Thursday, April 19, 2018

A HAPPY ENDING...OR NOT/Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads -- SPLENDID/Waiting on Words/Ladies in Waiting

Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads 

Dawn breaks
The sun rises
Drops of red blood on the snow
Begins the story of Snow White
Pricked her finger with the needle

Her life predicted by a witch
I suspect she was but a wise woman
Who knew that blood was an omen
A wistful old wives tale
Not set in stone

Snow White tasted the poison apple
Fell upon her bed to wait for the prince
Who wandered in the forest
With his merry men
Who drank and shot their arrows all day
Marksmen they were

They came to a clearing
Where stood a little house
And in the house
The beautiful maiden
Upon her bed

Her features alluring
The prince stole a kiss
And awakened Snow White
Now you remember how the story ended
“They all lived happily ever after”
It sounded like a promise
But who knows how it all really ended

April 19, 2018

Note:  It is interesting that stories about women, ended when they met the prince, married and lived happily ever after.  We all know, it is not the end of the story, but just the beginning.  Young women will write that story, w still have so much to learn.  And little by little we are learning each day.  


Waiting on Words/Ladies in Waiting

It is this world that comes to mind
And standing on the edge looking out into space
The stars that twinkle in the night
The memory of fireflies 
I don’t think they like desert
Rather prefer a green and wet place
Forest with moss that hangs from its branches
They twinkle to attract a mate
What do you think they talk about
Or do they just signal in unison

Outside my studio window
Sagebrush covers the mesa
Reminds me of the sea
Rolling and rolling
We sail to far-away places
Where ever we like
Our boat but a tub
And our sail, something silly
It is all quiet splendid
Rivers, mountains, and skies
What more could anyone ask

And then there is you
Wonderful you
Serious when need be
Otherwise anything for a laugh
I stop to consider
My life without you
And it is grey there
Take my hand
Hold on tight
Let us sail together into the night

April 19, 2018

Wednesday, April 18, 2018

THE PAINTING IS THE INVENTION OF THE PAINTER/ Poets United Midweek Motif -- Invention -- THIS IS YOUR LIFE/Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads -- A DRAGON OF YOUR OWN/Waiting on Words, Ladies in Waiting

Poets United  Midweek Motif -- Invention

As a painter I invent everyday
I create something new
Something never seen 
In exactly the same way before
You ask, but what am I to think
And I will answer 
That is up to you

I pick the color
I mix the paint
I apply the paint 
I allow the painting to come alive
And I need the viewer to have his own thoughts
To complete my work

But the viewer has to slow down
Be open
Take a fresh look
Be aware of his thoughts
Go with it
Perhaps it is based on a memory
Or a thought forgotten long ago
Suddenly it is in this moment
The thought is renewed
Seen in a different way

There is a dialogue
Between the viewer and the painting
Something is revealed
You will tell me 
How your Grandmother cared for you
The first time you flew
The little dog you had when you were small
You will tell me about your love
And when you first met
Your story will be unique

April 18, 2018


Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads

Yes, life is made up of many present moments
It is all we have
Nothing more is needed
Yet often we wish for something else
We say, “Our life would be complete, if only…”
But this is not true
What is true
Is that we have what we need
The Universe has provided
The path to creativity is marked
We have but to reach into the bag
And we will see
We do have what we need
So it is up to you
How you will use this present moment
The compass is pointed to “good”
Your good and the good of others
There will be moments you will like to refuse
But this is your life
Live it as you like
There is only one
A one way street
And there are no do-overs

April 18, 2018


Waiting on Words, Ladies in Waiting

Of course the word is dragon
Your "familiar"
He goes where you go
He waits for you to catch up
He has lived long
The subject of many tales
He once belonged to a man from China
That is where he learned to read Chinese
And speak the words in his own way
He learned to fly ages ago
He lived in a castle
Loved by a queen
Played with children on the grass
Few people pay attention to him anymore
He flies around the neighborhood
Eats small dogs for lunch
He is what is called a gentle dragon
He will never eat you
I wonder do you fly with him
Do you take him to school
He is as old as can be
Seen many things
But loves only you

April 18, 2018

Tuesday, April 17, 2018

WASSILY KANDINSKY/FATHER OF ABSTRACTION/ Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads and dVerse -- BRANCHES/Waiting on Words/Ladies in Waiting

Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads and dVerse

                                             Squares with Concentric Circles 1913

A dab of color here
A splash there
Red, yellow and blue
You stepped away from realism
You showed the way
Cut a new path
Down to the essence
The spirit of the thing
You played with me
Like the cat with the mouse
You teased
Red and yellow
We danced
It was all “play” for you
But what else is art
We return to be children
We see with fresh eyes
We spin
Red, yellow and blue
Always on guard
You enter my dreams
Wassily Kandinsky
Father of abstraction
April 17, 2018



