Photo art.....a glance back..

This is the last Photo Art Friday of the year and Bonnie has asked us to post our favorite or best digital art project this year.  Having concentrated more on writing this second half of the year, it is not hard for me to find the one I like best of the several I did.  It's such a fun process and I want to do more.  I am taking the liberty of posting earlier favorite photo makeovers for those who are newer followers and may not have seen them.. only one, however is seen on Bonnie's web-site, Pixel Dust Photo Art    which is so full of creative images for you to peruse now..  

                                                                              The top photo received the most views since I began the blog, therefore is the most favored..













                                                   


My take on a movie title  - The Pelican Brief -  is one of my favorites...

















This is the most bizarre as it formed a giant clam shell when I
played with the
scene of friends on a beach...


...three other favorites I did are the following:

Lastly I did these two with Bonnie's texture of last week..I used it on many pics and it is very versatile!  Alas I was late in finishing..

Raymond Carver - Erasured

I had not heard of Erasure poetry but that's what we at dversepoets.com are doing this week: erasing some of a well-known poem or other work by said will known author and creating yet another version of it which can set a different tone.  It almost feels like paraphrasing or stealing to me,  but I learned something about my own writing by doing this exercise.  Raymond Carver (1938 - 1988) was a local Pacific Northwest  writer, a favorite of mine.  Another short poem of his is "Your Dog Dies" if you are curious about him.  He is best known for his Collection of Short Stories and poems in "From Where I'm Calling From" and other books. 

Last Night with Fog and Horses   (my version)

In the living room saying their goodbyes, they put their arms around 

each other.  Full of passion and memory, each recalled each other's youth. 

They had been through a lot together, but could not take another step.

Someone else for him; tears falling.  A red emergency light flashed out 

of the fog, voices carried...at the end of that long night, the horses had 

cropped the grass.  A horse stepped out of the fog..and another..

she went outside and moved among them weeping, touching their flanks.  

They began to graze when he made two calls: one to the sheriff, 

"..the horses are out" and that other call, too. He joined his wife in the 

yard and they murmured to the horses together. (Was this really happening?) 

Something ended, something else rushing in.  "Goodbye, " she 

said, pulling away... loss ringing in their ears. Later, he remembered the 

disastrous phone call that hung on and on..and for the rest of his life,

it boiled down to one thing, a Malediction.

Late Night with Fog and Horses by Raymond Carver

They were in the living room. Saying their
goodbyes. Loss ringing in their ears.
They'd been through a lot together, but now
they couldn't go another step. Besides, for him
there was someone else. Tears were falling
when a horse stepped out of the fog
into the front yard. Then another, and
another. She went outside and said,
"Where did you come from, you sweet horses?"
and moved in amongst them, weeping,
touching their flanks. The horses began
to graze in the front yard.
He made two calls: one call went straight
to the sheriff - "someone's horses are out."
But there was that other call, too.
Then he joined his wife in the front
yard, where they talked and murmured
to the horses together. (Whatever was
happening now was happening in another time.)
Horses cropped the grass in the yard
that night. A red emergency light
flashed as a sedan crept in out of fog.
Voices carried out of the fog.
At the end of that long night,
when they finally put their arms around
each other, their embrace was full of
passion and memory. Each recalled
the other's youth. Now something had ended,
something else rushing in to take its place.
Came the moment of leave-taking itself.
"Goodbye, go on," she said.
And then pulling away.
Much later,
he remembered making a disastrous phone call.
One that had hung on and hung on,
a malediction. It's boiled down
to that. The rest of his life.
Malediction.

Limericks...

For fun I wrote these in response to  Madeleine Begun Kane's  blog suggestion...

by klr                                                                                



A donkey that wasn't too bright
gave a ride to a cockatoo white
They conversed in Espanol
Sang in tenor and alto
and fell in love by evening candlelight

A woman who wasn't too bright
loved a man who could not requite
He still had oats to sow
But what he did not know
Was that she was a perfect delight

A man who wasn't too bright
married Ms. Taylor only to fight
He bought her a diamond
where iguanas run
and left in the middle of the night

A woman who wasn't too bright
stood in the garden moonlight
In shadows a man in a hood
up to absolutely no good
'til her face made his heart take flight

Old Ladder...digital photo art..

