Definition

One must make a distinction however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the result is not poetry, nor till the autocrats among us can be “literalists of the imagination”—above insolence and triviality and can present for inspection, imaginary gardens with real toads in them, shall we have it.

Monday, September 30, 2013

Open Link Monday

Welcome to the Imaginary Garden ...


photo credit: jurvetson via photopin cc

Greetings to all poets! It is always a pleasure to extend a warm welcome to visitors from all ends of the Earth to our poetry garden each week. I trust that this Monday finds you all well, rested after the weekend and ready to share in the wonderful excursion into writing, which is our mutual joy. Please link up a poem of your choice and take some time to visit the blogs of your fellow writers, or invite a friend to join us today.


Saturday, September 28, 2013

Sunday Mini Challenge ~ The Secret Life of Bees

Greetings my fellow toads and those who stop by to visit the pond. Today we are talking about bees or I should say, The Secret Life of Bees,  by Sue Monk Kidd. It is a coming of age story of a young girl, Lily, who faces loss, abuse and racism in 1960's southern United States. For those of you who are not familiar with the book I offer a description written by the author.


Living on a peach farm in South Carolina with her harsh, unyielding father, Lily Owens has shaped her entire life around one devastating, blurred memory--the afternoon her mother was killed, when Lily was four. Since then, her only real companion has been the fierce-hearted, and sometimes just fierce, black woman Rosaleen, who acts as her "stand-in mother."

When Rosaleen insults three of the deepest racists in town, Lily knows it's time to spring them both free. They take off in the only direction Lily can think of, toward a town called Tiburon, South Carolina--a name she found on the back of a picture amid the few possessions left by her mother.

There they are taken in by an eccentric trio of black beekeeping sisters named May, June, and August. Lily thinks of them as the calendar sisters and enters their mesmerizing secret world of bees and honey, and of the Black Madonna who presides over this household of strong, wise women. Maternal loss and betrayal, guilt and forgiveness entwine in a story that leads Lily to the single thing her heart longs for most.


             



I have read this inspiring book and saw the movie based on it. It sparked my own memories of growing up in rural Missouri where I saw the results of prejudice. It also caused me to reflect on the deep connections I have with friends and family. Although it is written about women, men also have strong bonds that unite them also. Regardless of gender, connection is a powerful force that helps carry us through whatever joys, stumbles or sorrows life presents us with.

I have supplied a list of quotes from the book as inspiration for your poetry and welcome any direction your muse takes you. Please share a new poem as well as a link back to Real Toads and take time to read the work of your fellow poets.

“If you need something from somebody always give that person a way to hand it to you.” 

 “It is the peculiar nature of the world to go on spinning no matter what sort of heartbreak is happening.” 

“Stories have to be told or they die, and when they die, we can't remember who we are or why we're here.” 

“After you get stung, you can't get unstung no matter how much you whine about it.” 

“Sunset is the saddest light there is.” 

“In a weird way I must have loved my little collection of hurts and wounds. They provided me with some real nice sympathy; with the feeling I was exceptional...What a special case I was.” 

“The body knows things a long time before the mind catches up to them. I was wondering what my body knew that I didn't.” 

“You can tell which girls lack mothers by the look of their hair...” 

“Putting black cloths on the hives is for us. I do it to remind us that life gives way into death, and then death turns around and gives way into life.”

“It was the oldest sound there was. Souls flying away.”

Friday, September 27, 2013

Artistic Interpretations - It's all about Place

English Great Hall of the Late Tudor Period
(1550-1603)
I visited the Art Institute of Chicago this past summer and enjoyed the 69 miniatures of both European and American interiors.  The scales are one inch to one foot which became a standard in the miniature industry.  The miniatures are crafted from the same type of wood used for the original pieces of furniture, and the grain of the wood had to fit the small scale of objects.  I believe if you click on each image, it will enlarge.

I apologize for so few photos - many I took I couldn't use due to darkness and reflections.   HERE is a link to videos and further photos of this exhibition.   HERE is a link to all 69 rooms.  Feel free to use ANY of the images, not just the ones I posted.  (I am not sure about the user "rights" so you might have to link to the images offered on the other website - I'll let you be the judge of that, though).

English Cottage Kitchen (sitting area) of the Queen Anne Period
(1702-14)
I want you to play with and consider poems about "place".  Setting.  Mood.  Focus on descriptive technique - consider whether you feel like being lead to write about what is outside the room or in (or both).  Is it about something that happened within this room or something that is about to happen?  Is it a memory, an emotion?  Pay attention to color, feel, sounds, mood, even taste of a room.   Have fun with this... write fiction, or non-fiction - study the period, the country, the history.  Is it first person, or is it perhaps from a dog's perspective, or maybe a certain armchair or painting? 

