Interlude

In this dream I turn to you

light my cigarette from the glowing

tip of yours.

I propose we fly away.

Your dark eyes whip my mind

into arousal and your elegant hand

on my thigh turns me soft inside.

Your breathing is a sigh against

my ear that whispers my hair

and crimson lips so near devours

your resistance.

Against waves of longing and desire

dreams are always what it could

be like.

Suddenly hares chase foxes

and Roebucks hunt hunters and

to shield me from the terror you

hold me within bleak arms.

We are light breathing

sweet molecules into the night

It would be easy now to fly.

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A Tangle of Antlers

This is Dedicated….
Resa has worked her magic once again!

Art Gowns

Dahlings! Welcome to A Tangle of Antlers!

I’m Your host Rene Rosso. Today I’m here to celebrate, with you, Marina Kanavaki: her special personal art, her love of all arts & music and passionate caring for all animals on earth.

It all began with Marina’s love of animals. In 2015 an Art Gown “Cecilia Lionheart” (above) was dedicated to Marina. The post was in honour of “Cecil the Lion” who had been killed by a ruthless trophy hunter.

Later in 2019,  AGM Marina was drawn wearing “Cecilia Lionheart”. Cecilia was made of  repurposed men’s ties from the 1970’s.

Holly – House of Heart sends in this beautiful poem of nature, in tribute to Marina.

I just love costume changes! So now let’s all change to Marina’s art. Art Gowns is the proud owner of 2 of Marina’s paintings. On the left is “Atom Sea #9” . On…

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Temple Bell

Your eyes are the crescent

of a silver bay that circles my mind

in the deep mystery of sleep

your voice an invocation of bells

that once rung cannot be undone

in dreams I am your dancer

beckoned by your call

a charm on a well cut cuff

a link on a diamond encrusted chain.

Shadow Art Print featuring the photograph Portrait of a beautiful woman dancing by Noelia Ramon - TellingLife

“The Dancing Girl” by Noelie Ramon

Cliff Girl

In my infinite smallness

looking out over the ocean

my limbs are albino snakes

basking in the sun and the heat

burns the soles of my feet

A treasure of pearls are strewn

like stardust on the shore

and a garland of lilac is tied

to nothing but my hand.

I am the universe lending life

to silent rock as the sun streams

down my throat where there is no voice.

The laughter of children rings

through honeyed coves where lost

lovers await the tide to

tumble them into the light.

Below my feet lies a carpet of

Jacaranda and my empty hands

carry no burden but love.


The Red Monks of Brittany

The Templar Knights…facts, myths, and beautiful art.

Bonjour From Brittany

The Knights Templar were traditionally known, here in Brittany, as the Red Monks. Their evil deeds and cruel reputation survived in the popular imagination long after their medieval heyday; cruel ghosts, condemned to forever wander the lonely places to atone for their terrible and abominable crimes.

Following the success of the First Crusade, a number of feudal domains were established in the Holy Land by European Christian knights. However, these domains lacked the military resources necessary to maintain more than a tenuous grip on their territories; most crusaders returned home after fulfilling their vows and Christian pilgrims to Jerusalem remained subject to attack.

Battle of Tyre
.

It was to alleviate the plight of these pilgrims that a band of French knights led by Hugh de Payns vowed to devote themselves to the pilgrims’ protection and to form a religious community for that purpose. Baldwin II, King of Jerusalem, was quick to grant…

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Ruined

So love this! One of our best poets and artists join forces.

A Faded Romantic's Notebook

You have ruined

my box of words.

None of them

are good enough.

None of them

are adequate.

None of them

can do you justice.

My nouns

are neutered,

my adjectives

are absent,

my verbs

are without value.

I have run out

of metaphors

similes

and superlatives.

You have ruined

my box of words.

How can I

describe you now?

.

.

© the author writing as Romantic Dominant

Not new, but probably relevant.

Art by the late Steve Hanks

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Song of Seasons

Hold me in  fleeting hours

while we are beautiful and wild

winged creatures of the night

sipping honeysuckle vines

sustained by the sun and rain.

Stay  when summer departs and

butterflies flit at teardrops pooled in

the corner of my eyes.

Lie down with me in winter when

hoar frost coats the rose buds

and  blue birds cease  their song

tiny skeletons of  hollow bone

indifferent to the cold

These lips are   petals

reminders  of lost flowers

If  you do not return

but fly on  to distant gardens

my body will seek shelter

beneath the feathers of

tongueless birds.

Translation by Bernd @ neues vom Hutschi

Halt mich fest in flüchtigen Stunden den schönen und wilden, unser Fleisch ist voll und reif, geflügelte Wesen saugen die Nacht auf, Jelängerjelieber, die von Sonne und den Regen gespeiste. Bleib, wenn der Sommer vergeht und der Garten vom Lächeln nippt, das aus der Iris deiner Augen blitzt. Lieg bei mir im Winter, wenn die Vögel zu singen einhalten, winzige Skelette aus hohlen Knochen, gleichgültig der Kälte gegenüber. Für dich sind meine Lippen Blütenblätter, süße Erinnerungen an verlorene Blumen. Wenn du nicht zurückkehrst sondern weiterfliegs, wird mein Körper Schutz suchen unter den Flügeln zungenloser Vögel. translated by Bernd Huschenreuther

canadianbeauty

art by Steve Hanks

winter faerie

I so love this Gretchen. ❤️

Gretchen Del Rio's Art Blog

watercolor 1/2021

‘I wonder if the snow loves the trees

and the fields, that it kisses them so gently?

And then it covers them up snug,

you know with a white quilt;

and perhaps it says “Go to sleep,

darlings, til the summer comes again.’

…………….Lewis Caroll

I painted this for my daughter. It joins another earlier Christmas piece which only comes to view during the holidays. It’s like bringing out all those ornaments for the tree. Always a bit of magic felt.

I would give to you peace and light for this new year.

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Sweet Bird

After you left I jogged  along the shoreline past the carnation houses  along the jetties where scattered surfers waded hoping to catch the last waves.  A haze veiled the shore and vanished in the rain.  Globules of salt encrusted my eyelids and each breath ripped upward from my belly tearing through my lungs. I sank down on the damp sand behind the old seafood restaurant. Unearthly howls carried out across the waves dissolving into the sea.

I want to believe that the ocean is a froth meringue not a murky depth where in heavy boots you wade past that place where you lose your grip and the rush of saltwater fills your eyes and mind but not the air.

Sea gulls swoop and squawk,  perfect black angles against the sky. I open my book by Tennessee Williams whose writing I abhor but the edge of its cover was leaning out as I passed the bookcase, Sweet Bird of Youth.

*So I close my eyes softly
’til I become that part of the wind
that we all long for sometime”

*Stevie Nicks