Indefinable Grace!

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

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friday flash 55 hosted by G-man

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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

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

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Sunday 160 hosted by monkey man

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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.

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

- 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