I have given a few examples of how you can play with this and please feel free to write in any style, even grab an older poem you have written and add place to it.  The examples here are just ideas in which you may draw inspiration or not.  

I do prefer, however, that all poems for this challenge relate in some way to one of the 69 rooms.  I believe it's a worthwhile exercise to step out of our world and research history a bit BUT, if you are a poet that must write from personal experience or feels no creative juices from these miniature rooms, submit a NEW poem featuring "place".   (I added this last concession at noon Friday...)  

English Drawing Room of the Georgian Period
(1800)
I wrote "This Big Room" - in response to a challenge highlighting an Andrew Wyeth painting as the inspiration.

Below is a poem by poet Richard Blanco.   I was introduced to him through a blog I enjoy "Recollections of a Vagabonde":

El Florida Room (excerpt)
by Richard Blanco

(1st stanza)
Not a study or a den, but El Florida
as my mother called it, a pretty name
for the room with the prettiest view
of the lipstick-red hibiscus puckered up
against the windows, the tepid breeze 
laden with the brown-sugar scent
of loquats drifting in from the yard.

...

(3rd stanza)
Not a sitting room, but El Florida where
I sat alone for hours with butterflies
frozen on the polyester curtains
and faces of Lladro figurines:  sad angels,
clowns, and princesses with eyes glazed
blue and gray, gazing from behind
the glass doors of the wall cabinet.

I highly encourage you to read the entire poem HERE.  

French Dining Room of the Louis XIV Period
(1660-1700)
Below is another place poem which ponders a personal thought while sitting in and describing a little park.

The Secret of Light (excerpt)
by James Wright

I am sitting contented and alone in a little park near the Palazzo Scaligere in Verona, glimpsing the mists of early autumn as they shift and fade among the pines and city battlements on the hills above the river Adige.

The river has recovered from this morning's rainfall.  (for the entire poem, click HERE)

French Provincial Bedroom of the Louis XV Period
(18th Century)

Another poem takes a location and again, ponders feelings:

Attic
by Kathryn Stripling Byer

Not buried
but piece by piece carried
up narrow stairs
into the rafters,

her leavings 
have summered through
forty-five seasons 
of Bible-Belt heat (to read entire poem, click HERE)

French Bathroom & Boudoir of the Revolutionary Period
(1793-1804)
As usual, if you have a busy day or weekend, please consider turning in late or posting on Open Link Monday - but also remember to post here as well.  Visit others and I believe most will repay the visit.  Have fun and please link your specific poem to the Linky below.  I look forward to your artistic interpretations.

New Mexico Dining Room
(1940)




Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Out of Standard: Future Sailors


The Mighty Boosh, alive.  Courtesy of Wiki Commons.





Greetings Garden Dwellers.  Welcome back to Out of Standard, where I will set before you a challenge to defy the conventions of a particular theme.  I will call upon you to write out of the standard and find new places in the everyday, but caution: there will be a twist is a twist.  Let’s move onward to September’s challenge...

FUTURE SAILORS

Folks, sometimes it’s most difficult to find inspiration in the absurdly sublime.  So for this month’s out of standard, I am calling upon the most ridiculously awesome thing I know....The Mighty Boosh.   

The Mighty Boosh is a British comedy troupe featuring comedians Julian Barratt and Noel Fielding.  They have developed a TV series for the BBC, a radio show, and this October they are reuniting for  a comedy tour.  And yet despite the abundance of Boosh material, today’s challenge will focus on one short bit:  Future Sailors.  Below is a clip and the lyrics to an original Boosh Song.  


The Challenge:
Write a poem using any of the Future Sailor’s lyrics EXCEPT the lines I have stricken through...those were too standard.  You must use the whole line of lyric and not just one word.  Go ahead, my muddy buddies, let the brilliance of electro and futuristic sea shanties invade you brain meats and bring us back something startling, shiny, and new.





Future sailors
We're future sailors
Electronic castaway
Digital stowaway
Cyborg sea-dog,
Tell me what you dream of
Future sailors
Oh yeah!

Future sailors
Oh yeah!
Robot starfish
Nylon admiral


KEEP IN MIND 
Like every challenge, your poem must by newly written for this challenge and not one which you have previously written which conveniently fits the theme.   




