The easy answer is yes as I am currently revising old poetry writes from 12 years ago, however, they never were blogged = well, not really. These poems come from when I was studying for my MA and as such were published on a university thing.
As I said the easy answer is yes. Does this university thing count as a blog? I’m not altogether sure as it wasn’t open to public viewing but I know there are such things as private blogs. So if a private blog counts then yes it was a blog.
I also write up poetic form notes and will often use a previously published poem as an example. Does that count as reposting it? This is getting complicated!!!
Kettle boils and pot is warming measured spoons of leaves to brew the perfect cup of tea and from the tin a guilty secret of biscuits on a plate one, two, or just maybe three because four would be greedy and poet sits pen in hand a pondering on his mind intense thinking sipping tea his eye caressing a biscuit should he dunk or should he not either way it has to be said only crumbs will remain
Like a long arrow through the dark the train is darting, Bearing me far away, after a perfect day of love’s delight: Wakeful with all the sad-sweet memories of parting, I lift the narrow window-shade and look out on the night.
Lonely the land unknown, and like a river flowing, Forest and field and hill are gliding backward still athwart my dream; Till in that country strange, and ever stranger growing, A magic city full of lights begins to glow and gleam.
Wide through the landscape dim the lamps are lit in millions; Long avenues unfold clear-shining lines of gold across the green; Clusters and rings of light, and luminous pavilions, — Oh, who will tell the city’s name, and what these wonders mean?
Why do they beckon me, and what have they to show me? Crowds in the blazing street, mirth where the feasters meet, kisses and wine: Many to laugh with me, but never one to know me: A cityful of stranger-hearts and none to beat with mine!
Look how the glittering lines are wavering and lifting, — Softly the breeze of night, scatters the vision bright: and, passing fair, Over the meadow-grass and through the forest drifting, The Fire-Fly City of the Dark is lost in empty air!
Girl of the golden eyes, to you my heart is turning: Sleep in your quiet room, while through the midnight gloom my train is whirled. Clear in your dreams of me the light of love is burning, — The only never failing light in all the phantom world
Henry Van Dyke 1852-1933
Henry Van Dyke Born: 10 November 1852, Pennsylvania, USA Nationality: American Died: 10 April 1933, New Jersey, USA
Van Dyke was an author, educator, diplomat, clergyman, and poet. Various religious themes are often expressed in his poetry, hymns, and essays. Van Dyke composed the lyrics of the hymn ‘Joyful, Joyful! We Adore Thee’
Edvard Grieg Romantic Born: 15 June 1843, Bergen, Norway Nationality: Norwegian Died: 4 September 1907, Bergen, Norway
Edvard Grieg 1843-1907
Grieg was a composer and pianist. He is considered one of the main composers of the Romantic era and his music remains the standard of the global classical repertoire. Grieg made use of Norwegian folk music in his compositions and brought fame to the music of Norway.
Structure: 14-line stanza Meter: Decasyllabic or pentameter Rhyme Scheme: ababbccdedeeff
Example
The Prioress’s Tale by Geoffrey Chaucer
Domine, dominus noster.
O Lord, Our Lord, Thy name how marvelous Is spread through all this mighty world,” said she “For not alone Thy praise so glorious Is given by men of worth and dignity, But from the mouths of children Thy bounty Is hymned, yea, even sucklings at the breast Do sometimes Thy laudation manifest. “Wherefore in praise, as best I can or may, Of Thee and of that pure white Lily-flower Who bore Thee, and is yet a maid alway, I tell a tale as best is in my power, Not that I may increase Her heavenly dower, For She Herself is honour and the one From Whom spring wealth and goodness, next Her Son
The scent of summer lingers in the air, sweet jasmine, honeysuckle ev'rywhere, I close my eyes to see her standing there, sweet memories recall the taste of wine.
My endless dreams that seem to be divine can never replace this woman I know as mine she turns her head, her beauty smiles at me and in her gaze my love is surely free.
Her silky blouse that ripples like the sea, cannot conceal the peaks of her desire, between our eyes, beguiled by passion's fire, it's love, our precious love, that we require.
