Over in the Garden with Margaret

 Doll by Emma Whitlock

Over in the garden, Margaret shared some amazing talent with us.  Dolls made by her daughter and her fellow classmates~

I chose Emma Whitlock's doll because it reminded me of my dance with self doubt. The more I share myself as an artist, the more I dance with the ups n' downs of my authentic voice, my confidence and my muse.  The dream catcher reminded me of the nightmare I feel during the day, as the dark shadows of doubt linger, on my artistic journey. 

Dark thoughts feed

 like wretched bacteria

lingering in 

night's shadows

feeding on

one's soul

 sucking and tearing

at

what is real

an invisible hand

is

reaching beyond

hope's gray bed

bile billows out 

of your pores

and oozes

a rotting smell of

despair remains 

as

the invisible manifestation

speaks in a

serpent's voice 

don't 

listen

cruelty

 will eat

your creative self

and toil, like decay

putrid n' foul

its vile

voice churns leaving 

a

shredded skin of confidence

the repelling thoughts

seep like a sieve into

your gray matter

don't fall into 

the acidic brine

wake

 to the force of potential

 listen

to

 soul's whispers
like soft dandelion's wishes

 close

the door

on 

resistance
and dance
with the dust motes
of your day...
and wallow in the tumble
weeds
allow  

Your Muse
to
play
in the blue hour
those
echoes
cast in the net of your
everyday! 

© Ellen Wilson

 Doll by Chelsea Bednar

Her soul gives birth to day, 

as her translucent

 copper hair cascades

like reflected ribbons

in a tidal pool of

memories

Turquoise dreams of the sea

wave to her

washing her whole

as the ebb n' flow of

her heart

lives along

the piney pitch forest

Her heart 

steadfast and true

evergreen

to

 nature's gifts

Edges of childhood reside

as she bends, walks, and jumps

along the rocky shore

treasures

among the stars

winking in their indigo blanket to

 their cousins outlining their

sandy, salty bed 

Fingers extend to

 reach n' touch

the blue thoughts

that surface

they surround her

and comfort 

her

the bridge of her youth

fading like

the last star

before the

 golden hour

she will 

always 

remember 

 © Ellen Wilson

 

Liar, Liar....my Sweet Desire!

Fireblossom asked us to write a poem about our inner opposite.   I fear there is a bit of truth, in my liar, liar poem....can you figure out what I might be lying about ;D

I'm a sugar whore

             Yup that's me

I loooove the white granulated legal crack

                                           it rocks my world

It rules

                                                                                         me...

I crave

                                            its pure magic

it is my

                         meth

I

think 

about 

BREAKing BAD

I couldn't 

do that

cook

                                        chemicals

but 

I sure

do love to eat

them

someday 

they will 

                                        kill me

the

                                          magic of

brown sugar's 

                                              kiss

is 

sensual

&

so sweet

and 

if I 

am 

good

well,is it

bad to be good

or is it good to be

bad

                                                                                              sinful smile

as I pop some 

of the magic crystals

my brain so

 craves

like Pop Rocks

My mood is climbing

scaling the

path to the

sugar mountain high

Halloween haunts

me every year...as

the sugar fairies dance

teasing n' taunting

those colorful bitches

in their rainbow Skittle world

Discover a Rainbow

f#*^k  U

I

long for the buttery

 goodness

of toffee, 

with its nutty

chocolate heaven

 kiss

one nibble 

and

 I swoon...

to the moon

and 

back

I must ride

for one 

amazing bite....

sugar sucks

the life out of me

it is

my

sweet 

bitter 

pill

1380 bs=bull shit not

 blood sugar

 

 

 

 

Hallow's Edge

Over in the Garden, it is a bit spooky....beware of orbs and howling tonight!  Watch your step, as you journey out n' about on this Hallowed evening...

Beware of my neighbor Mrs. Kravitz.  She is a bit ill, she has turned a bit green, lol.

Some of us will transform tonight, by the light of the Amber Moon....beware some of your friends may be fiends....

 Are you here for a Trick or a Treat?!   ;D

Treat...is this photo, just for YOU!  

Trick a magic spell...not sure what the results will be...muWHhahaha....

Inky dark curls

enchant

her sea green eyes

flirt 

she knows

twilight keeps

her

secret

eager vines climb

the Magnolia tree

reaching outward towards the blush of 

a day's surrender

passions eye 

reflects on the Silver Lake

listen you

can hear secret wings

high on the Crescent hill

distilled dreams

alter flames

of heart's poison 

His spirit

that wanders till the dawn hath cross'd

the dolorous dark, or Earth hath wound

He isn't mine

she chants

I'll beguile him 

( this year)

in the sweet idle hours

I light the red taper

annointed with

Rose oil

as the dried sage burns

my rustic muse

cries

as

I transform

my cloak of Indigo kisses reaches

his outline in the faint, warm fog

Rose thorn carves his name in

the pool of melted rouge

see him

in the element of fire

embrace

you

his

heart

chakra

is 

now

open~

I used the poem Low Barometer by Robert Bridges

Sunday Mini Challenge

Over in the Garden, Kerry prompted us with a  Melancholia type poem.  It relies on a syllable count and rhyme scheme. 