Tuesday, September 24, 2013

A little Emotion, A Little Romance and a Whole Lotta....ahhhhhhhh.....



Waiting until the last second once again...its just my style, love it or leave it...but...really, don't leave me!!!!!!  My turn for a favorite...a Poet I discovered while shopping at the Visiting Nurses Book Sale in my home town of Phoenix, Arizona.  She has this dark and romantic lilt, you know, the kind that I love and it is packed with emotion and a bit of torture in my opinion.  I am no professional...but this woman saw some things, wrote some things....and I like. Here are a couple as here stuff is rarely long. Hope you enjoy!!!!


ANNA AKHMATOVA





Muse Went Away



Muse went away by the road,
The autumnal, narrow, steep,
And her swarthy feet were slopped,
With large drops of dew in her slip.

I begged her, with hope and fear,
To stay till the winter’s white lace,
She answered, “There is a grave here, 
How can you still breathe in such place?”

I wished to give her a she-pigeon,
The whitest in our doves’ nest,
Bur suddenly and without reason,
She fled after my slender guest.
 
I looked after Muse, and was silent,
I loved only her till my end,
And in skies grew a sunrise giant,
As the gate into her own land.  
 


Thank You, God

 
Thank you, God: I dream of him more seldom,
And don’t see him now in every place,
The white path with clouds has been laden,
Easy shadows o’er the waters raced.
And all day the chime of bells arose
O’er the ocean of the ploughed soil;
Here the toll is best-heard from Saint John’s 
Belfries which are seen afar, the tall.
I am cutting off the lilac fashioned 
For the brunches that have lost their bloom;
Two black monks passed by in conversation
On the ramparts to the aging doomed. 
Let, for blind me, the plain, dear and earthly
World again be turned into alive.
Our Lord has made my soul healthy
With the icy calm of the non-love. 





When I Write Poems
 
 
When I’m embraced by airy inspiration,
I am a bridge between the sky and earth.
Of all what heart high-values in creation
I am a king, when breathing with a verse!

Just if my soul wishes it, my fairy,
I shall give you the peaceful coast band,
Where, with a hum, the pinky sea is carrying
The dreaming tide to reach the dreaming land. 

I can do all, just trust in me: I’m mighty;
I have the roots for kindness and for love;
And if I want, from clouds and from the lightning
I’ll make a cover your sweet bed above.

And I can, dear, create a word such special,
That it would change laws of the whole world,
To call again its own celebration
And stop the sun from fall in the night cold.

I’m all another in my inspiration,
I am a bridge between the sky and earth.
Of all what heart high-values in creation
I am a king, when breathing with a verse!

 

Yeah....just sayin'. let me know what you think! Blogger is messing up on me so I cant get the spacing exactly right...forgive me.

Monday, September 23, 2013

Open Link Monday

Welcome to the Imaginary Garden ...

photo credit: Mara ~earth light~ via photopin cc

“It was a Monday and they walked on a tightrope to the sun.” 




Good day to all garden dwellers! Here on the other side of the world, we are enjoying our Spring break, with temperatures already soaring into the mid-30sC (90sF). We are in for a long hot Summer. Whatever the weather in your parts, I trust that this Monday has dawned bright and full of promise for the coming week. As always, this is an open invitation to share a poem of your choice with the toads. I must stress that any and all of our prompts and links are open to any writer who would like to participate. Our poetry community is not exclusive, although we have a small membership working together to keep the weekly challenges rolling over. We welcome our regular followers and any new-comers to our site, so long as participation is interactive in the sense of give and take regarding commentary. Please enjoy your time spent here today, and visit again next week.



Saturday, September 21, 2013

My Thoughts on Tanka (Part 1) ~ Hisashi Nakamura

Following my recent correspondence with Dr Hisashi Nakamura, it gives me great pleasure to reveal that he has graciously agreed to share his thoughts on the writing of this ancient Japanese poetical form in English. I have decided to divide Dr Nakamura's extensive essay on tanka into parts (with his consent) and shall be featuring it on the third Sunday of the next several months.




My Thoughts on Tanka 
Hisashi Nakamura 

How I came to write tanka in English. 


I began to write tanka in English around 2005 after reading Japanese classical tanka quite extensively. I had never dreamed of writing tanka in a foreign language although I started writing free verses in Japanese when I was in my high teens. I tried to write tanka in English because of a unique combination of circumstances.

