Passions Beyond Writing 2

 

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I made a LeMoyne Star pattern in the center and then added the rose appliques on top to make this centerpiece for my table. I machine quilted the top and appliqued the flowers by machine. The project took about 5 hours from start to finish. To me, there is something inviting about having a centerpiece on a table don’t you agree. However, in our home, it seems to encourage morning and evening interest.

It’s been a pattern all of this week for W.B. Yeats to take his morning snooze there.

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He’s our almost 13-year-old tabby.

In the evenings we have our 2-year-old blush tabby Macavity taking his siesta.

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Itis good to know my artistic endeavors are appreciated.

Friday Fantasy ~ Where the Magic Flows – #poetry

The beauty of writing poetry is we create imagery verbally and visually.

Dorinda Duclos's avatarNight Owl Poetry - Dorinda Duclos

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I can sit here, on a leaf

And watch the raindrops fall

I can watch the eagle fly

Yet daydream, that’s my call

Still, I’d rather follow moonlight

For where I go, it knows

Far away, into my own world

That’s where the magic flows

©Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved
Photo via Pixabay CC0

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Photography and Writing

 

 dsc_0195Artists think outside the box either by choice or habit.These thoughts determine our actions. Showing up to our chosen canvas sometimes takes a lot of energy. The negative baggage we bury ourselves under like “I really have no particular talent”  sabotages us. I’m sure there are good solutions out there, but for me, I strongly feel that my job is to mind my thoughts and to use my strengths to improve my creativity.  I make myself lists of all the ways I can be inspired and then another list how I can inspire others. I never limit myself to one creative outlet.

One consistent thing that shows up in my lists is photographs, a captured image frozen in a narrow focus. Over the years, when I’ve found myself stuck writing, I grab my camera and just look at things all around me through that closed view. The details in that small glimpse are incredible because I frequently miss them with my eyes.

The pictures I chose today are great examples of looking at a picture differently. The seagull over the vast ocean is what I saw without my lens. Once, I looked at the seagull through the lens I saw his wings and how effortlessly he parted the wind to turn. His gliding motion when he wanted to use the wind to lessen his workload. I studied him until he flew out of my lens range and I moved onto the next one.dsc_0197dsc_0196

I filled my notebook with everything I saw. I  discovered the seagull’s world not just in a picture, but later in poetry as I considered all the things the bird enjoyed and I needed which in turn inspired this.

My Deserted Island Has
Turquoise water swirling, seagulls hovering,
with shallow waves breaking along the reef,
crystal blue streams, and mossy banks in the shade.
A chilly deep pool sparkling with the sun’s glimmering rays,
surrounded by luscious trees with sweeping branches,
that beckon me to climb over a sandy beach.
Wow,  so many seashells scattered on
the glimmering sand. It’s a shell collectors dream,
a painter’s haven hidden from the masses.
Wildflowers strewed randomly along the hillside, bursts of
purple and pink with a bit of orange amidst green grass.
Oh my,  curious creatures peeking from the
rocks, and cliffs that shape the steep top of a mountain edge
where a large bird’s nest looms in a treetop.
I stared at the sail of yacht passing by,
Yes, I think one more day before I signal, I am here.
Maybe two days… I  am content in the peace
I found here on my lovely deserted island.

Author Connections 6

Loneliness in a world filled with opportunity should be a paradox. Yet, we all experience that feeling at some point in our lives. We don’t want to do the same things, see the same people we want to change. We need change. But when that door is open, and we’ve ventured into another space and realize we have no connections, no kind face to make a connection with we feel isolated. Loneliness rears its ugly head.
I know there are other types of loneliness, but for today I am just addressing it as an author.Here on WordPress, we are blessed with the daily interaction we have. I’ve never forgotten how I initially felt here when I knew no one. I was alone, I felt lonely. My writing wasn’t read nor did I really know what direction to go. I only knew I was surrounded by people who loved what I love… WRITING. Over time by putting myself out there, I interacted with people, and a following began. We’re connecting.

However, in the real world where I exist that is not the case. Vic enjoys poetry but not to the extent I do. I find myself feeling alone because when we gather with other people, the conversations go from sports, politics, weather, movies anything but poetry which saddens me. I am reminded of Issac Asimov’s quote “Writing is a lonely job. Even if a writer socializes regularly, when he gets down to the real business of his life, it is he and his typewriter or word processor. No one else is or can be involved in the matter.”

