Hope is a Ferris Wheel

 

***** 

Today I am doing a poetry prompt over in the Imaginary Garden inspired by a book-Hope is a Ferris Wheel.   The challenge is to take a well known poet to the fair/carnival.  

Deep fried perfume

lingers

as faded tattoos and toothless grins

speak of cheap thrills

Step right up to ride a rusty bolted yellow wheel

Emily named it- the sun's eye

Maybe she is the Queen of Cups

 "THE BRAIN is wider than the sky"

she tells me. 

We climb to hope's feathers

in a red cart, tumbling to and fro

like a basket of gingerbread.

A blurred blue sky is ours

on top of the world- we kiss  Cotton

candy clouds and  watch tiny tea cups

twirl n' spin like jewelry box

ballerinas.  And laugh

"Tea for Tutu"

I had company and wanted to write my poem sooner.  I hope to pen one about Poe. My poem is about    Emily Dickinson on the Ferris Wheel. 

 

Poetic Eye in the Garden

Over in the Imaginary Garden -I wasn't happy with my first poetic attempt, so try, try again.   I decided to write about my nightly walks.  Inspiration can dazzle me, like the stars.  And I am racing home as words spill from my mind and circle me like sheep, before the fence of dreamland arrives.

***

Tug of Words

Moon smiles

under stars' umbrella

Lifeguard perched in 

blackberry sea

 scent of salty brine 

n' pine pitch

perfume night's whispers. 

I trample along my

 hemispheres 

when brain splits

 dandelion wishes

scatter*****

falling arcs of 

 syllables 

in sonorous tones

  lift, 

 float

n' drift
drumming my mind.

Moonlight's color

 now Ivory tusk

taunts my

  geography's mood

shadowed mountains outline sea

like Lemon Meringue 

I see sweetness

some bitter notes

under her

flashlight mood.

Waves of white 

cloud blush

wash ashore

as ocean's salt n' moon

play tug of war

within my veins.

I travel onward

chasing

dandelion's wishes

and daffodilly dreams

into 

twilight's smirk

as

my third 

eye wakes. 

©Ella Wilson 

Black Forest

Over in the Imaginary Garden, Hannah shared with us photos of Germany.  The Black Forest intrigued me. I haven't written for weeks.  I have been hiding in an indoor forest trying to stay cool and calm.  My meds were messed up and it has been a roller coaster ride.  I feel better-I miss blogging and you!

The World Tree

  Moss's green stars outline

  pine needle floor
dampness curls ideas
like leaves brittle yet fragile
I weed  my path
waiting for day's star to
 burn gold and spill
her treasured light
along my trodden path.

Skin prickles as wolf  sings his serenade
to his beloved Blood Orange moon

 wind drums a wild dance 

illuminating labyrinth's silver birches
tall pines sway
in the darkest recesses secrets
shared
howling, hooting and breathe
fear into my pores


Black hole wisdom hovers
-a hooded cloak of raven feathers
hides her craggy eyes
her dress made of  Walking Sticks
and spider's webs
her thoughts fly towards me
in catalyst dreams
waking mysteries of the moon.
She tells me "answers are ripples
in the universe's blanket
go to Great Oak
Wren is my totem."

"Hold what is sacred until stellar
dust burns,
follow tree's wheel
it spins stories of Holy Grail.
Your map is primal law-
magic whispers in shadows
as you wait for day's eye to open
Green woman will guide you-if
you dare listen."

©Ellen Wilson 

The Blind Poet

Brian @dVerse invited us to write highlighting sound. Brian encouraged us close our eyes and imagine you are blind. Yes, see with sound-it was extremely difficult.   I wrote several poems, but they didn't work, until I wrote about my morning.   Thanks Brian-it was fun to attempt visuals with sound~

My day is poured

it jingles n' rattles me

I stir it clanging my memory-

it tickles

 citrus and smoke linger

perfuming the air

 a wet nose nudges me

whining, whimpering

whistling steam blows

daughter clicks it off

she laughs mumbling convo

with boyfriend

stomps away- her bare bones

 pound floor

portal opens as wind howls

everything shakes as

day drips and puddles.