I rediscovered the fascinating world of classical tanka thanks to the development of the Internet which made it possible for me to have direct access to the rich archives of tanka poetry in Japan from my home in the city of York. I enjoyed reading the 21 Imperial Anthologies of Waka compiled between 905 and 1439. “Waka” means “Japanese Poems” which include tanka and a few other forms. The anthologies contain well over 33 thousand tanka in total. I also rediscovered the value of Manyoshu which was compiled some time after 759 and contains about 4,500 poems by about 450 identifiable people, of which over 90% are in the form of tanka.

I thought I would like to share the beautiful world of classical tanka with my friends in Britain, especially with my colleagues at work who were teaching Modernism and Imagism as part of their English Literature courses at the university where I was working as “Japan Projects Officer”. I also thought it would be possible for Art students to use the imagery of classical tanka as a new source for their creative activities. For these reasons I tried to gather classical tanka translated into English, but soon encountered several problems. (To be continued...)



Characteristics of Classical Tanka 


The characteristics of classical tanka may be summarised in seven points. (Two of which will be the focus of today's discussion.)

1 Minimalist Approach: Less is More 

Some poets in the 12th century emphasised that “less is more” where simple descriptions could have lingering suggestiveness more than a lot of detail. Fujiwara no Teika wrote the tanka below in 1186 when he was 24 years old. Here he thinks that the scene in front of him is perfectly beautiful without anything that typifies the beauty of a season such as cherry blossoms or crimson leaves. His discovery of a new sense of beauty where a monochrome world could have more depth than colourful images contributed to the establishment of “wabi” and “sabi”.

As far as one can see,
No cherry blossoms
Or crimson leaves-
A thatched hut by a bay
In the autumn dusk.

In the early 20th century Jun Fujita, whom many consider to be one of the first people to write tanka in English successfully, published the following in the USA. Reviewing this tanka Harriet Monroe who was sometimes called the midwife of Modernism wrote in Poetry in April 1925: “I doubt if a thousand carefully toned words could match the impression it gives of stillness”:

Milky night;
Through slender trees in drowse
A petal-
Falling.

2 Tanka Avoids Intellectual Argument 

Tanka poetry avoids intellectual argument. It is a realm of sensibility where feelings and emotions matter. This aspect was observed in 1963 by Prof Geoffrey Bownas who wrote about the characteristics of tanka: “There is little opportunity or desire to escape to the intellect or the didactic.” The same point was expressed by Origuchi Shinobu (1887-1953) when he was asked what differentiated tanka from other forms of poetry. His answer was that good tanka usually did not have intellectual substance, but had pure suggestiveness. He used a simile: “Tanka is like squeezing snow tightly in the hand. There will be nothing left in your hand, except water. But you feel something.” A tanka that illustrates this well is the following written by Monk Jukuren (1139?-1202).

This loneliness 
Has no colour of its own. 
On the mountain 
Where cedars stand 
In the autumn dusk.

Because of the lack of intellectual substance some modern poets in the West do not discover the value of tanka. Tanka poetry seems to be too simple for some people. However, sensibility sometimes transcends intellectual power. The following was composed by Princess Shikishi a year before she died in 1201. About 400 years after that, William Shakespeare wrote in The Tempest: “We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is rounded with a sleep”.

Broken by the sound of the breeze 
That plays on the bamboo leaves 
Near the window 
A dream even shorter 
Than my fleeting sleep.

Our challenge today, is to explore the tanka form as presented here by Dr Nakamura. There is no limit to the number of tanka you may write, and you may also share older examples of tanka you have written, if you prefer. Dr Nakamura has shown great interest in our writing group and a link to this prompt will be forwarded to him, so he can pay us a visit in the Imaginary Garden.

Photo credits:
Cherry Blossom : photo credit: JapanDave via photopin cc
Mountain View: photo credit: Vincent_AF via photopin cc

Friday, September 20, 2013

Harvest Moon

My friends, tonight’s Harvest Moon begs for a response. Here she is, as seen last night from Northampton, Massachusetts.

photo by the inimitable Steve Sauter

And here she is, in a song that needs no introducing.

 

Your challenge is to share a new poem inspired by Neil Young, the Harvest Moon, being still in love, dancing, flannel, trucks, sexy backup singers, or anything else your heart desires related to any of the above. Can’t wait to read your Harvest Moon inspirations.
 

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Kerry's Wednesday Challenge ~ Gods in Nature

What has become of the old gods? 


