Rising-Artists Prompt Challenge WinnersWinners of Rising-Artists "Moonlight" and "Happiness Is" prompt challenges!Rising-Artists Prompt Challenge Winners by SimplySilent
Love Happiness Excitment Emotions Fractel by rochele10Happiness is.. by BukichanKalos Starters by mypokeartHappiness Starts Here by mypokeartHappy Arizona Abstract by Kineil-WicksPeanuts--Happiness Is... by Kineil-WicksSeeing a Glacier Calve for the 1st Time by donnasuebhappiness is angels and suns and flowers by rochele10
Moonlight Prompt Challenge
|What can I say...he is an absolute darling! Summer 2009|
Frog spawn in the pond
Covered by water lilies
Peaceful and serene
Croak of frogs disturbes the peace
Delightful small creatures' jump!
Am I a Prince?
AMPHIBIANS by *La-Tete-Ailleurs*
*Marriage and Henry*Marry Henry, no!
*Harbour of Dreams*
*Book of Maps*Atlas carried world, it's heavy
* Sakura*Minute petals swirl
*The Forgotten Tomb*
The White Haunting!The white haunting drifted slowly down the staircase that in truth was no longer there. Her presence was felt and its aura left an invisible trail. Wherever she drifted air became frigid, brittle and deadly cold. Hoar frost momentarily glazed her passage as down into the crypt she decended.
*Joker Meets Dali*
Switching PlacesHe came to me
On bended knee,
Wrapped his arms
Around my waist,
"Now you know
What it's like
To be me."
I was taller.
I didn't miss
A beat: I laughed,
Covered his eyes,
Kissed his soft hair,
"Now you know
What it's like
To be me."
He was blind.
Moon CycleRare pearl in the sky,
You are ever-changing,
Eluding my grasp
As you dance
In your smiling arc
Around the world.
Like the tide,
My heart is overcome
By your gravitational pull;
My darkest nights of the soul.
All I can do
Is to watch
Until you come full circle.
What if things were different than they now appear to be?
Wouldn't it be awesome if the seas were made of tea?
I wonder what it'd be like if the sands were shades of gray,
would the people visit still and would the children play?
I'll bet that if the birds could speak they'd say a thing or two!
What if a fish could whistle or could hum a tune for you?
Imagine how you'd feel if you could breathe under the sea,
or could fly up through the clouds and meet a hawk, or maybe three?
If I had a paintbrush big enough to paint the sky,
I'd paint it emerald green and leave the whole world wondering why.
The grass I'd color purple and the clay I'd change to blue.
Think of all the fun things we could think and say and do!
Wouldn't it be something if a child could stop a war?
And wouldn't you be stunned if hunger plagued the earth no more?
How grateful we would be to celebrate diversity.
How happy I would be to share with you my shady tree.
Beauty and the Sea
We met on a warm summer eve,
the night sky filled with a billion stars.
When her hand touched mine life began!
As we gazed at the moon she unexpectedly
asked me to dance. Barefoot on the sandy
beach, the breeze gently blowing through
her hair, Andromeda in her eyes.
I knew in that moment that my life would
never be the same.
She spoke of her love for the sea,
and I listened intently as she recounted
endless happy days spent with her father,
sailing and sunning; living free.
How I adored the sound of her voice,
the animated way in which she spun her tales.
How I wished with all my heart that this
night would go on.
summer days that never end
moonlit nights forevermore
starry skies filled with hope
She asked me to name a star after her.
I picked the biggest and brightest and said:
"There you are my dear Katie, high above the earth,
shining over vast seas of aquamarine."
do you miss me Katie?
do you dream about me?
Why can't people live forever?
Why must they leave, ne
Come a Bit CloserCome a bit closer and stand near
Really close so no one will hear
Each day that we have known each other
My heart has come closer to that of another
Come a bit closer and you shall see
Just how much he means to me
Look at how my hands do tremble
Surly it is a tell-tale symbol
Come a bit closer and hear the unknown
See how much my fondness has grown
Sometimes it is difficult to contain
I fear my secret will drive me insane
Come a bit closer and hear what I say
I come a bit closer to you everyday
Forgiveness SetYour Forgiveness
Your forgiveness my soul amazes,
Tainted only by frequent traces,
Of fiery anger and of helpless fear,
Hurtful words matched with evil sneer.
Forgiveness held only in part,
Never from the whole of heart,
Killing our love and eroding trust,
Until it dies, dust to dust.
Left again and walked away,
While in devotion I did stay,
My heart eager to forgive your sin,
Wanting to begin yet again.
My every error made a crime,
Willingly I did my time,
Stumbling from weathered ledge,
You left me behind for dead.
Forgiveness must be without a catch,
Given without a "but" attached,
The hatchet buried six feet under,
Not swung to split our love asunder.