I feel no shame or guilt as I behold the woman who induced my love be bold
“Writers need their totems, their altars. Mine, I feel, share the same randomness and utility of those belonging to painters I know, who are relentlessly visual and even poetic.” ~ Kevin Young.
What a banging quote – I have to go with it.
Combining the Two Form: Free Write
I have never really looked at my writing desk as an altar nor have I looked at my home altar as a writing space but yes, there are some similarities between the ritualistic behaviours of my witchery and my writing if I think about it. There are also some marked differences. I think this calls for using my senses.
Incense – I use incense in both my witchcraft and writing. In both cases there is sandalwood, that base note of masculinity really does help inspire my thinking whether for magic or writing. That is where the similarity of smell ends. In the magic circle, the incense reflects the task at hand whether a healing, a cleansing, etc. In my writing space, the scents are often more a part of life as a writer so that of Italian coffee, my preferred blend, and the aroma of roses from the reed infuser. I love the smell of flowers.
Sound – when I am writing I use ambient music such as Enigma, Enya, or similar, the same in the circle. In both cases, it is generating a sense of peace, calmness, and tranquillity. In either case, it helps me, sometimes inspires me, and more often just keeps me company.
Visual – in the magic circle everything is lit by candles, and my writing desk is lit by a daylight lamp as is my easel if I am painting or drawing. This just says my eyesight isn’t all it should be and I need the help. On my altar are various statuary symbolizing the divine in some way. In my work area, here comes the randomness, I have a box of postcards, arty pictures photographs, quotes, word lists, form lists, and other creative nuggets which I often dip into for some random thinking.
Taste – the only similarity here is that of cookies, well, digestive biscuits to be exact. McVites digestive biscuits to be even more exact. I live on digestive biscuits with tea or coffee, and in circle, the said biscuit with mead is a part of the rituals I do. Back in the day, it used to be chocolate but I know I can get absorbed in what I am doing and just kill any chocolate I have before I know it. I am a diabetic I can’t be doing that
Touch – Pebbles, there are pebbles everywhere in my house. I have PTSD so pebbles are a grounding device that brings my crazy head back to the here and now OR takes it off to a realm of fantasy.
The Fur Babies – both Lilydog and Shadow the Ninja Cat make themselves at home in whatever space I am in. Right now Lilydog is curled up cozy under my desk having a second-afternoon nap. At her grand age life is about naps, little walks, and food. Shadow is sitting on a chair impatiently waiting for her tea which she has been doing since she ate breakfast.
I won’t bore you with magic circle rituals – they happen right? I guess I do start my writing day the same way every day so that could be called a ritual. I wake up at sunrise and take a cup of tea out into the garden, with a pen and notebook, and a Lilydog. Rain or shine she mooches around the garden snuffling at things that are not there. Rain, I sit under the shed roof and write a haiku over tea, sun I sit by the pond and do the same. Either way, the world is quiet, so quiet I can hear the koi splish and hear Gabbie’s rose rustle with the breeze. Actually, I start my non-writing days this was too so maybe not a writing ritual as such, but hey!
The biggest difference between my altar and desk is neatness. My altar is spit spot at all times, not a thing out of place. My writing desk – well it’s obvious when I am in mid-project it’s a shipwreck of books, notes, pens, and doodles in semi-organised chaos. I do clear down when a project is finished and ready to start again but while I am doing it – never, I lose my direction and focus and have to restart.
Perhaps, then, creativity requires a combination of random and ritual. I think mine certainly does
The Kouta is mentioned in Robin Skelton’s The Shapes of Our Singing. It is said to be a traditional song of the geisha. Skelton gives two variants of the Kouta.
Kouta 1 is a quatrain with syllabic lines given as 7575
Kouta 2 is also a quatrain but the lines have the following count 7775
Example required
Doe by Robert Lee Brewer
She walked across dew-soaked grass along with two fawns but never looked as it passed traffic in the dawn
Vanessa Mae Classical, Classical Pop Born: 27 October 1978, Singapore Nationality: Thai-British
Vanessa Mae
Mae is a violinist and has achieved album sales reaching several million, and in 2006 she was the wealthiest entertainer under 30. Mae also competed under the name Vanessa Vanakorn for Thailand in the 2014 Winter Olympics alpine skiing.