Tumblr.com
#Titon
In his sonnet, 'The World is Too Much With Us", Wordsworth bemoans the fact that we have lost our place in the natural environment, and no longer appreciate the gods in nature.

                  Great God! I’d rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.


River Mimram (Source)

My imagination was piqued recently when I came upon the poem, The river god, by Stevie Smith in an old anthology of poetry. Her monologue of an old forgotten Celtic god of the River Mimram set me to thinking of these pagan deities of civilization's rich mythological history. What has become of them? How do they view the modern world? Have they lost their powers now that no-one believes in them?

The river god
(of the River Mimram in Hertforshire)

I may be smelly and I may be old,
Rough in my pebbles, reedy in my pools,
But where my fish float by I bless their swimming
And I like the people to bathe in me, especially women.
But I can drown the fools
Who bathe too close to the weir, contrary to rules.
And they take a long time drowning
As I throw them up now and then in a spirit of clowning.
Hi yih, yippity-yap, merrily I flow,
O I may be an old foul river but I have plenty of go.
Once there was a lady who was too bold
She bathed in me by the tall black cliff where the water runs cold,
So I brought her down here
To be my beautiful dear.
Oh will she stay with me will she stay
This beautiful lady, or will she go away?

Read the complete poem HERE.

Our challenge today is to select a Celtic Deity (listed here) or you may go with the Greeks or Romans if you prefer (listed here) and write in the first person perspective of the god or goddess, but as if he (or she) were contemplating existence in the present era. Allow your imaginations to dictate what has become of the gods' personalities and relationships with humanity. Perhaps, these gods have opinions on the state of the environment or 21st Century politics. I am looking forward to the results of this prompt, so please link up below and pay a few other poets a visit while you are here.


Tuesday, September 17, 2013

A Toads Favo(u)rite... The Lanyard by Billy Collins

Always a Billy Collins fan, I became even more enamored with the former U.S. Poet Laureate after having lunch with him just before my first poetry book was released.  We enjoyed pleasant mealtime conversation as his fiancé talked about their impending move. After the meal he read several of his poems. The Lanyard was among them.

Listening to his well-wrought words, I pondered Mr. Collins' relationship with his mother and marveled at his ability to make everyone in the room reflect on their own maternal relationships. 

Now, every time I read The Lanyard, I hear his calm, warm voice, and relive that sweet and magical day. I hope you get a taste as you read it here today.   ~KIM

THE LANYARD
by Billy Collins

The other day as I was ricocheting slowly
off the blue walls of this room
bouncing from typewriter to piano
from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,
I found myself in the "L" section of the dictionary
where my eyes fell upon the word, Lanyard.
No cookie nibbled by a French novelist
could send one more suddenly into the past.
A past where I sat at a workbench
at a camp by a deep Adirondack lake
learning how to braid thin plastic strips into a lanyard.
A gift for my mother.
I had never seen anyone use a lanyard.
Or wear one, if that’s what you did with them.
But that did not keep me from crossing strand over strand
again and again until I had made a boxy, red and white lanyard for my mother.
She gave me life and milk from her breasts,
and I gave her a lanyard
She nursed me in many a sick room,
lifted teaspoons of medicine to my lips,
set cold facecloths on my forehead
then led me out into the airy light
and taught me to walk and swim and I in turn presented her with a lanyard.
"Here are thousands of meals" she said,
"and here is clothing and a good education."
"And here is your lanyard," I replied,
"which I made with a little help from a counselor."
"Here is a breathing body and a beating heart,
strong legs, bones and teeth and two clear eyes to read the world." she whispered.
"And here," I said, "is the lanyard I made at camp."
"And here," I wish to say to her now,
"is a smaller gift. Not the archaic truth,
that you can never repay your mother,
but the rueful admission that when she took the two-toned lanyard from my hands,
I was as sure as a boy could be
that this useless worthless thing I wove out of boredom
would be enough to make us even."

Monday, September 16, 2013

Open Link Monday

Welcome to the Imaginary Garden ...


photo credit: Rob Ketcherside via photopin cc

Good day to one and all! I hope this fine Monday in September is the start of a great week for all our poet friends in the blogosphere. I'm sure each of you has known the struggle of keeping the poetic muse alive. Expressing oneself in writing is not as easy as some might imagine and sometimes the words seem trapped or the ideas too well-worn. I sometimes reach the point where I wonder if I have anything left to say, and without doubt, I know I would have stopped trying if it were not for the support and remarkable feed-back I receive for even my most feeble attempts at poetry. For this, I want to express my heart-felt appreciation of all my loyal readers and friends. Perhaps there are those who will visit today who would like to do the same, either in comments or on their own blogs. When we link up the poems of our choice today, let us take the time to spread the love because in the Imaginary Garden, no one is taken for granted, least of all by me.