Lovers GazeIn the sensuous sky
The stars are ablaze
Two lone bodies align
In a lovers gaze
They lay upon sands
And move like waves
Amongst destiny's hands
In a lunar phase
VenomAllure me... to this illusive web.
Truss me in such disheartened fibers.
So strenuous, will it ever ebb?
To reach the venom which deciphers.
IdealismeL'idéalisme est cette étrange philosophie qui persiste à croire que les pyramides se bâtissent en partant du sommet.
ProtocolesC’est l’heure blanche des novembres
enchâssés de griffes longues électriques
et transi je te sens mâcher de tes guerriers les os
surmodernes orants au faîte des remplois en boucle
Les brumes éparses de Mérovée
frissonnent dans la glaise épaisse des déconstructions réticulaires
Voici venu l’envers du signe - émacié comme une lune
Frantz, mai 2014
What will the society thinkUnique ability to shine brightest,
overshadowed by "What will the society think?"
creativity curbed by illogical thought.
Bloodless TearsBloodless tears flowdown my spine,
My horns, nails, grow longer, I whisper,
"It's time for my revenge."
Swans past my windowA pair of swans sequentially flying,
Necks stretched out looking neither right nor left
Oblivious to the world beneath them,
Not deigning to see the lower orders.
As Blixen's trotting Masai warriors did,
Like fleeing impala in slow motion,
For whom she and Dennis did not exist.
Nor did they and neither do I to swans
Who peel off to land in the Bagmore floods.
A Humber ReverieLincolnshire, England, is the birthplace of Alfred Lord Tennyson. The River Humber, which separates Lincolnshire from Yorkshire, on the banks of which I live, has a river island, an eyot, of which there are very few in Britain. Its name is Read's Island.
There is among some people a belief that this island was the inspiration and location for Tennyson's great poem 'The Lady of Shallott'. I hope that this humble effort might encourage at least one person who hasn't read the poem to do so.
The picture is of Read's Island today. In recent history there was a house and farm on it.
Across the Humber on a fine May morning
No long fields of barley and of rye yet
Still in the waters a lone island lies
Where Tennyson's lady might have broke her curse ,
Shattered there her mirror of delusion,
And dragged her magic web into tattered shreds.
Where once the shallop flitted silken-sailed
And heavy barges by slow horses trailed,
Now diesel hungry lighters chug and churn
The waters of the black muddy
ReconciledTears cried yesterday...
Have all dried, today;
Sad, old frowns faded...
As smiles were traded!
© Mary Elizabeth Balderrama
...In Coral-Clustered, Seashell GravesTime will pass...and then, I'll forget
The sun-drenched day and way we met.
My memory of your wistful smile
Will fade...after grief's brief while.
The hushed tone of your tranquil voice
And light touch of your gentle hand...
Will shift, as driftwood, to the past;
Like the ebb tide sweeps grains of sand
Into the serene ocean...fathoms deep...
Where secrets keep and softly sleep,
Under eternally rolling water waves...
In coral-clustered, seashell graves.
© Mary Elizabeth Balderrama
She rusts the world green,
garlanding her hair
with flowers and sunrise.
At first, they clink
waxy tulip cups and gossip
over the corn tassels' latest
monarch fashions. They pallet hay
into sleepover mattresses and braid rain
through each other's plaited
cattails. But though her palms
toast eggs from hens, her
dream-clear eyes flint ice, and the
green reflecting from manicured lawns
will never match her envy. She
scorches her enemy from memory.
She strokes sun-kissed knuckles
across reddened scalps, skirt
rustling with fairy fire.
She casts a flippant glance
over her shoulder, ignoring
for as long as she can the
lady in red turning trees
to skeletons and grass
to gravestones. They
meet eyes at last - vibrant blue
to dull brown - as
the sky bows gracefully
from glass to ice.
She stores her elegance
in pumpkin stems, and she
crunches apples with rotting teeth.
Cloaked in a gown
of red and gold,
she beckons him with
a brittle finger. Ice
how impossible all of it isi.
if you ever said
you were sorry, i think
i would believe you. but
i know you only apologize
into corners. you peer
cautiously through raven strands,
expecting crows to nest in your hair
and not know the difference.
we have reconnected; you pour
your heart out to me
across the shag tundra. i
pause my words just behind
my teeth. i know
you grow tired of waiting.
i have written circles
and circles around you
in acrid ink, and i like
to tell myself this is because
you do not deserve
my words. but really
it is that i will probably
dissolve into salt and crimson
threads on contact. you still
whisper with my bones beneath my skin.
you do not deserve me,
or him, or especially
her. but princesses
have a way of flexing
the world around their
silver spoons. it will
definitely sting, though,
when the elastic snaps.