This was supposed to be for last week's Photo Art Friday, however I was out of town

 and unable too use Wi-Fi  and my laptop from our location.  Simply a ladder in my atrium where bamboo a few tropical ferns grow; it is cold in there now, so it's not a year round greenhouse.  The texture is a fun one from Bonnie at Pixel Photo Art Studio.  It is called Signed and Sealed...next week I hope to be on time with my offering ;-)  

BTW, I am grateful for my friends and family, that you support, visit, and otherwise find this blog still interesting enough to return.  Soon I will be updating/changing  it's design, as I recently changed the furniture in my living room, and still in the mood for re-arranging certain things.  It will be recognizable as there will not be a dramatic alteration. 

 I do hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving...

                                                                                     ...Kathy

One coach's song...or life is a soccer game..

Light rain fell from
a passing cloud
onto the 10 year old fledgling face

the field has straw colored grassy spots,

but mostly good old dirt...
White goal posts glare..
.no bench sitters..all players play..

The coach pats each
boy's head....then he bellows
affectionately..."OK, OK..keep on it...
stay with the ball....push it
forward..
now..don't kick..that's it...
keep it moving...'Oh,  No!!'  (grimace)
...'.he kicked it'...g*#d%!"

Another ball slipped
by the goalie...."Meathead!!
Now...pass it!"...a blur of legs struggle
for the ball, tangled..."Ouch!"..
A snap is heard and silence ensues.."Get him
some help..now!!  I'm going over there...jeez!
Take it to the side."

"Oh boy, one down, you o.k
son?  Doc says you are out of the game.
Take care now, hear?" Clapping, time outs over,
the other half due to start...."Wake up, Andrew..
.enough sleeping out there!
Devin!..throw it in....how about some support...??
Hey...I need you over here, not back there!?"

"Way to go..lead the way....
Now, cross over...
pass it to him...Defense!!..where's the defense!?"
Could be a scene from Les Miserables..
bruised jaws, gangling growing arms and  torn
garments.  Sweat builds up and drips;
somebody steps on wrists...muddy feet..
this scaled down mini
war battlefield..

"Stay with it!  good boot.."
Like fish out of water..
..our future's men..
the clock runs out...
Ok, guys, next time, next time..
By the way, practice is on Tuesday
ya gotta learn to run with it..

Fresh oranges to quench..

"It's OK, they had more back up..
...it's all right, Buddy, next time!
                            - 4:30 sharp!!
Be there -
..great game guys..
way to play!"


by klr

It's Open Link night over at dversepoets.com  where more than one hundred post their poetry...please fell welcome to join in reading other entries this week.  Any subject is a go on Tuesdays.  A soccer game, played last month, could be an analogy for life - with stops and starts and back and forths but I wrote it simply as an observer in the physical  sense ;)

Fernando Pessoa...a literary allusion to...

Over at Meeting the Bar and  dversepoets.com  we are challenged to write in the form of literary allusion, spotlighting or referencing, answering back or emulating a well known poet's work, artist, or other literary work.  I chose Portuguese poet Fernando Pessoa for his existentialist style of writing which I admire.  His prose and poetry tell of his perennial unrest and search for meaning in life.  The top quotes and short poem are my models for the poem below.

1888 - 1935

“My soul is a hidden orchestra; I know not what instruments, what fiddle strings and harps, drums and tamboura I sound and clash inside myself. All I hear is the symphony.” 
― Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet


“Being tired of all illusions and of everything about illusions – the loss of illusions, the uselessness of having them, the prefatigue of having to have them in order to lose them, the sadness of having had them, the intellectual shame of having had them knowing that they would have to end this way.” 
― Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

"I'm both in the midst of life and observing it from where I stand.  I am like a playing card that belongs to an ancient and unknown suit, the only remnant of a lost pack.  I have become more image than me; I return to my own self taking myself out of existence, using my soul as ink."