For example:

Silently without my window,  (a)   8 syllables
Tapping gently at the pane,  (b)   7 syllables 
Falls the rain.  (b)   3 syllables
Through the trees sighs the breeze (Internal rhyme c / c) 6 syllables
Like a soul in pain.  (b)   5 syllables
Here alone I sit and weep;  (d)   7 syllables
Thought hath banished sleep.  (d)   5 syllables


This form was developed by Paul Laurence Dunbar.

© Isadora Gruye

Izy I love this photo!   So fits the mood of the season :D

Mournful cries echo in the damp chill 

silhouette outlines dark mood  

I can't speak

burning imprint, I squint  

shoulder squeeze, I gasp

gray ghost materializes

horrified I run 

eye wide awake I feel dead

a freezing chill in my bones

madness wears

 a gray face, in its place

thick black clouds hang low

A murder here, not long ago

faint whispers took my life 

(Mrs. White did it, in the dining room with a knife)

She killed Mr. Body and Prof. Plum and left

Miss Scarlett bleeding in the Library

She had been reading "Gone With The Wind"

Colonial Mustard never had a chance,

off of the Kitchen he was hung out to dry.

Mr. Green was attacked by the Venus Fly Trap,

 in the Conservatory!

Mrs. Peacock left the roost, crazy as a cuckoo

and was never heard from again. 

Izy's Prompt

Over in the Garden, Izy prompted us to write a poem with the mechanics of farming. I tried to do some research, but finally ended up watching a You tube video.  This was truly a brilliant challenge. So here is my contribution to Izy's prompt!

 *  Copyrighted, Isadora Gruye Photography.

                                              A whirr of wings among the fields of gold
                                             Blackbirds caw and announce the Queen's arrival
                                                       tree toads sing in the background
                                                              Ruby Queen sits high on her throne
                                                                       let the games begin
                                                                                 Steel grinds like a stripper
                                                                                          turning the deck's
                                                                                            plated blades as the bullet rotor roars
                                                                                                a war of steel battles darkness and
                                                                                                        allusive Ruby Queen
                                                                                                        marauders arrive in
                                                                                                        a whirr of wings
                                                                                                       swooping down
                                                                                                        to find treasured gold
                                                                                              Star wars type equipment sweeps
                                                                                         making a dent in the mature flesh
                                                                                  mold and vermin enemies in this war
                                                                            boys with big toys battle Mother Nature's fury
                                                                          and hope to win this round
                                                                        in time for the summer's eve movie   

                   and some matinee gold~   

© Ellen Wilson     

Over in the Garden

Kerry asked us to write a poem in the first person, as the Unreliable Narrator.  I just read a  story that did just that. I had to write an essay on it.  So, this is my poem, at the end I will share the book.  I am also going to add this to Poets United prompt. I think it has the layering effect, like Encaustic Art does.

 

My husband thinks I'm a bundle of nerves

and brings me to this colonial home

 by the sea

lovely outside, beautiful gardens

inside ick 

a flamboyant pattern of contradiction

Sickly sulfur yellow that commits the sins of
of stripping one's mood
Merry Sunshine couldn't live here
he thinks I'm ungrateful
he says, "You need rest my dear"
He may be a Dr for others, but he doesn't get me
I tell him that I'm fine,
He thinks I need rest
shutting me in a room, with barred windows
no stimulation
I need friends, tea parties and
 time out in the garden
Am I a prisoner?

Hubby sees blush pink 

in my cheeks

weight gained

 and I'm rested.

I write when no one is looking-some
think it

is the writing that
strangles my nerves

 this god forsaken ugly room

 hideous, dreadful scent?

a yellow smell

by the light of a candle I see her

she is there, plain as day

she puzzles me

only appears in moon's light 

on the wall paper I see her bulbous eyes

she shakes the walls, the windows

She is creeping...

Hubby knocks "Darling let me in?"

"I'm tired dear, not now"... I smirk
No way, not till the paper is removed
I'm helping the creeping woman tear it down
soon
I'll 
have 
my
 baby 
back 
we'll 
creep 
together!

 The poem is based on the book, "The Yellow Wallpaper" ~Charlotte Perkins Gilman
It is based back in the 1890s when a woman after giving birth was told her nerves were bad and was taken away from the baby and put in a quiet room, to rest.  The main character narrates the book. It includes her descent into Postpartum Depression. 

Words Count

Over in the garden, Mama Zen challenged us with a prompt!  Mama Zen asked us to write about conflict, in our poem.  The big challenge must be in 30 words or under...yikes!!!  Now, that is a conflict, lol     I mean challenge ;D

 

How Does Your Garden Grow?

Snapdragon thoughts 

scatter like gold dust

 between 

Rose colored glasses

Lime green lizards slither

their briny tongues

among 

Sulfur Mums

bleeding into my

Blue Iris 

dreams

Over at Poets United ,I provided a SARK challenge for Wonder??? Wednesday...

Deep Amethyst in a Calamine sunset looks

for the hidden mirage

of 

First Blush 

hidden Coral Blossom 

opening it's spirit

in a mystic, translucent glow

Yellow Duchess starts to move

like a Bumble Bee finding

a Pale moonlight Daffodil

Remote Green Sea Nymph 

waiting for the ephemeral bloom

to marry the

 Bonnie Blue sea

Nymph releases her gift

an amulet of

 Rose Quartz hope

I wanted to do a colorful poem for SARK~  I have an addiction-to paint chips! I decided to use some of their names in my poem~