Hr. 10 Prompt 22, 2017 Picture Image: Madame Pierre Gautreau John Singer Sargent 1884 she stands rigid almost like a statue balancing herself steady and strong while looking away contradicting that strength as if hiding sheltering herself

“In an ocean so huge, We lie so tiny.     The ocean churns, Like a fruit in a smoothie, With storms so violent, Waves rise and crash, Back into the ocean, Yielding no mercy, To the unlucky.   The ocean is merely, A big…

The relish depends on Jazzy dine, With the yummy vine. Vine stored in a hoard, With a gratify hour. The relish takes place in a crypt, In a large estate, Their dine was Madeira cake, With a creamy lake. There were many jest, And this…

I know its Sunday, but the hours will mot keep Don’t waste this day in unfeeling sleep. There’s so much to do, much to see Birds building nests, although the trees Stand undressed in the yard. On weekdays you have jobs to do This morning,…

“Crows and rooks are rather clever birds, Forever discriminated, as stupid and gratuitous, Because of their colour, Yet, I fail to see how their colour, Defines their worth, For they are incredible specimens, And are far from being redundant.

Hr. 9 Prompt 11, 2015 little ball of fur all cute and fluffy runnin’ around chewing up everything getting in the trash and toilet what do people do with you such a small creature making huge messes howling all hours of the night nobody can…

Harvest grain glows burnished bronze, in the sun’s warm glow The tall proud stalks, crowned and tasselled bow to the passing wind. The wayward wind ruffles their heads and gently passes on. I hear the rustling of gossipy leaves, as they draw near one another,…

Flying on the wind, It is a heavenly dream. Racing with the birds in fluffy clouds, Seems to be happier and it cannot be fair. Watching the children’s kite, And the travelling in flight. Birds chirping sound, Enter the ear aloud. Enjoying with the wind…

The colour of modesty is rouge. It is the shade of the clouds as it witnesses the consummation of two skies; The colour of your thoughts on my skin; Blossoming roses when I sigh your remembrance to the winds; my palms pressed in prayers for…

“Magic is wondrous, But ’tis just an illusion, Abra-Cadabra