,
painting those souls in brothels, bars and cabarets.

Savoring his intoxication, drunkenly he inhales pain,

unable to speak Toulouse de Lautrec succumbs at age 36,

with one last glimpse of his life

left on the canvas of the spirit of Montmartre.

fin

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec (b Albi, Tarn, 24 Nov 1864; d Chateau de Malromé, nr Langon, Gironde, 9 Sept 1901) was a leading postimpressionist artist whose paintings, lithography, and posters contributed much to the development of Art Nouveau in the 1890s.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henri_de_Toulouse-Lautrec

photo credits: Google toulouse-lautrec-- The last painting shown here Toulouse Latrec painted his portrait in the scene -he is the one with the beard.

join me with Emily who hosts imperfect prose here. and other poets.

copy of poem without photo's

Montmartre, the Mecca for the Bohemian world
the fin de déclin de siècle where once pious nuns did pray
now throngs of local patrons seeking pleasure
of sensuality sublime as they beg for something more:
Mon cher mon ame et corps tu me fait un grand plaisir
A virtuosity with color, both compassionate and voyeuristic
a most perplexing young man was he
though small in stature, somewhat harsh, witty,
a chronicle of the bawdy, lived a life among the sordid,
using only a paintbrush
he surpasses the language of the senses
and immortalized the unknowns, singers, poets, and can-can girls.
Temptation of the soul whispering taunts,
with a skewed perspective,
illuminating the shadows with lurid colors
the young unknown artist paints
the aching beauty of the naughty girl
with low neckline and tossed up skirt,
with all the follies and sins despite,
shrouded in ambiguous, artificial light,
the chanticleer of Pan’s nightlife,
painting those in brothels, bars and cabarets.
Savoring his intoxication,
drunkenly inhales pain,
unable to speak
Toulouse de Lautrec succumbs at age 36,
with one last glimpse of his life
left on the canvas of the spirit of Montmartre.

Hestia’s Hearth

2010-10-31T04:47:00.000-07:00

- 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

Sunday 160 hosted by Monkey Man

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

SEIZE THE NIGHT

2010-10-29T13:03:00.000-07:00

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

Unguarded Moments - Mag 37

2010-10-25T20:09:00.000-07:00

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.

A fantasy poem written for Magpie Tales hosted by Willow aka Tess Kincaid

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