Waiting on Words/Ladies in Waiting

Sage Brush covers the mesa
A plant that will grow 
Where others will not
I have seen people 
Scrape the area clean
And try to plant grass
Which doesn’t grow

So the dirt blows
Into clouds
And settles in layers everywhere
The sage brush is well suited
Like a tiny forest
There is the main body
Its branches grow in all directions

I can identify with this plant
It seems I grow 
Where others will not
The climate can be harsh
Very cold in the winter
Unpredictable spring
Hot in summer
Beautiful autumn
It suits me well
I flourish here
The desert is like love
If you are suited
It is all you need

April 17, 2018

Monday, April 16, 2018

CHIJITSE: Lingering Day -- dVerse Haibun Monday -- A FRIENDLY GAME OR TWO/ Imaginary gardens with real toads -- PAPER/Waiting on Words/ Ladies in Waiting

Chijitsu: Lingering Day – dVerse Haibun Monday

My days are full.  Only today I realize, each day is but a piece of the creative puzzle.  A note on a bar of music.  Perhaps we begin with the pieces scattered on the floor.  And slowly we find each piece and then find its place in our puzzle.  

As we work, live, and grow. Our focus is different in the different phases of our lives.  We learn a little with each step, hopefully become a little wiser with each day’s completion.  At the end of each day, is when we can sit back and enjoy the view. 

The blue sky turns to bright orange, red and yellow with touches of pink, and sometimes little bits of brilliant green.   It is if someone has turned the light down low.   The message seems to be, "day is done, time of reflection."

Day’s end
Spring has come at last
Time of reflection    

Imaginary Garadens with Real Toads

 A deck of 52 was all that was needed
The family gathered round
Challenges made
Deal the cards
We’ll see

No bets needed
We all loved to play
Cheers went up
Laughter all around
Played into the wee hours of the night
Just a friendly game or two

No hand like another
All unique
What to do
What to do
A strategy
Was needed
Even if you got a bad hand
Laugh it off
Deal another
Begin again

April 16, 2018

Waiting on Words/Landies in Waiting

What is to be said of paper?

Across the counter 
He asked
What can I do for you?
I told him
I would like a fresh heart
For mine is broken
He wrapped it in paper
And handed it to me
Still beating

Handmade in Japan
By Mr. Hosino
Master papermaker
He put the magic into the paper
That could be seen in my work
His life recently ended
His daughter makes paper now

Eight by ten
A piece of  creamy paper
Waiting for the words
Of your song
Written in ink
Sealed with a kiss
A letter to my love

For years my passion was paper
My pencil loved to drag across
Its surface
My brush loved to caress you, too
What thoughts made visible
Because of you

April 16, 2018

Sunday, April 15, 2018

Poets United -- TRAVERSE THE VERSE/ The Sunday Whirl Wordle 347 -- PRAY TO GOD THAT HE FORGIVE US ALL/ Imaginary garadens with real toads -- THE TEXTURE OF MY LIFE/

The Sunday Whirl

Walk a million miles
Across the sand
Torrid heat
Dress appropriately
Black head to toe
A black umbrella

I saw you once
You burned an image
In my brain
Were you with someone
Or a part of a special sect
What a tale you told
As you walked alone

I confess
There was a spring in your step
Did anyone advise
To check your gear
Was it your first time
In the desert
Your hands were empty
Except for the black umbrella

You return to me
A treat to think you made it all the way
A feat I could not do myself
Perhaps you aligned yourself
With the task and needed nothing else
Dressed in black
With your black umbrella

April 15, 2018


Imaginary Gardens with Real Toads

No man is without stain
Be it of any color
For any offence

I cannot say what made the support give way
The ship toppled
The crew drowned

It can happen that way
Pray to God that he forgive us all
No man is without stain

Who is to say
What color is worse
Or do rainbows fade
And broken hearts lose their way

Do sailors return
After their ships sink at sea
Are we all washed clean
White as a new driven snow
Pray to God that he forgive us all

April 15, 2018

OKAY SO MY CHALLENGE today is: read these three poems:
1. The Ballad Of The Proverbs - Poem by François Villon
2. Epitaph In The Form Of A Ballade - Poem by François Villon
3. The Ballad Of Villon And Fat Madge - Poem by François Villon

CHOOSE: one that you like and,
DISTIL: from one of them, a quote.
CONSTRUCT: based on your understanding or appreciation of the quote, a new poem, using any Poetry form you choose. 
PLEASE: stay within 100 words.
SHARE: and add a link to the Villon poem you chose.
PREFACE: your newly written poem, with your quote and with credit given to François Villon
READ the poems of fellow poets in the linky.

Epitaph In The Form Of A Ballade - Poem by François Villon

“But pray to God that he forgive us all.” 