Electric Man Album: Great Western Valkyrie Date: 2014 Genre: Alternative/Indie Artist: Rival Sons
Rival Sons
Rival Sons is a rock band formed in California, USA in 2009. The line-up consists of lead vocalist Jay Buchannan, guitarist Scott Holiday, bass guitarist Dave Beste, and Michael Miley on drums. To date, they have released six albums and one EP
Impatient heart can’t bare the waiting Desperately seeking a love’s passion Searching small ads, scanning a pick-up site Then desire thought let’s try that speed dating Five minutes of chit-chat in a countdown fashion The clocks ticking rushing into love’s bite
Rushing between Jane, Clare, another Jane Five minutes of talking that’s the ration For just one girl to ease a lustful plight Or to wed in haste before it’s too late Instant divorce – right?
Photographer Oriana Majoli is the Edge of Humanity Magazine contributor of this photo essay. From the series ‘PERSONA’. To see Oriana’s body of work, click on any image. “Persona” in Latin actually meant “theatrical mask”, testifying that the true identity of each individual is always hidden beneath a mask.…
On the theme of a kiss or embrace as we approach Samhain there can only be one kiss of love and I wish I could kiss her right now. Gabbie was and is my life, the reason I breathe, and I miss her so very much. However, not a day goes by when I don’t feel the power of the love we had/have. So a song for Jim’s prompt – there is only one…
Written by Henry Samuel (Seal) “Kiss from a Rose” is from Seal’s self-titled album, first released in 1994 it was included in the soundtrack of the movie “Never Ending Story III”. Released again in 1995 as part of the soundtrack for “Batman Forever”, one of our favourite movies, it topped the charts and won three awards at the 1996 Grammy Awards.
Ba da ba da da da ah ya ya…
There used to be a greying tower alone on the sea. You became the light on the dark side of me. Love remained a drug that’s the high and not the pill.
But did you know, That when it snows, My eyes become large and, The light that you shine can be seen.
Baby, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey. Ooh, The more I get of you Ooh
Stranger it feels, yeah. And now that your rose is is in bloom. A light hits the gloom on the grey.
There is so much a man can tell you, So much he can say. there’s so much inside.
You remain, you…….
My power, my pleasure, my pain, baby
To me you’re like a growing addiction that I can’t deny.. yeah. Won’t you tell me is that healthy, baby?
But did you know, That when it snows, My eyes become large and the light that you shine can be seen.
Baby, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey. Been kissed from a rose on the grey.
Ooh, the more I get of you Stranger it feels, yeah stranger it feels, yeah.
Now that your rose is in bloom. A light hits the gloom on the grey,
I’ve been kissed by a rose on the grey, I’ve been kissed by a rose Been kissed by a rose on the grey.
I’ve been kissed by a rose on the grey, And if I should fall, at all
I’ve been kissed by a rose Been kissed by a rose on the grey.
There is so much a man can tell you, So much he can say. there’s so much inside.
You remain you…….
My power, my pleasure, my pain.
To me you’re like a growing addiction that I can’t deny, yeah Won’t you tell me is that healthy, baby.
But did you know, That when it snows, My eyes become large and the light that you shine can be seen.
Baby, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey. Ooh, the more I get of you Stranger it feels, yeah stranger it feels.
Now that your rose is in bloom, A light hits the gloom on the grey.
Yes I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey Ooh, the more I get of you
Stranger it feels, yeah stranger it feels. yeah.
And now that your rose is in bloom A light hits the gloom on the grey
Now that your rose is in bloom, A light hits the gloom on the grey.
In fields of viridity blessed by love, where poets claim to dwell in worlds above I dream of her; her templed womanhood amid the fragrant spice of incense wood.