_ F. Pessoa

I see boats moving on the sea.

Their sails, like wings of what I see,

Bring me a vague inner desire to be

Who I was without knowing what it was.

So all recalls my home self, and, because

It recalls that, what I am aches in me

                                                 by Fernando Pessoa ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I lay down my compass by the sea
footprints left, those gone before me

Alone is what I am used to, you see 

This night I'll find stars to catch and shine

put them in my pocket for Amaranthine

wishing the Milky Way reach and take me

                                                   by klr

                                                                    

 klr in response to F. P. statements

My thoughts: His words, "I sought life's meaning in all the wrong places,"....strikes a chord with me.  I like this...and certainly, life's meaning is often wrought in strife and constant pain.  Regardless of what story this man told, the trick was to not call anyone's bluff I guess....was he really so sad?  His fear that "he had not accomplished enough" or he "left a mark of nothingness" sounds all too familiar to my ears, and it would be wrong to denounce him for that.  The "too little too late" syndrome works just fine for me, as well; and "if usefulness is measured by one's decline you will get no answers"...is also a self deprecating feeling he adheres to...it is a thread throughout his works...but a moving experience to read him and a pleasure to feel a kinship toward him.

.

Ode to the S. S. Arizona...

by klr

Berthed in deep rolling blue waves
concave wooden throat                                                    
built by men who armored her
over steel petticoat
where shellfish dote
hundreds sleeping in her nave

Telescope facing westward
night turned to mellow
Hawaiian dawn's dew in morn    
newborn sun to follow
dire whistles blow                                                               
evident world wide war spurred

Best Navy in entire world
foiled communique`
scores of lives immortalized
that sky's December day
harbor soiree
thunderous Heavens unfurled

Written for Sunday's mini challenge over at imaginary garden with real 

toads...this form of poetry in stanzas of 6 lines with rhyme; I used the subject 

of war, peace, armistice in accordance with Veterans Day.

20 words or less...

In 20 words, who we  thought would  win the election while we watched,  biting our nails.....

Instructions from .imaginerygardenwithrealtoads  this week ;)

by klr

Like pebbles on the beach that gather hewn

multicolored, ebbing together letting

new waves spread  against  spent undertow....

new horizons.....

Rainbow sherbet..

We were given several digital art photos done by photographer SueAnn.   Choosing one, 

we are to write a poem using it as inspiration.  See them all over at dversepoets.com where 

Brian Miller is hosting...

...her pear shaped gauzy figure exited the single pane door
spiritless 
air escaping
Yesterday had meaning
...a bountiful sunset poured onto her apt. patio only inches
from
free-fall
Invisible guitar strings strum
..fill the air with brooding Garfunkel refrain
Today...
hopelessness overtook her
...urging her to jump from the precipice edge
..her dome light of fragile confidence...
..fading

....when languishing golden strobes of light appear 
blinding 
lemon lime color skips
Peacock flamed silhouettes of her tortured soul 
pattern the building
Stretch...
...amid fuchsia splashes of the rainbow
on the roof
..ultraviolet sticky threads cling to her body
She grasps falling Rapunzel like

aureole hair...
causing her heart to give way 

.....for grateful second thoughts

.....weeping silently
having prevailed...
when fragile moments turned around silently.. 
enveloped by viscous psychedelic arms of faith
It wasn't the first time
..carried back inside to live
..another day to depart

                                                        
                                                 by klr

Top of the world....

