I actually took this photo from my yard. We were burning off the spare lot below me which was totally overgrown. This was a number of years ago. This is the same lot I’ve now made into a little park. I think the flames look like a goddess with an elaborate headdress riding an elephant.
For CFFC: Fire
Dance of the Snake Woman
I’ve been nominated by Linda Levy to post a piece of my art each day for ten days. This first selection is one of the pieces in my present show that has been marked SOLD. Unfortunately, I had a terrible time getting a photo of it as it was in a frame with glass over the front and most of the photos had reflected images of other pieces hanging on the wall across from it. In this photo, I managed to get a shot with nothing except myself reflected in the glass. Just for the fun of it, I left my hands. An explanation of the piece is below. With the frame, I believe it was approximately 20 ” square.
Dance of the Snake Woman
In many cultures, the snake functions as a messenger between man and the gods or the conscious and unconscious minds. Number seven is the number of connection as well as the end result of adding numbers 3 and 4, two other numbers of special significance to me. The music box plays “A Little Night Music”—a serenade of sorts.
This piece is about connection to the world as well as one’s own nature. Movement and grounding are of equal importance, as is maintaining a keen eye, creative inspiration and practice, be it in the word of art, dance, music, photography, writing or human interaction. Each of these symbols of the universal truths of the world has a personal significance in my life, as well. My own image was captured in the glass of this piece as I took the picture. It turned out to be appropriate, I think.
The central image is the figure of a woman carved from wood by my husband Bob. It was part of a totem-like carving that had four figures, each standing supported by or supporting another one it a vertical column. In the move to Mexico, it broke into four pieces and although I originally intended to repair it, I later decided to make a collaborative piece out of each figure. Since my husband died shortly before our projected move to Mexico, it has been our last collaboration after 14 years of doing collaborative work together.
The snake extensions and all of the other collage elements were added by me.
Here is a view of the entire piece, reflections and all.
Coin Flip
I always knew that our love would be dicey.
With you sea lion slippery, piquant and spicy,
your imposition into my life
was bound to cause turmoil and possibly strife.
But you brought excitement and offered a piece
of pleasure that lasted devoid of surcease.
Both sides of the coin I was willing to share,
watching the disc as it spun in the air.
Heads you were up and tails you were down—
one side slightly clouded, the other a clown.
The cusp of your mood I could certainly bear
for the promise of future bright times we would share.
Until that last coin toss when you spun away
with no possibility of a next play—
your coin sitting silent upon a high shelf
while I learned to toss the coin for myself.
Prompt words today are sea lion, imposition, piquant and piece.
Syncopated Poesy
An iamb becomes a trochee and an anapest a dactyl.
Spondees get less pointed and the pyrrhics turn more tactile.
Syncopated Poetry turns everything around.
Loud words get hushed down and the quiet words pick up sound.
“By the shores of Gitcheegoomie” loses all its zing.
That’s what comes from meddling with a verse’s swing.
The Daily Spur post for the day is syncopate. In case you’ve forgotten, below are the metrical feet of poetry: iamb ul, trochee lu, dactyl luu, anapest uul, spondee //, pyrrhic uu
The Confessions of Catwoman
What’s happening tomorrow?
the same thing that happens every Friday
since I was forced into retirement last year.
I’m going to go make my collections.
It will be my first day off the diet
I’ve been on for a week––
and my leathers aren’t at all as close-fitting
as they were before,
so I deserve a small reward.
That diet was low-protein, low carb and low fat,
which left nothing but grass, right?
And the problem with that was that everyone thought I was sick
and so tried to trick me into a dose of this or that.
The cod liver oil wasn’t bad,
but I’ve never developed a taste for Pepto Bismol.
A neighbor lady once sneaked some into my cream
and I gagged so hard I coughed up a hare-ball—
just the nose and whiskers, actually, but it created a sensation, nonetheless.
I was at a party and no one was yet drunk enough
to take it in their stride.
I’ve washed my hair—
Well, no surprise. I do every day.
A bit OCD on that activity,
but today I washed all of me.
Every inch.
Ears, too.
I can’t remember when I first thought
of the lucrative business
I’ve been opurrrrrrrating since my retirement;
but I do remember that tomorrow is the day
I go from door-to-door doing collections.
I usually dress in leathers,
which I look pretty good in for a mature sex-kitten.