The texture of the moment
Can sting like nettles
Of the hour
Can sting like ants or bees
The texture of the morning
Can seem varied
The texture of the afternoon
Cannot be predicted

Can we sum up the texture of the day
Sometimes rough, sometimes smooth
The texture of the night
Can also vary from bumpy to silky
It can be soft like a kitten’s fur
Or is can seem stormy
Keep you awake the whole night through

So many things can effect texture
And on the flip side of the coin

Texture is based on feelings
We have all experienced them
So when we think of someone 
As rough as a cob
Perhaps we will remember 
What makes her so

April 15, 2018

Saturday, April 14, 2018

THE DREAM IS A NIGHTMARE/Imaginary gardens with real toads -- SPRING INTERRUPTED/


In a crowded room
I look up and there you are
Two people find each other
You ask and I say, “I do”
Without much thought
You look cute
Your hair falls in your face
You are a good dancer

It seems it is what humans do
Search rivers and dells
For their other half
But if each one is only a half
What kind of relationship
Can that be

The song light hearted
About something so serious
Let’s get married
Live happily ever after
I think that is how the story goes

But more often than not
In no time
The party is over
Two strangers meet
Form a union
And things fall apart.
Realizing the dream 
Is a nightmare 

April 14, 2018


Spring in all its finery
Two new nests by the door
Freshly concealed
New growth in the garden
Glacier blue sky
Even the light is fresh

One day the wind blew
Like an angry bear
Awaken from his nap

The following day
A grey sky greeted
Morning commuters
In silence the flakes descended
Like tiny paratroopers
As they landed they melted
Small drops of water took their place
Spring interrupted by snow

April 14, 2018

Friday, April 13, 2018


It is a weekday
Nothing special
I enter the museum
Through the glass door
The air is cold on my skin
On the walls before me
The paintings are large
The colors so fresh
They could have been painted yesterday

I am suddenly reminded
I am seeing the work of dead people
Many died long ago
Their voices now silent
It is only through the works
They are held in memory
Like a fly in amber

Their paintings are visible
But not the artists who have died
Not even their bones are left on view
Yet they seem to be preserved
In the magic of oil paint

The paintings can make you angry
Or they can make you feel happy
The artists themselves seem to 
Come alive in the works
Step down from the walls
No longer dismissed to history

I whisper
I know you through your work
I hear your laughter
Today you return
Flesh and blood

April 13, 2018


I don’t mean to whine
Or seem ungrateful
My life is rich
Beyond expectation
A gift wrapped in colorful paper
An invitation to share a laugh
Toast the days 

The morning begins windy
The sky a forever grey
The wind chimes shiver
Play a wistful tune
…Otherwise silent

Low light
No shadows
It is the light found in between
In between heart beats
In between breaths
In between words
No longer whispered

The band around my chest
Chokes the breath from my lungs
More often than I like
Still I search the old trunk in the attic
For the exact words
To avoid misunderstanding
I look into your eyes

April 13, 2018

Thursday, April 12, 2018

ARS POETICA/dVerse --LIFE ON AN ISLAND REMEMBERED/Imaginary gardens with real toads -- PRIVACY FOR SALE/


What is a poem to me
I reach down deep
To dark places
Where no one lives anymore
Abandoned houses
Empty, cold and worn
A place where I can see
Exactly what I want you to see

Follow me
I’ll show you how
Drop to your knees
Bend low
Look in between
Into shadowed corners
Wait for your eyes to focus
Listen to silent words
A conversation is going on
It just happened
Or it happened long ago

Tiptoe over
Open the trunk 
Lift the lid
Look carefully
It is all gathered there
Or step outside on windy morn
You will find your poem carried there

I have decided
Each poem is different
Like the one who wrote it
If we each look in the mirror
No two alike

April 12, 2018


Imaginary gardens with real toads

Yes, one day I lived on an island
The water lapped at the shore
The curlews awoke me each morning
Searching for breakfast
A noisy bunch
Like the streets of New York

The seagulls, too
Screaming and diving
Always alert for a tasty tidbit
They work hard for a living

At the beach
Crabs scurry across the sand
Clean the beach before the surfers arrive

In the cannel
The porpoise swim
Chasing their breakfast 

The bay flat 
Reflecting a kaleidoscopic sky
The colors of sea-lace
Wrap the tropical scene
Like a birthday present

Palm trees rustled in the breeze
Along the pier
The fishermen hawked their catch
That had slept in the bay last night

April 12, 2018


Because my birth came when it did
I am known to have secrets
But I would call it privacy
What belongs to me
What belongs to you
And what is the difference
There is nothing 
I really need to know about you
Other than what you want me to
And I will share with you
What you need to know about me
Don’t look under my dress
Don’t search my drawers
Don’t go through my trash
Don’t ask personal questions
Don’t raid my computer…
Without a warrant
There is a line drawn around me
And what is mine
Don’t cross that line
Don’t stick your nose 
Where it doesn’t belong
Allow me a small bit of privacy
In this world where facebook
Knows everything
And it is for sale

April 12, 2018