Reading Emily Dickinson

After reading many of Ashok's commentaries on Emily Dickinson's poetry, I've become very fond of her work.



I bought this book the other day, and it's been inspiring me to write. For example, I came across this poem, and something about it just sang to me.

Summer for thee, grant I may be
When Summer days are flown!
Thy music still, when Whipporwill
And Oriole—are done!

For thee to bloom, I'll skip the tomb
And row my blossoms o'er!
Pray gather me—
Anemone—
Thy flower—forevermore!




I'm sure when she wrote "anemone" she was refering to the woodland flower, but I thought of this:

Anemone, I long to be
Eternal summer by the sea
Tropical calm – Hibiscus aplomb
In the shadow of Mango Tree

Blossoms wilt when Delta silt
Crosses the Ocean’s current
May Bed’s frailty embolden me
Oh, Drifting garden deterrent!




Since I can't be
eternally by the sea
I bring it to me



Meet Boomhower the Beta. He isn't actually from the sea, but we like to pretend.

Windows for Drips of Ink

I miss my home. All these pics were taken from my window there.

My computer desk sat just inside looking out over my gardens.

My window was so much more entertaining than any TV.

This little guy and I had a wonderful arrangement. He really loved a certain weed with little yellow flowers, which I let grow in my gardens, and in return, he didn't eat any of my other flowers.

Such a serious little fellow.

Peek-a-boo

Caught with the evidence still on his beak.

Someone's hungry.

Is that a look of guilt?

This little guy would get angry at his reflection... every day!

Well, he's certainly well fed.

And, when they're done eating...

I've Been In La La Land Lately...

...and haven't been doing much blogging. It seems I've been in the mood for drawing mythological beings instead.



This is a color pencil sketch for a project that I'm working on for a friend. I call him Thor, but he seems to be dressed for a warmer climate, like maybe Greece. Could be because of the 100 degree weather we've been having lately.



I made this one with different colored ball point pens. She was originally just an outline I made for this piece of digital art from several years ago.



The weather we've been having has been wreaking havok on my mood lately. We're six months into a drought right now. I've been trying to save my gardens, but may end out loosing a tree. I've been known to cry when a tree dies, and there are dead trees everywhere I go. These little beauties help lift my spirits when I go out to water.



I like to imagine that little faeries danced on the top of this one and left a trail of their steps.



And, the Faerie Princess left her crown on this one.

But, then I wake to sad dreams in the morning. This morning the dream was about a dog that I had abandoned and then died before I could get back to it. It made me think about a real dog that I used to have years ago, whose death was surrounded by mysterious circumstances. So, I wrote this poem.

Taken to the Woods

taken to the woods
by a friendly face
did she wonder
why he was with her
instead of me?

visit to her favorite place
ends abruptly with a
bullet in her brain
I failed her again

old and sickly
I left her vulnerable
was it a mercy killing?
look of horror on his face
when I mention that
she was getting better

extra effort required
isn’t given when needed most
another piece of me is gone
and the cycle continues

he leads me astray
but I follow willingly
into the woods
looking for peacefulness
because it’s just easier
he thinks he’s doing me a favor

This last one was written the other morning.

My Conscience is so Much Crueler

while my subconscious
whispers to me in my sleep
like a compassionate lover
“you underestimate yourself”
“feel unworthy of giving encouragement”

my conscience becomes enraged
lies in wait for me to wake
to scold with a harsh voice
like an angry father
humiliates and rejects me
until there is no more desire to wake

Well um... I think I'll go back to my mythological world now.

No Way Out

"Is there no way out of the mind?" - Sylvia Plath



outside the air is real
and ascends in currents and streams
unpolluted

I breathe dust and ash
wipe silt deposits from my eyes
swim through a smoky mire toward

stage lights cast blue reflections
on musicians playing with passionate fury
cast highlights on an inebriated audience
artificial fog obscures the source that is

shrinking room at one end of a tunnel
the other end twists and turns
culminating at a dead end with a peep hole

outside the air is real
I strain to study and then
turn back to the smoky mire

Tyburn

Trying out another form of poetry called Tyburn. It's supposed to be 6 lines with the specific syllable counts of 2,2,2,2,9, and 9 respectively.



This last one isn't the correct syllable count, but I really liked the word 'viraling' [I made it up], so I wrote it anyway. They're supposed to be a commentary on the warped weather patterns we've been experiencing lately.

Yea Spring!

These pics were taken in my garden.



And, this is the reason why I've not been online much lately.



This garden is named Ilma's Garden, after the woman who originally started it.



I love scented geraniums, and...



have them all around my front porch.

There are more pics of my garden here on Silk Creek Portal.