i have not heard from you,
and i think you may
be gone. you are not sobbing pillowcases
bloody anymore. you are resting against
the seattle seashells, lilting pattern
plus ca change ...plus ça change …
ce matin à mon réveil -
une autre année passée
sur l’oreiller vide
de mes rêves
Sophie 7 avril 2014
la memoire de l oublila mémoire de l’oubli
après un certain temps
nous fait défaut.
cela commence tout doucement -
les pourtours des souvenirs deviennent
moins nets ;
une espèce de brouillard adoucit
l’amer de la déchirure, on y pense
un peu comme on tapote distraitement
la tête d’un enfant pour lui dire merci
... ce sentiment d’avoir déjà su l’odeur d’une peau
et un rire en écho ...
après un certain temps
même la nostalgie
nous fait défaut.
- Sophie, 8 février 2014
PretendingI live lies
and carry costumes
with each person
I look real.
I play my part
but an act
is an act.
No matter how
convincing I am
above it still
and not below
bulbs and flowers.
She meets time
with her sweat
with her aches,
with her wrinkles.
Her hands are
and she smiles...
Some men yearn to clasp
The edges of stars by their fingertips
To at least hold onto the debris,
That creates golden iotas
In midnight oceans;
And whispers of olden tales,
Singing of a microscopic sphere,
That twinkles within the vastness of emptiness.
But I yearn to hold wind in a jar,
Capture the oxygen
And never let go of its essence.
Carry it with me.
Take it to a place only she and I know of,
And cradle the edge of her hand,
Into the wrinkles and crevices
Of my solemn grip.
I’m not big, nor very strong,
And I don’t have the power
That could protect you,
From all of the injustices
That could befall you—
But what I do have,
Are my hands to hold yours,
To feel the warmth of my palm,
Meld into your grasp.
A body to shield you from the
Debris of falling dust,
And descending storm.
That can cushion gusts,
And quell hurr
Sometimes you need seclusion to reclaim your mind.
Blacken your vision and close your eyes,
Plug your ears from the outside,
As you fall back, back inside of “I.”
And not “we,” “he,” “she,” but me.
Sometimes to find myself,
I must lose everyone else.
Widow Starving, Man Still Thinkingsalted tongue, head aches
the widow starves
Love's economy crumbles
like bread loaves
never given -- just discussed.
The Petulant PetalProselyting the petulant
petal of paraphrase.
Call him king
and move onward to the morrow.
Nothing else sells
such as sorrow -
Never has value more than Ever
and the risk is all venture in a capital
soul and mind the sinner.
We know the body is but a sloth
and society is but an atom
reflection - eve of Adam.
But do we see the artwork
of the sagacity and artist?
No, we supply the demand of man
and women falter to impress. . .
he who does not impress himself.
There is no reprieve -
from the dawn of another humanized dream.
AN INTIMATE WEBWhispers are caught in an intimate web,
wings flutter prettily in its sticky center
like moments that decay after being tasted by Time,
but here I am cocooned in a Beauty of my own design,
beads of dew glisten along each thread spiraling
for the sustenance of my night-blooming weave,
sweeter than blushing orchids and more tender
than wishful wistereas that make up my bed,
I will remimisce on the nectar that keens across
my skin with the azure kiss of cicada wings,
surrendering to the intracasies of my web,
the expression of petals pause before they bleed
the last of their sweetness for me to imbibe,
my web holds them in thrall as I muse a little...
I've always known that lunatics and lovers
are somewhat similiar, and poets make them
compact within Imagination's habitat,
so come into my midsummer web fair lover
and I will tie you up with tongues of ivy
tenderly biting into your moonwatery flesh,
I the lunatic will make love to you beyond
the language of those midsummer sprites can reach
TENDER TURBULENCEAgainst the bares soles of the Stars I want
to stretch myself, lucidly hallucinating
of what it would be like to be the rhythm
of your heartbeat, isolating myself in your
body and soul...I will watch the bubbles
blow away from the eclipse we created with
our veins split open, our lips stripping
the skin from liquored lullabies that the
Stars had thrown down to us-until a storm
wears the silk of our last lover's hour,
but before this place is forever disturbed
where you once slept beneath my skin-
I want to isolate myself in your eyes,
pleasantly storming me with one more look,
against your chest I want to anchor myself
and listen to your voice that I've forever
recorded in my memory, I want to be where
you are the lighthouse holding the ocean
of me, absorbing my rare romantic rhythms
with your uncommon shore, the tea overbrimming
your tea cup with feelings senselessly set
adrift and stories remaining untold when we
at last part, but still wishing to feel your
warm lips press against mi
Between Shadow and LightTouched by death, I am
smudged into the endless edge
of grey horizons.
Alive, Awake, AwareThe true measure
of pulse and pause
resides in discovering
broad and deep
the soul can reach.