No, not a biker chick.
I am more of a femme fatale
with a haunting and mesmerizing voice
everyone says sends chills down their back—
a sort of backyard Les Mis.
I’m a night person.
I sleep for most of the day
and go out every night.
I park my Catmobile,
then take shortcuts: leaping over walls,
soft-toeing it along the top edges of fences.
Sometimes I crouch in the bushes,
waiting for strangers to pass.
As I do, I sharpen my fingernails—
a weapon no one can take away from me.
Anyway, what good would a gun be
for a woman with no opposable thumbs?
Hey. Don’t feel sorry for me, okay?
I’m puurrrrrfectly happy with my lot in life.
I’m puurrrrfect without them.
I am sexy, fit and nimble.
I fill out my leathers in all the right places.
I can jump to the ground from a rooftop,
land on my feet and be off before you see
any more of me than a shadow.
I am a thief by birth and inclination, and I
I pre”fur” my daily fare to be purrrrrrloined.
I can take swift revenge and kill mercilessly,
or curl up and enjoy
a long petting session,
as docile as you please.
Actually, I don’t know why I’m giving you this sales pitch.
I usually ignore people,
so when I actually notice them,
they are honored.
Anyway, I’ve gotten distracted.
I’m just going to smooth my hair a bit
and then go to bed and get rested up
for tomorrow’s collections.
What kind of brilliant feline was I to create a job for myself like this?
“Cat Woman Pest Disposal––You trap them, we collect them.”
I actually get paid for going from door to door,
collecting a course here and a course there.
No of course, no matter how hungry I am after my week’s fast,
I will not reward myself in my client’s presence.
I always wait until I get to my catmobile to have my first nibble.
After all, even a retired superheroine has to watch her image.
The prompt in day 5 of NaPoWriMo is to write a poem about a mythical person or creature doing something unusual – or at least something that seems unusual in relation to that person/creature.
Disclaimer
He epitomizes henpecked. He’s disheveled and confused.
It’s monstrous the degree to which this househusband’s abused.
I’d be concerned except, you see, they’re only playing house
and it is my three-year-old who plays at being spouse.
I don’t know where she gets it, for her pattern can’t be me.
I am the perfect paragon in our family.
But since it’s also true that monkeys do as monkeys see,
it must be that she gets it from the movies or TV.
Prompt words for today are dishevel, henpecked, concern, epitomize and monstrous.
How to Write a Poem
Only a fool waits for a poem to come to him.
You have to call for it like a proper blind date,
knocking on its door
and seeing beauty in whatever opens it.
Take it dancing.
Twirl it around the floor,
letting words fly off in all directions.
Leave what flutters off alone.
Someone else will pick it up
and dance with it.
No word is a wallflower,
although some are chosen more frequently to dance.
Those are the words to avoid.
Do not always choose the prettiest words.
In the dance of the poem,
the ugliest of words acquire a charm.
Do not insist that you yourself lead.
Let the poem, instead, draw you
off the dance floor,
out the door
and down the path
to deep woods
where all the wild words live.
Gather them in bouquets
or weave them into chains
to crown your head––
that head of the poet
who follows where the poems go
and collects them by armfuls to share with the world.
Our Day 4 NaPoWriMo assignment was to write a poem in the form of a prompt.
Three views of a geranium: the original, LunaPix Beauty filter and LunaPix Fairy filter.
For Cee’s FOTD
Shy Lover
Express the volume of my love? My dear, I cannot wait,
for I have pined for these long years just to elucidate
how my pulse rate elevates when you enter the room.
I’ve kept love in a reservoir, here in passion’s womb,
but now it’s time for it to swell and burst the gates of love.
The soaring of the arrow, the cooing of the dove,
the flowers and the chocolate will convey, perhaps
what has gone unsaid so long—a necessary lapse
for lips that do not know the way to say the things they long for—
what some men say in poetry or perhaps compose a song for—
I carry in my hands for you, hoping you’ll catch my drift
that my passion for you is expressed in every gift.
Prompt words are elucidate, pulse, reservoir, express and volume. The photo was taken by me at in kissing alley in Guanajuato. The legend is of lovers who could lean out from their balconies and kiss. Her father found out and there was a sad ending. If you want to read the supposed “true” story of this balcony, go HERE.
lifelessons - a blog by Judy Dykstra-Brown 