Is someone out there looking back when we
Look out observing all those mindless things?
Those fantasies we know we truly see
Are changing through Newtonian alchemy,
But then we hear as deeper magic sings.
Text: Linked to dVerse Poetics. Paul is hosting with the theme “magic”.
Photo: “Pond Inside the Lincoln Park Conservatory” by the author and linked to Frank Jansen’s Tuesday Photo Challenge with the theme “water”.
Would you say the color’s pink?
It’s bordering on red.
It’s bordering on darker green.
A brighter green is also seen
Within this flower bed.
Perhaps it’s purple like the eyes
Of dragons when they stare
As border guards for gold held tight
So yellow rarely sees the light
Deep in their dark blue lair.
Linked to dVerse Poetics where Grace is hosting on the theme “borders”.
Photo: “Is There Any Pink In This Photo?” by the author taken at the Chicago Botanic Garden and linked to jasenphoto’s Tuesday Photo Challenge with the theme “pink”.
Inside the puddle there’s a sky.
The clouds up high
Are now below
But muddied so.
I walk and bring along my mind.
We love to find
What’s likely true
And joyful, too.
A fantasy made from the light
Still isn’t night.
It’s truly day
Revealed this way.
Photo: “The Interior of the Puddle” by the author linked to K’lee and Dale‘s Cosmic Photo Challenge with the prompt “Interiors”.
I am linking this also to the imaginary garden with real toads’ Tuesday Platform.
In my mountainous castle well hidden away
There’s my beast getting restless for lightness of day
And the blood that I seek must be innocent, sweet,
So delight feeds the brain and my rapture’s complete.
How I long that the travelers wandering by
Are so pure that they capture my sensitive eye.
How I long that they tarry so I’ll taste a bite
Of the glory of goodness lost deep in the night.
Ah, look! There’s a traveler coming toward me
To my mountainous castle all lost by the sea,
To the doom that awaits him whose way seems so sure
With a heart pumping love and excessively pure.
He is knocking! Let’s open the door to his death.
He is breathing but soon he will not take a breath
And then at the table aged wine I will drink
And the meat, raw and bloody, may finally stink.
But wait! My hand moves but it can’t free the door.
The traveler turns. He won’t knock anymore!
Have I grown out so ghostly my body has gone?
Have I nothing but fantasies I can put on?
Linked to dVerse Poetics hosted by Kim with the prompt “to write a modern dramatic monologue about a plot to do away with someone (or something)”.
Photo: “Fantasy Forest” by the author. The scene is part of a bonsai forest at the Chicago Botanic Garden.
Poetry, Short Prose and Walking 