Harmonic chords upon the summer's air, as dreams evaporate into the sky to catch the wind that wends to stars on high our breath of love echoes their primal flare.
Like rivers holding hands against the flow, our love the only thing we dare to know, from tribade hearts there comes another beat, where she and I are bound by love to go.
For by her side I have no reason left to fear, my shadowed thoughts, through love, are crystal clear
The world is charged with the grandeur of God. It will flame out, like shining from shook foil; It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod? Generations have trod, have trod, have trod; And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil; And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod. And for all this, nature is never spent; There lives the dearest freshness deep down things; And though the last lights off the black West went Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs— Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings
“Just Let them. If they want to choose something or someone over you, LET THEM. If they want to go weeks without talking to you, LET THEM. If they are okay with never seeing you, LET THEM. If they are okay with always putting themselves first, LET THEM. If they are showing you who they are and not what you perceived them to be, LET THEM. If they want to follow the crowd, LET THEM. If they want to judge or misunderstand you, LET THEM. If they act like they can live without you, LET THEM. If they want to walk out of your life and leave, hold the door open, AND LET THEM.
Let them lose you. You were never theirs, because you were always your own.
So let them.
Let them show you who they truly are, not tell you. Let them prove…
Schubert: Piano Trio No.2 in E flat, Op.100 D.929 – 2. Andante con moto | Composed By Franz Schubert (1827) Performed By Beaux Arts Trio (1984) Music Recommendation By Edge of Humanity Magazine To listen on YouTube CLICK HERE * Available on Amazon.com below: Schubert: Piano Trio No.2 in E flat, Op.100 D.929 – 2. Andante…
His muscles taut and strained struggle to move the sack of coal from the gate to the coal shed. His arms ripple with effort until their strength fades out and he changes position, his hands shifting to the corners, as his finger curl up and round the edges, tugging the hessian sack tight against his chest and different muscles, fresher muscles take over for a while. As he lifts the sack up and his shoulders take up the strain he slides the metal lid of the coal shed and counter balancing the weight through his thighs to his feet the coal rumbles and tumbles falling into the blackness ready for winter. And the old man sits by the blazing fire sipping his tea and rolling a smoke his legs stretched towards the grate it’s snowing outside
With two bright eyes, my star, my love, Thou lookest on the stars above: Ah, would that I the heaven might be With a million eyes to look on thee.
Plato.
II – ROSELEAF
A little while the rose, And after that the thorn; An hour of dewy morn, And then the glamour goes. Ah, love in beauty born, A little while the rose!
Unknown.
III – PHOSPHOR — HESPER
O morning star, farewell! My love I now must leave; The hours of day I slowly tell, And turn to her with the twilight bell, — O welcome, star of eve!
Meleager.
IV – SEASONS
Sweet in summer, cups of snow, Cooling thirsty lips aglow; Sweet to sailors winter-bound, Spring arrives with garlands crowned; Sweeter yet the hour that covers With one cloak a pair of lovers, Living lost in golden weather, While they talk of love together.
Asclepiades.
V – THE VINE AND THE GOAT
Although you eat me to the root, I yet shall bear enough of fruit For wine to sprinkle your dim eyes, When you are made a sacrifice.
Euenus.
VI – THE PROFESSOR
Seven pupils, in the class Of Professor Callias, Listen silent while he drawls, — Three are benches, four are walls
Henry Van Dyke 1852-1933
Henry Van Dyke Born: 10 November 1852, Pennsylvania, USA Nationality: American Died: 10 April 1933, New Jersey, USA
Van Dyke was an author, educator, diplomat, clergyman, and poet. Various religious themes are often expressed in his poetry, hymns, and essays. Van Dyke composed the lyrics of the hymn ‘Joyful, Joyful! We Adore Thee’
Ultravox were a new wave band formed in London in 1974 as Tiger Lily. Between 1980 and 1986 they achieved seven Top Ten albums and seventeen Top 40 singles in the UK, including ‘Vienna’ in 1981. Between 1974 and 1978 Ultravox was fronted by John Foxx. Midge Ure took over as lead singer in 197r Ure and keyboardist Billy Currie worked together in the studio project Visage
Instant House 1980 Conceptual Art Self-erecting architectural unit (flags, wood, cables, and pulleys)
“Instant House” consists of four framed US flags on the floor. In the centre a swing hangs from the ceiling and the flags are attached to a wooden framework that is connected via cables to the swing. When someone sits on the swing it activates the mechanism and lifts the flag up and forms the walls of a house. Strategic cut-outs provide windows and a door. Unseen by the person inside the outer walls reveal the flag of the USSR. The occupant is thus unaware of the contrast between inside and outside. The flags return to their original state when the person gets up from the swing.
