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

 Sunday 160 hosted by Monkey Man

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

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

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. 

 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

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 

Sunday 160 with Monkey Man, today.

photo credits; #1 smashingmagazine, #2, 4, 9 rodneysmith, #3, 5, 6,joanny, # 8 fffound

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.

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

This is a Magpie Tale hosted and created by Willow 

from Willow MANOR

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

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

this is for G-Man and Flash Friday 55

 

 photo credits and movie from Ghost and the you tube version is the best cut on this scene, although ..... well you will see...

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.