"It's only just begun......"




different women, different era
one body image too thin -
one too heavy

"Rolling in the De..e...eep...."

success built on a broken heart...
aglitter Armani gown....baby bump



set a higher bar.....twitter..
this social phenomenon...

death threats to baby.... obscure unknown people..
why the hate?
..must be already hurting, but mustn't judge..
get off her back..no panic..no backlash..

now out and about...proud...gifted.....24 year old Adele...
only brings beauty to others...

same old prejudices
- people need not be ranked, categorized.

i love you Gloria Steinem
 4 U show us the way

some women have 2 jobs and
...still don't have the courage?
...don't know yet that their previous party of self respect
left them first...

equal pay....now enacted!

so fly robin, fly!!  up into the sky!

let seraphic wings carry you
to your truest love...
may you drink of earth's purest springs
 - and sail far above all creation

              ...ever happily

dignified  - on top of the world

singing the most honeyed melodious strain - into the gentle winds
...awing angels

with your newborn baby blue love..grow
life has just begun

....chirp...chirp....chirp..


For  dversepoets.com    this week I have to say I gambled on this.  Unfamiliar with the culture of this poetry, it was a matter of just throwing it out there.  If you are a fan of the low art/high art New York poetry style you might want to read some other entries.

Saturdays used to mean...

Saturdays used to mean
 - naps
on the phone all day
yearning for the '65 Mustang
pictured on  my wall
Beatles on the radio
- a free day after a chore or two
homework done
writing in my diary with a key
 - rain or shine
   
Make the world go away
 - please
Something was not right
they laughed at my pain
no one understood
crawled under covers
- cried body heaving
they could not identify
teen identity crisis
 - rain and shine

Present day damp toweled hair
 - mostly grey
Saturday still my favorite day
listening to PBS
my canvas's on the wall
offspring doing fine, going places
 - poetry archived
transported to womanhood
advocate at heart
 - rain or shine

Reflection of serenity
 - fewer freckles
extra lines, less mobility
joints that ache yet
there's attractiveness
on a par modest, living more fully
- evolving
reassures the little girl
it will be all right
-rain or shine

Vulnerabilities never far
- but slipping away
material things matter less
new soft full drops of rain
spill upon the window pain
content knowing the doubt
- back then
was not in vain
the voyage so worth taking
- nevertheless
breathing in, out
  is a miracle
          - rain or shine

Self portrait   http://dversepoets.com/      

Nancy's "sweet", sweet pea...

It's been awhile since I posted to Bonnie's Photo Art Friday

She generously gave us this free cobblestone textured background that I used here...isn't it pretty? 

The photo was taken by my friend Nancy of her favorite 

flower, the sweet pea, just recently due to our Indian Summer weather, and it is a beauty!  
It is straight out of her camera...then I experimented 

with it a bit for fun.  I hope you enjoy them ;)

The vagabond's song...

The vagabond's song cries out 'come home - come home'

a place that eludes him for his spiritual need
but the winding labyrinth leads him to roam

Following the vision of an attendant mirage's path
he traverses nebulous miles as his heart bleeds
but the vagabond's song cries out  'come home - come home'

If there's a madness about nary an unsettled wrath
he travels audatiously where side roads lead
but the winding labyrinth leads him to roam

Sages speak of wisdom a road less traveled hath
of wanderlust, a fountain of youth, wilderness creed

but the vagabond's song cries out 'come home - come home'

Sagas tell of men fighting a Spanish War or Goliath
of a hallucinating knight's noble dream and his steed
but the winding labyrinth leads him to roam

He longs for drifting the unknown using strange math
the taste of passionate addiction on which he feeds
The vagabond's song cries out  'come home - come home'
but the winding labyrinth leads him to roam

At       dversepoets.com  today Samuel Peralta brings us the villanelle, a poetry form used by Dylan Thomas   ("Do not go gentle into that good night")  Oscar Wilde and others....we are to try our hand at it ...
...the pattern of the villanelle is illustrated as A1bA2 - abA1 - abA2 - abA1 - abA2  - abA1A2 where"a" and "b" are the two ryhmes, and the uper case lines ("A1" and "A2") indicate the refrains...

Original sin ..as in what a web she weaves..

...today I am visiting  imaginay gardenwithrealtoads

My first time here on this leisurely Sunday, trying my hand at another form of poetry, the quatrain in couplets and rhyme, made up of 4 lines with 5 or 7 word stanzas.  My, I feel like I'm back in school again..relearning things.  I start with this photo taken yesterday in my back yard by the side of my house...