Saturday, September 14, 2013

The Sunday Challenge: Featuring Kathryn Dyche Dechairo

Hello Toads & Pond visitors !!!   It is my pleasure to introduce you to the artwork of Kathryn Dyche Dechairo. We will be drawing inspiration from her work to write our poems in any poetry form of your choice.    

Kathryn was born in South Wales, grew up in Oxfordshire and now resides in Ohio as a mixed media artist with her husband and four furry friends. 


Her creative journey first began during her early thirty's. Barely audible at first, like a soft whisper. It took the death of her father and a move stateside for those initial whisperings to find their voice and become a catalyst for her creativity.


Her artist statement reads:  I have always loved items with a textural quality so when I began creating art I was looking for ways to invoke that feeling you get as a child; the kind where you instinctively want to reach out and touch.

This love of texture spills into all aspects of my life from the objects and materials I chose to surround myself with, to the art and digital images I create.
                                                       Burning Tree                     

Barren



Nature is a huge source of inspiration for me, not only in subject matter but color palette too.  Maybe it's because I'm an October baby that I have a love for the richer, darker, autumnal hues. Interestingly I am unable to start by painting directly onto a white background, it's like a stumbling block, so I paint all my backgrounds black before beginning a piece.


Love Hurts
6" x 6" Textured Art 
Painting on Wood Panel





Kathryn has always felt a strong connection to texture, nature and wildlife and these elements remain a strong component in her work today.

Her art can be viewed here where she specializes in 3D textured acrylic art paintings and digital art prints.


To learn more about the artist and her creative journey visit her blog 'Listening To The Whispers' .  Kathryn's work has also been published in 'The Pulse of Mixed Media' by Seth Apter and the Summer 2012 edition of Artful Blogging.   



Our challenge for today is write a new poem using any or all of the artwork by Kathryn.   Please link a new poem and if  you add an image to your post, please acknowledge the name of the artist and provide a link back to her website.  

And for those who will participate over the weekend up to OpenLinkNight Monday, Kathryn has graciously offered one of her prints from her etsy store as a give-away.  We will draw from the number of entries in Mr. Linky and the winner can chose from any of her art work here   

Happy Sunday to all ~  Grace                                                  
                                                     

Friday, September 13, 2013

Hungry and Haunted?



Hello there! Hannah here with nature’s amazement #4 to cause your muses to be hungry and haunted!


Feast on this…



Hitachi Seaside Park, located in Hitachinaka, Ibaraki prefecture, Japan, next to the Ajigaura Beach, is a flower park and a popular tourist destination. The park covers an area of ​​3.5 hectares and the flowers are amazing all year round. Each season you will find a different variety of flower blossoming over the “Miharashi No Oka”, a hill commanding a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean. The park is particularly famous for blue nemophilas. Nemophilas are annual flowers with transparent blue petals. During spring, more than 4.5 million blue nemophilas bloom all over the park. The blooming period is called “Nemophilia Harmony” and attracts many visitors, (Tech and Facts).

(photobucket)

The opening scenes in this short video are strikingly haunting…





Caused me to think of a direction...if one chooses to accept...a challenge, perhaps…

In your poems today let’s try to bring a focal point...if one were to create contrast in a way that this specific scene in this film does...with these tall, dark, powerful trees standing amidst such ethereal, colorful, fragile beauty...so you can choose what your focus will be but try to bring a contrast and climax with your imagery, sensory and otherwise.

You may write about this place in paticular or qualities of it if you wish or if you’re inspired in a different way by these offerings than give that muse free reign to express herself/himself.

Have fun...remember to visit as many blogging peeps as you can, (that’s the fun supportive part), and please write and link only new pieces for this challenge!

Thank you!! :)’s


Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Words Count With Mama Zen


The number of the day is . . . eight!

Eight.  Eight Mile.  Eight seconds.  Eight Is Enough.  Eight man football.  Eight ball.  Eight track.  Eight.

Eight.  Ate.  8.

Today, we are writing poems incorporating the number eight.  How? Why, anyway you like!  Use the word, the numeral, write eight lines, go concrete; it's up to you.  Just do it in eight words or less.  I'm kidding!  Let's make it . . . eighty.

Have fun!  Ah! Ah! Ah!