Vito Acconci 1940-2017
Vito Acconci Performance Art, Body Art, Video Art, Conceptual Art, Installation Art, Modern Architecture Born: 24 January 1940, New York, USA Nationality: American Died: 27 April 2017, New York, USA
Acconci was a performance, video, and installation artist. His diverse practice included sculpture, architectural design, and landscape design. Characterized by existential unease his foundation performance and video work often involved exhibitionism, discomfort, provocation, and transgression as well as wit and audacity. Acconci often crossed boundaries such as public-private, consensual-non-consensual, and real-world-artworld. From the late 1970s Acconci turned to sculpture, architecture, and design. Increasing the scale of his work, if not his art profile, over the next two decades he produced public artworks and parks, airport rest areas, and other architectural projects that embraced participation, change, and playfulness.
I long to see the rouge that blushed her cheek to know my love is strong and never meek. Oh let me gaze upon her lovely face and feel the tender touch within her grace.
The airs of lust that from my senses reek a single kiss can say more than words speak, beneath my fingers beauty softly trace as in my heart I feel her love embrace.
The glimpse of flesh revealed by cotton lace, my passions flowing like a summer rain our love fulfilled where dulcet kisses chase, our futures sealed as one, in love it’s plain to see in this happy state we find our space and speak of love before we kiss again
The fat cat on the mat may seem to dream of nice mice that suffice for him, or cream; but he free, maybe, walks in thought unbowed, proud, where loud roared and fought his kin, lean and slim, or deep in den in the East feasted on beasts and tender men. The giant lion with iron claw in paw, and huge ruthless tooth in gory jaw; the pard dark-starred, fleet upon feet, that oft soft from aloft leaps upon his meat where woods loom in gloom — far now they be, fierce and free, and tamed is he; but fat cat on the mat kept as a pet he does not forget
JRR Tolkien 1892-1973
JRR Tolkien Born: 3 January 1892, Bloemfontein, South Africa Nationality: English Died: 2 September 1973, Bournemouth, England
Tolkien was a writer and philologist, best known as the author of “The Hobbit” and “The Lord of the Rings”. He was also the Rawlinson and Bosworth Professor of Anglo-Saxon and a Fellow of Pembroke College at the University of Oxford. He and his close friend CS Lewis founded the informal literary group “The Inklings”. Many authors published works of fantasy before Tolkien, however, the great success of both “The Hobbit” and “The Lord of the Rings” directly led to a resurgence in the genre and Tolkien is often referred to as the father of modern fantasy literature.
France Champagne 1891 Symbolism Lithograph Bibliothèque Nationale, Paris, France
“France Champagne” launched Bonnard’s career from law to art. He won a competition in 1889 to design an advertising poster for France Champagne, which resulted in this illustration. Characterized by continuous undulating lines, a flattened form, and a distorted perspective and proportion the influence of Japanese prints is visible.
