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 

 

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. 

Friday Flash 55 dreamers go visit here

The End 

photo tumblr: dream sign;.baby chick, ribbon

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  

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

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

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

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

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