From my swing
I spot the Monarch
sipping from a nectary,
gently I snare him
by his dew drenched wings.
I wonder if he knows
his fate lies in my hands.
Clutched between my fingers
imagine how his heart pounds.
National Geographic
Enclouded
homage to Heart’s poetry
in the form of a Brazilian sonnet**
Pretty pink clouds cluster on
my graying mind’s horizon
as I roam your house of verse
breathing in the brazen breeze
that carries lilts of lust and loss.
Seductress, you lure my heart
into playfully set up microdrams
to trap a sad man’s smile.
Kidnapped from a drab void
to tender moments of bliss,
how I long to belong to that lofty realm of subdued passion and coy winks
long to become sound of your song,
stroke of your brush cause of your sigh.
———————–
* see here e.g.
**Brazilian sonnet: invented by Fernando Mendes
lily’s world
When she was young
she would run to the fountain,
swept up in the lyrics of
a misty waterfall.
Held beloved in a never changing world she mined a treasure all gardeners strive to grow,
lilies poppies and marigolds.
With time the sky darkened and the earth grew cold and no arms waited at the waterfall.
Photo by suswiss
Falconry
She soars above the clouds
as silent as the wind
lifted by an updraft
an undetectable realm of light
her receptors focused on a
brocade of pearls,
a shimmer of doves.
Shadowing the weakest
the broken winged
thé unaware,
her talons unsheathed
streak the sky cerise.
Gladwell Patterson Art
Moonlit
The world is wintry blue.
Vast and still yet there
is no comfort in the quiet.
The wolf inside me shakes
the snow from her fur,
travels through dark timbered
forests and blue gray mountains.
There are others moonstruck,
dusted with the same shine.
Together we trace a midnight
hover of crows unaware.
What Suits Art Gowns?
Darlings, As a personal friend of RR (I hate name droppers don’t you?) I think I can speak for her… These gowns are gorgeous…no one does Runway like Resa.
Darlings! Rene Rosso here, in a suit! Can you believe it?
However, it’s an Art Gowns suit. So when Holly and Resa asked me to host this post, I said “okay!” Still, how did this happen? Well, there was no multi-medium paper at the art store. Resa had to buy a sketch pad.
It’s been awhile since Resa just pencil sketched. She was excited to rise to the occasion, & started with Shehanne Moore in a Town Suit, very 1980’s come 1930’s.
Then it was GiGi’s turn to model this ultra-uber, never seen before style. No one can wear an imaginary time unknown suit like Gi! (Above)
Craving some colour, Resa added ballpoint pen and turquoise ink pen bows. There was no way I was going to wear a suit with bows! Holly had no choice but to model it.
The musicians were going wild downstairs when Resa came up…
View original post 138 more words
The Sad Cafe
Autumn leaves have begun to fall.
Late October London is ablaze in hues of orange and purple.
On my bench by the river I daydream that I am an adolescent
reptile escaped from Kafka’s Die Verwanlung,
laid back basking in the sun.
The air is layered in heavy cologne but men don’t interest me now.
I am content to casually observe.
To my advantage I know all about them
while they know so little about me.
Thinking of you against my wishes, dying a little,
dead all the sweet hope of dreams never realized
I imagine my earthly body padded, sat beside yours on a grassy knoll
to breathe in the scent of lilac and the mossy green River Delta.
In the dark I am nude but for a shadow across my torso.
You are so near and to distract my self from this burning desire
I let my thoughts linger among the lines of Roethe’s “In A Dark Time”.
Years pass and by chance we meet at the sad cafe. I sway in your arms like a fragile birch in an autumn tempest. The halo of my eyes glisten recalling how we gave away what we never really had. We hold each other knowing that love has died and we with it.
What the night birds sing – by Gurkski
What the night birds
sing when dreaming
I can translate to you
as though I were San Francesco.
They sing this: open your heart
like the blossom of a Ditch Lily
kissing the warm night
in the dark light.
Let the Pegasus of your most
daring fantasies fly high.
That’s what they sing
in this sweet night.
a little haiku
below green water
beneath lotus blossoms
kissing gourami
along the riverbank
covered in moss
old stone soldiers
needing to wring
they remain motionless
delicate as doves
summer chameleons
among the autumn leaves
changing seasons
Journal – Holly Rene Hunter
Thank you Free Verse Revolution!
From the past I capture a light
bring forward a globe of fire reflected
in the irises of my eyes
or an ocean pooling in my palm.
My nights are the darkest psalms.
Your memoir etched into my heart.
One tender sway and suddenly I remember.
Copyright Holly Rene Hunter