Pierre Bonnard 1867-1947
Pierre Bonnard Post-Impressionism, Les Nabis, Symbolism Born: 3 October 1867, Fontenay-aux-Roses, France Nationality: French Died: 23 January 1947, Le Cannet, France
Bonnard was a painter, illustrator, and printmaker, particularly known for the stylized qualities of his paintings and his bold use of colour. Bonnard was a founding member of the Post-Impressionist group of avant-garde painter Les Nabis, and Paul Gauguin is a strong influence on Bonnard’s early work. Bonnard was a leading figure in the transition from Impression to Modernism
Johan Julius Christian Sibelius Romantic Born: 8 December 1865, Hämeenlinna, Finland Nationality: Finnish Died: 20 September 1957, Ainola, Finland
Johan Julius Christian Sibelius 1865-1957
Sibelius was a composer of the late Romantic and early-modern periods. He is considered to be Finland’s greatest composer and if frequently credited with helping Finland develop it’s national identity as it struggled for independence from Russia. Sibelius is perhaps best known for Finlandia, the Karelia Suite, Valse Triste, and the choral symphony Kullervo.
If love can be as clear as crystal glass so shall my heart be opened like a book for there is not one thing that can surpass the love in me if she should care to look.
In baited words she cast her passion's hook through palisades I built of heartbreak's fear the tribade tidings lured me and I took before her love could fade and disappear.
When life is harsh, the future may seem austere her gentle touch shall deftly draw me near
I know that love is more than a veneer the sincerity where my fears subside when gazing in her eyes, so blue, so clear I have no reason left to shyly hide
You may enlarge any image in this blog by clicking on it. Click again for a detailed view. Suddenly, I’m seeing many Red-tailed Hawks as I drive through southern Arizona’s rural precincts. Red Tails maintain a year-round presence in our part of the state but in autumn and winter seasonal migrants from points north greatly […]
Dear Aggie Cromwell is on the nail as always. Thank you for that precious reminder. There is no greater magic than love in all its powerful glory. Samhain is so close now, and I am really feeling a presence of a certain lady so this is for her, my GG
I Can See Form: Free Verse
It is too easy to focus on the missing with only tears for company to see only emptiness in the days ahead because to forget is impossible in the echoes of let her go and the broken promise I cannot keep for love, my love, will always be yours so, darling there can never be anyone holding me but you tonight as the veil thins between life and rest as you call me to dance again in the magic of you and me as we put out the stars and dim the moon for the light of love to shine so tonight I can see there is nothing missing in love our love, baby, makes me whole
Alexander Litvinovsky Jazz Born: 1 May 1962, Minsk, Belorussia Nationality: Belorusian
Alexander Litvinovsky
Litvinovsky is a composer of contemporary music. He works in a variety of genre including chamber music, stage production music, choral music, and electroacoustic art.
My lovely island in the sea of life, a summer's night with her, my paradise, susurrus grasses calling end to strife, with shores resounding joys of love's advice, . Across her rolling dunes her lips entice, her folds of flesh indiscreet senses splice. when lying on the sands and love enslaves each breathless moment that my body craves
Capricious kisses lead away from waves like curling fingers delve the depths of bliss that undulate against her shore; to caves beneath the cliffs yet still a precipice.
To walk the path towards passion's abyss, unseen delight I claim from one sweet kiss
Head of Dylan Thomas 1960-62 Surrealism Oil and acrylic on board Collection of the Tate, United Kingdom
“Head of Dylan Thomas” Agar used the profile-portrait style composed n white flowing lines on a canvas filled with abstract motifs to render an impression of the neo-Romantic poet and close friend of the artist. Thomas was a key figure in literary surrealism and the free compositional style of this work is perhaps a homage to the free spirit of the man himself.
Eileen Agar 1899-1991
Eileen Agar Surrealism, Modern Photography, Performance Art Born: 1 December 1899, Buenos Aries, Argentina Nationality: British-Argentinian Died: 7 November 1991, London, UK
Agar was a painter and photographer most often associated with the Surrealist movement. As with many female artists of the time, Agar has often been defined by the male company she associated with rather than her creative output. In reality, she was one of the most adventurous and influential Surrealist artists in Britain, with a prolific working energy that she sustained well into her eighties. Agar’s free-flowing practice through painting, photography, sculpture, and collage was diverse yet bound together by her emphasis on the germinal power of the imagination.