My poem for today is about a writer’s need to name things. For Lisel Mueller, a German immigrant, fleeing Nazi Germany the English language was relatively new she chose to use very easy to understand the language a lot like her idol Carl Sandberg did to express herself in poetry. I believe she is still alive, I didn’t see any note otherwise https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poets/detail/lisel-mueller.

Things

By Lisel Mueller
What happened is, we grew lonely
living among the things,
so we gave the clock a face,
the chair a back,
the table four stout legs
which will never suffer fatigue.

We fitted our shoes with tongues
as smooth as our own
and hung tongues inside bells
so we could listen
to their emotional language,

and because we loved graceful profiles
the pitcher received a lip,
the bottle a long, slender neck.

Even what was beyond us
was recast in our image;
we gave the country a heart,
the storm an eye,
the cave a mouth
so we could pass into safety.

Lisel Mueller, “Things” from Alive Together: New and Selected Poems. Copyright © 1996 by Lisel Mueller. Reprinted by permission of Louisiana State University Press.

I find myself wanting to name things that surround me like my desk is my sanctuary whereas my garden once was. Now, my garden is my Zen space where I only rejuvenate. As we live, everything is named or has been appointed. We need the labels for they connect us. And we remember that we are not alone. It is up to us to change our perspective.

Discovered an interesting poet from a good friend, I just had to share.

 

redlipsThat Kiss
by Sharon Esther Lampert

Fortune teller that I AM,
My crystal ball sees ALL.
Clairvoyant, the man’s libido is flamBOYant.
I SEE: ANIMAL MAGNETISM.
Inside of THAT KISS will be bliss.

Taking chances with amorous glances,
He advances… Lips pouting-tongue tied:
THAT KISS: SmOOch; smOOch.
When he romances: his gait prances,
his penis lances, his generosity enhances.
VOODOO, or DOO-YOU want dinner, dear?”
His heart dances….

Magician that HE IS,
He has a loaded deck of cards,
And wants to be my bodyguard.
Enchantment: a bag of mesmerizing tricks,
An ACE up his sleeve, a KING or a JACK
Are inside of his top hat of black.
Sleight of hand, THAT KISS is grand.

WIZARDRY: Pressed into his bosom,
I am caught in his embraces, arms
Flailing, like a net above my head,
His pounding heart is beating red.
THAT KISS tells ALL or just enough
to keep me Interested in ALL of his stuff.

Lips full of feelings, THAT KISS,
Soft as rose petals, free of prickly thorns.
In the  dark recesses of his mouth,
I find my way by the light in his eyes,
His smile is real, there is no disguise.

Even though we just met,
I am caught in the tangled web of
A hot-blooded, Israeli-Englishman:
“A Jack of All of Love’s Trades.”
A rare mixed-breed, a British accent,
Concealing a *Sabra, wherever he went.
Tricks of my own trade, I roll up my sleeve,
And I become a woman-in-need(?)
THAT KISS I can’t forget, and with no regret:
It is almost 4 a.m., and inside of my gypsy’s tent:
Sm(OO)ch, sm(OO)ch,
We are still one silhouette.

ANIMAL MAGNETISM:
Sm(OO)ch, sm(OO)ch,
Some call it v(OO)d(OO),
Most think it witchcraft,
Experts refer to it as “osculation.”
Others call THAT KISS Kabbalah;
A kind of Jewish mysticism:
Many are in need of exorcism.

 

I loved the imagery mentally and visually and the fun word choices that the author chose to bring her poem alive. Her witty sarcasm reminds of when I first began dating and all my jumbled emotions. I hope you enjoy her work too!

Just Lyn

 

DSC_0443 A spunky girl

No one really understood

All the carry-on ordeal

Where she once lived

Being her was a full-time job

but now

Meet the new powerful monarch

her wings are

radiant

and

her hair

is blue.

Intimacy Denied (2)

For a brief interlude

two bodies 

entwined,

each rolling dissonance

with the need

to create

dissembling obfuscation

in a sweet moment

of contentment.

The twinkling stars

bear witness as

the wind imitates

the rub of limbs.

Their intimate moment

betrayed.

The boundaries 

established once more.

Legs, arms declare

personal space

while lyrics of love

face doom

as the distance

grows

and the bedding

yawns.

I want to thank Victor Alemar and Bill Waters for their suggestions. I can’t wait to hear your input on the changes.