Holidragon
There are very few pieces of my art that stick into my soul, this joyous beast holds my heart in a warm place.
I wish many joyous moments–for each and every one of you–in this wondrous season of magnified love. 😘
gripped in the shade black of this moment
not wanting to risk a toenail of sunshine
can’t lose anymore for fear of stagnation
along the path that leads to a colorless nowhere
hoping the road is paved with witches and warlocks and all manner of magic
if their wicked wands cease
so go the white rabbits
falling into the ocean
one leaping over the other
sinking like stones
where wicked wands and white rabbits must wait
for a one-legged, orange octopus to utter, “he is happy”
the trickster mermaid
a one-legged tale
it was many stormy fathoms ago that the orange octopus sacrificed his body
to a trickster mermaid who desired winsomely wild, orange hair
he’d traded his appendages for the promise of writing success
you see, his sea creature heart stowed dreams of penning a cherished tome
overcome by the trickster mermaid’s outrageous beauty
the orange octopus agreed to give his arms over
he didn’t think he’d mind as his eight arms often tripped him up
in this blinding moment, he’d forgotten the futility of holding pens without arms
finally when some sense returned to him, all but one of his arms remained
and the manic mollusc began shedding salty tears
being more partial to pepper, the trickster mermaid was unfazed until
she caught sight of her gorgeously curving tendrils
then a tiny pearl of mercy did she reveal
and the trickster mermaid allowed the orange octopus to keep one arm
(it was slightly shorter than the others anyway)
infatuated with her own outrageous beauty
the trickster mermaid watched her new curves sway as her head moved
she spoke aloud all the while staring at her reflection,
“my dear slimy sea thing, the day wicked wands and white rabbits sink to the bottom of the ocean
your arms will regenerate and your penned words will be heard”
the orange octopus halted his hysteria and quickly replied, “but my wish was for writing success”
still entranced with herself, the trickster mermaid parlayed,
“ah my dear, one-legged sea sucker, not even I can promise success”
she cackled viciously while observing how her hair swayed
then the trickster mermaid grew bored of the sobbing mollusc,
she left the distraught one-legged orange octopus with this,
“my dear, one-legged water waste, wicked wands and white rabbits
do not exist” she cackled once more then vanished into the deep blue forever
within his dour and damaged heart the one-legged orange octopus held out krill-sized hope
for wicked wands and white rabbits to one day appear
now all he needed to do was write
Mermaid Girl
obviously this mermaid is not the trickster mermaid, this little lady has a kind heart;)
through entertainment’s prism of 1960
one raging wish have I
to live a single glorious night
swaddled in Rat Pack company
blinded by devilish eyes and wily smiles
as black fedoras set like ascending jet planes
from center stage
swagger and melodies floating effortlessly
I’d inhale those gents’ intoxicating charisma
letting each velvet voice weave through my silk threads
beyond my mind
yes, this lady would be that tramp
not dishing the dirt
but tucking this beguiling dream
where she buries her most romantic schemes and sweetest treasures
and if it wouldn’t be asking too much of the fickle fantasy gods
this lady also pines for Mario Lanza
circa 1950
thank you
that will be all…;)
10 minute sketch composed several hours ago, I’m a bit lazy today – ’cause this sketch needs more than 10 minutes…oh well, it is fantasy
Dear Friends,
This afternoon the giant husband and I did some weekend running around. On the way home, we passed by a lovely old, shingle-sided church.
By appearances, it hadn’t held a congregation in quite some time. The front door was locked and bolted – a sad sight for a house where one is supposed to find solace and prayer. The building might even be for sale – sadder still…
Adjoining this historic structure was an old graveyard.
Many of the stones, some going back to the 1700’s, had served hard time. Some had sprouted lichens.
Still others surfaces were so worn the names and dates were no longer readable.
Some stones rested on one another for support, clinging to the last vestiges of their earthen anchors.
There was a beautiful tree, its powerful branches watching over and protecting its wards.
It continues cherishing thousands of secrets and keeping whispers safe.
Over the years, I’ve passed by many houses of worship. Their doors locked when services are not underway. I’ve passed by ancient cemeteries too, some a bit neglected.
In times of real need, we alone must bow our heads to dream of hope, pray for peace and hold onto our loved ones as long as possible on this earth…
This post is dedicated to Phyllis Rose who lost her battle with cancer on Friday night. My mom told me of Phyllis’s passing. She was 53. I hadn’t seen Phyllis Rose since I was in my teens. On Friday night, I was worrying about getting the grocery shopping done…life is…
Thank you and goodnight. May your dreams be peaceful and your wishes all come true…
(Sketched the day of this post. This is my handsome nephew, VW. Image inspired by my sister Dolores’s photo)