Tangled Up In Blue Album: Blood on the Tracks Date: 1957 Genre: Folk Artist: Bob Dylan
Bob Dylan
Bob Dylan is a singer-songwriter and is regarded as one of the best songwriters of all time. A major figure of popular culture for over 60 years Bod Dylan is most celebrated for his work from the 1960s with songs such as “Blowin’ In the Wind” and “The Times They Are a-Changin’” which became anthems for anti-war and civil rights movements.
I woke up with a start. Beads of sweat forming then trailed down my forehead. I had dreamt of the blue door again. The doors that whisper of the unknown, yet of destiny. In my dreams, I resisted the urge to open it as if instincts were telling me there would be no going back if I stepped through it.
I glanced over at the clock on my bedside table – 4-45am. I should just turn over and go back to sleep but I knew there was little point. My mind would just think of the quaint cottage with a blue door, or the winding street where half-hidden behind conifer trees a quaint cottage with a blue door stood. This thing was beginning to haunt me
Instead, I swung my legs out of bed and elected to go for a shower in the hope the flow of warm water would calm my thinking before I went insane. The scent of sandalwood shower gel infused with the rhythmic pulse of the water was calming to my skin and body. Yet, even as I wrapped the towel around my waist, my thoughts flicked back to a rain-wet street where a quaint cottage with a blue door stood. Had it been raining in my dream?
Later I caught the early bus to town. It was raining as we turned into a village street and I saw a quaint cottage through the window. Conifer trees blocked my view. I had to go and see if the door was blue and I rang the bell for the bus to stop.
As I walked the few hundred yards back up the street I told myself ‘This is madness, Rob. It was just a dream for god’s sake’ I turned onto the cottage path and saw the blue door. Should I open it?
Ilkhampton Daily Herald 28 Oct 2022
Police are appealing for information on the whereabouts of the writer Robert Hillingdon. Last seen a week ago disembarking from a bus on the road between Ilkhampton and the village of Kamblingside. Hillingdon was dressed in blue jeans and a green sweater.
You may enlarge any image in this blog by clicking on it. Click again for a detailed view. I’m going out on a limb today with my identification of this very large and beautiful dragonfly. I believe that it is a Paddle-tailed Darner. I made this image a couple of weeks ago. We were driving […]
Artwork By Wim van de Wege ” I noticed that modern art triggered me on the one hand, but on the other I felt attracted by the beautiful and fascinating nature. I always continued to do plein air painting and I experience more than in my studio, the freedom during the process of…
Artwork By WU Hsichi “In my paintings, whether portraits or landscape, are all connected by the same steady stroke of hand. This is an invisible technological signal, like a secret net that surrounds people’s lives and even thoughts, broadening one’s thoughts and leading trends just like that of the internet. However, it also…
Hitting Reset Form: Epistle Theme: A Self-Healing Journey
Regaining love for self is not an easy task it is an uphill challenge with progress often followed by a falling back because to love self is to acknowledge I am human with human frailties and vulnerabilities with innate yearnings of natural wants and needs wants and needs that often make the heart lose sight of boundaries I need to protect myself boundaries that remind me not everybody is deserving of being close to me holding my hand touching my soul and reaping the benefits of my loving and those boundaries are also there to allow myself to be deserving of my love
Formed in 1990 by Romanian-German musician and producer Michael Cretu, Enigma is a new-age, worldbeat project. The creation of the project is inspired by the desire to make a kind of music that did not adhere to the old habits and rules whilst presenting a new form of artistic expression with both experimental and mystic components. To date has sold an estimated 70 million albums worldwide. The project has also received three Grammy nominations.
Come my witches, come cast our magic spell This Samhain night there’s so much to be done Bring the tools of flight, bring them one by one Come my witches and stir the cauldron well
Oh Maybel have you got the aconite The bubbling potion brewing still awaits Don’t just stand there holding those empty plates No belladonna we can’t make the flight
Still Maybel dances naked neath the moon As in her heart there burns a wild desire A witch she is dancing around the fire With pure intent she’ll learn her magic soon
As for the freedom of flight we now go By taxi and train heading to Heathrow
Jezzie G 