Thursday, March 31, 2016

Reading, Photographing Flowers...

              A treasured gift from a poet friend...


  Photo by my daughter Sarah's sweet friend, Erin G.





     Singer P. J. Harvey's first book of poetry.  Awesome!

         And lastly, another awesome photo by my daughter Sarah's hiking friend, Erin G.










Thursday, March 24, 2016

Easter Equals New Life, and A Poem

"Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song.” 
― Pope John Paul II

           White Azaleas, Southern Snow. :-)

                            Hot Pink Azalea

          Beautiful Blueberry Blossoms, So Delicate

                   Gel Pen Quote Coloring Art
 
         My Buddha with Willow Angels, Mary & Jesus

                                                   ...where all truth resides

             A little poem I wrote a while back before I quit writing







Monday, March 21, 2016

Happy World Poetry Day!




YOUR WORLD
By Georgia Douglas Johnson


Your world is as big as you make it. 
I know, for I used to abide
In the narrowest nest in a corner, 
My wings pressing close to my side. 
But I sighted the distant horizon 
Where the skyline encircled the sea 
And I throbbed with a burning desire 
To travel this immensity. 
I battered the cordons around me 
And cradled my wings on the breeze, 
Then soared to the uttermost reaches 
With rapture, with power, with ease!


Read more about this poem and poet on the Poetry Foundation website: http://bit.ly/HltC6k


Sent from The Poetry Foundation POETRY mobile app. Download your copy from AppStore now!

Friday, March 18, 2016

Eating the Dragon's Heart by Deborah Digges

             Flooded yard one block away.  Swamp creeping up!


Willow (Blythe doll) yesterday frolicking in my Mint for St. Paddy's Day.

Another fun coloring page.  This one was a wooly-bugger to color. :-)

My friend's camp...lots of flooding near us, but so far, we're dry.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

          (Photo found online...don't know the artist)...


Eating the Dragon's Heart
by Deborah Digges

What god left for me here a dragon's heart.  Resembling
     a pomegranate,
In a gold box.  The parchment read Fresh kill.

Eat raw or braise in oil.
I lifted it from royal foil onto my best blue willow, blood
     of the ages

seeping out across the bluest bridge.
The first bite sap-like tasted of smoke-filled rooms---

women wearing smocks unloading kilns, stone sheets
     of charcoal
crushed in bowls, sprinkled with dew

drawn just that morning from high grasses.  The second bite,
     sour as a lemon
eaten whole, the rind and all, the root

of Queen Anne's lace and goldenrod.
Still through the burning I began to understand what the
     crows were saying,

speaking in tongues, their news fraught with
     ill-fated warnings.
Never they choired, be tempted to suck lifeless sweet buds
     hung of seeds.

It is a trap.  Nor smear onto this page the juice that stains
     like afterbirth
your fingers, lest you're condemned to winery again,

lest you fall through the ice of time.
Sunk you my knees in sludge I waded bogs collecting feathers
     to be used as quills.

Then swore the pledge, kissing goodbye the last bite of my
     lover's lips.
Swallowed it whole in my green sequined dress.

Why do we offer you a dragon's heart and not a pomegranate?
To ask, one has no right to call herself a poet.

******************************************************

                     My yard is full of flowers, bees, dragonflies and Hummingbirds. 






Sunday, March 13, 2016

THE SPIDER AND THE GHOST OF THE FLY By Vachel Lindsay


              Spider Web After Storm


THE SPIDER AND THE GHOST OF THE FLY
By Vachel Lindsay

Once I loved a spider
When I was born a fly,
A velvet-footed spider
With a gown of rainbow-dye.
She ate my wings and gloated.
She bound me with a hair.
She drove me to her parlor
Above her winding stair.
To educate young spiders
She took me all apart.
My ghost came back to haunt her.
I saw her eat my heart.



I read like I breathe...with holy wonder...books have saved me again & again, but how long??

Monday, March 7, 2016

Spring's Arrived Early in Swamplandia!!

      "A weed is but an unloved flower." ~Emerson (Clover flower).

          This Iguana materialized via my "Adult Coloring Book".  LOL!

Azaleas are wildly blooming & Bluebirds are building nests.

                                          My pink Azalea Bushes in the front yard.

       Dandelion this morning, already blown away...

WHO HAS SEEN THE WIND?  By Christina Rossetti
Who has seen the wind? 
Neither I nor you: 
But when the leaves hang trembling, 
The wind is passing through. 

Who has seen the wind? 
Neither you nor I: 
But when the trees bow down their heads, 
The wind is passing by.


         Dandelion flowers and a fallen Tulip petal...

                         Monday Humor, people. I love the ID Channel about true crime.

A shotgun house I drew. My son-in-law lived here in college.
And yes, I know I'm no artist.  Ha! Ha! I color good, though!

An artist I LOVE, Myka Jelina. Check her out on Etsy.com
I just ordered two of her prints.  She's very affordable!

This hippie chick link below will be my next month's piece of art if she doesn't sell out.

https://www.etsy.com/listing/271102181/rhianon-canvas-print-signed-boho-fairy?ref=listing-shop-header-2
















Friday, March 4, 2016

As If The Moon Could Haul Through You by Neil Fischer

 Idris Elba's my favorite actor on earth.  I LOVE Luther.  (He's been looking over my shoulder.) 


                        My sky today.

                My sky yesterday.  Glorious!

           A Heron I colored with metallic gel pens.

                                                        My new Tulips.

[AS IF THE MOON COULD HAUL THROUGH YOU]

By Neil Fischer


As if the moon could haul through you 
Its tremor of light and stone, 
Be cleared of sound. Plough 
The mind's noise until it's a shine 

In the purl of south-bending river that bears 
Itself toward a blacker part of the forest. 
If you hum, hum through the motes of air, 
Perhaps your nerves will find at last 

A tone to which they will succumb. 
Be still. Be not so heavy-hearted 
For a moment. All is not a tomb, 
Blind sarcophagus staring dumb, thwarted 

Pleasures nailed inside. These fireflies 
Sweep their tracings on the evening. 
Weep if you must, but board what falls 
Away, abdomens flaring— 

The brief, nomadic intervals.