Spinning thoughts enter 

dryer buzzes

whining outside now

cold air stings and stabs my

  breath

measured steps click and clack around me

gasping air, pounding heart, insides churn 

as bile rises-burns face

mind swimming

I'm locked out

pounded with wetness

singed with oh no, what if

trampled n' chilled

I pound,  rattle, 

 twist n' turn

bare bones arrive

muffled voices come, too.

"Mom, what the heck?"

sharp pain rings as

 coldness drips

my thoughts paddle forward

warm lavender softness wraps

around me

hound howls

as I row onward into my day. 

Form For All

Samuel Peralta, over at dVerse inspired us to write a prose type poem. 

"A prose poem is a piece that appears to be prose – with no line breaks or verses – but which reads as if it were poetry. Prose poetry pieces maintain poetic qualities and utilize poetic techniques – such as symbolism, imagery, alliteration, rhyme.
A prose poem may be anywhere from a few lines, to the length of – I now believe – a book."

Sam is leaving dVerse and must know his presences will be missed!   Thank you Sam for all the wonder you have shared~ 

 *****

    I left my white flowing gown by the sea-so I thought. I woke discovering it draped on my lawn-white and glistening like jewels.  It had followed me.  Pristine, fragile white wings clustered in the morning's chill huddled upon earth's brown velvet shoulders.  I tried offering Bergamot tea and a bouquet of Tiger lilies, but no luck.  They are sleeping like beauties, but for how long?!  The whir of their cousins offers one hope, but will their tweets wake them?  The sky is heavy like dove gray ink. I fear the clouds are still miffed at me for being careless with their fabric. I hope they will forgive me-I  meant no disrespect. I am craving Venetian's embrace-her gold fingers must wake these wings soon or the ground hog will be confused and we all know what that means-April will start to gamble with our muse, again.   


 

Orbs

Over in the Garden, Margaret challenged us with Orbs. Deborah Glessner is the artist- her photographic orbs are filled with wonder! You can see more of Deborah's work at her website, "Lark Photography". Thank you Margaret for sharing her visions with us! I am intrigued~

Charcoal gray flutters of night disappear golden flower opens wild wings peer ring of feathers swirl chasing day's kite strings in search of burgeoning blue Golden goose goodnight kiss before sister swan opens star umbrella covers Lunar's crown

Heaven's wedding ring circles Earth's trees spatial stories speak volumes of hidden affairs ripples in their union passionate PDA seen in fire n' ice Pine, Big Red and Oak surrender to Mother Nature's epic moods Bough brothers bend in Warrior pose towards her hair saluting her spirit Namaste

Tanka

******

Bay is Fickle

Fickle coastal Bay
 weather always teases moods
whips her gray skirt wide
Foghorn boy's loudly cheer- her slip
a Periwinkle vision

 ©Ellen Wilson

 *****

Cheering Up The Sea

 Winter's pale moon light
caresses immensely sad sea
icy threads dance aloof
look for cure as beauty collides
silver feathers paint smiles

©Ellen Wilson

*****

LABOR

Spring's difficult birth
bursts through frigid winter's snow
song of spring a caw
plumed in feathered purple
yellow beak sings an opera

 ©Ellen Wilson

*****

Heart's Glow


 Underneath the bright stars
a tall ship sails into the cove
radiant light flames
burgeoning eyes open
heart melts and burns like pink wax

©Ellen Wilson

******

MOREL MOUNTAIN

Magic mountain view
Umbrella snow mist blankets blue
clouds spore mushroom cap
day stars dazzle curiouser
artists always mining gems 


©Ellen Wilson



Over in the Garden we had a challenge to write a Tanka.  I struggled with mine and hope to try again!
Happy Holidays to you n' yours~