Wet with dew in the morning time

bearing radiant afterglow stirred from deep within

 nature's crocheted doily quivers in borrowed sun

when touched in act of deadly sin

Engineer of eight legged kind

designs with hunger in mind

victims captured without a fight

satiated sleep at evening's twilight 

by klr

Birch tree...

by klr

Eighteen inches tall
... when you were planted

I watched you grow

Your underground pulse
made the soil tremble

under wet leaves

Tender whispers 

from me to you

Roots delved deeper

...rings multiplied   

You shot higher
than I could jump

Your distressed 

white and gray
textured skin of nature,

...distinguished       

Your sequined leaves, 
shimmering - 
your forever ball gown

I look up at you now
...stately
as your peer, the oak
yet stylish and true

worthy of this verse
and so much more
...that 
congresses of swallows
assemble on your limbs

and sing, "Liberte'!"

Trumpeting to the sun

you were born to
live handing out daydreams

... and

swim in blue lakes of the sky

Indeed, you will live

much longer than I

...as through the seas
in my eyes

...the pallet changes

 Remember Shakespeare's 7 Ages of Man poem?  This topic is the prompt today at dversepoets.com ; you may liken this ode to the birch tree to the aging of a human or not..the main thing is the subject of TIME...

From a rooftop...in a dream...

  by klr

On the rooftop in the city:

Flowers - watering trillium and mums in her robe and slippers
A stabbing frozen wind snap 
cuts her body's warmth like a knife
she's but a tiny dot from a pilot's view

At the equator from her balcony:

On the lemon tree and bougainvillea,
her watering can empties
She waltzes softly with a man
of great integrity 
Gown of lavender lace,
sips Chardonnay

 Downstairs in the old apartment:

Water for primroses and hot tea
She retrieves winter's wool blankets
unearths decor for the coming season
knobby fingers ache as she writes on 
personalized linen stationery 
"Dear Jeanne, I hope you are well - 
 Oh, but the smell 

Of the sea, the present:

Daisies sway in the breeze,
tonic for me
"so do come to visit soon."
muffled noises from the market, 
smells of fried oysters and fresh baked bread 
waft through her open window,
lemon slices in her tea

On the phone in the old apartment:

"I fear the trillium will take a beating 
foul weather they predict, severe 
low temperatures" she said

Long months to read books and crochet, surviving 
downpours, road accidents,
seems like infinity 

Strolling on the beach ankle deep in waves:
Seagulls to feed instead of plants
She pedals the boardwalk under morning sun to the gallery, 
buys taffy and sweet buns,
collects huge sand dollars to bleach titanium white, 
and on the porch                
dines alfresco -
           
and so she falls in and out of her deepest sleep's 
continuing dream 


Sharing withdversepoets.comdverse.com   where Victoria instructs how 'enjambment' is used as a tool in poetry and some history...

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Fear & trepidation...

Before I could defend myself he

broke through the door

grabbed my throat with both hands-

incredulous I fell to the floor

he was distracted for some reason 

and let go...

while I got up on my knees to

pull myself all the way up

my heart did not feel

instead  my brain raced me to 

the door

He headed for the phone on the wall

and proceeded to rip it off 

then went to the bedroom to destroy

the other phone as well

I slipped out the door and ran across the street 

to the neighbors house automatically

knocked and it took forever for them 

to answer the door

I called the police

they were there 

and he got in their car

turning himself in I was told

admitting he had caused the

damage in the house

TV thrown into glass cabinet

broken dishes antiques on the floor

I called my friend and she let me

spend the night

In jail next day I went to see him

Mentally ill and out of place

malicious mischief the charge, yet still full of love 

for me 

and when he was not on his

medication I had no fear before

As much as I know he  loves me

I still cannot trust

his big bear hugs 
(I love my son more than one can ever know)

can be nice to receive
but what 

if he lunges at me again

where will my heart be?

by klr

For  http://dversepoets.com/      the theme is fear or phobia...