Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Day canto 2

Triple negative realty inversion Time Lapse from JJcccArt on Vimeo.

Returning starts with rest.
Exhale first, and then inhale.

The root is in the middle now.
Though this is the same chord:
You, ego, and I.

I see: you're returning to base,
but for you –
you're leaving and distant.
The boomerang is thrown…

Sunday, July 27, 2014

The truth

The bust of Queen Nefertiti in the Neues Museum of Berlin

The dabble of your power
have reached nowadays…
in thrill I lift my chin,
half-closed eyes
to see the sun disk
shining throughout the hall
above the heads of others…

The center piece -
with shallow breath
I read: ‘the beautiful comes…’ -

Illusive woman,
you could easily manifest
as multidimensional being…
I see you wearing false beard,
a pharaoh’s robe and kilt
wrapped around the body-
is this the reason
why you’ve disappeared…

Mummy hunters scour in vane
the dark tombs, excavating ruins;
regal throne stained by the trophies,-
the history keeps digging for truth.

Unfolding the future
skills - blast - revelation
we can’t forswear
that won’t see
victorious tall crown
at the head of
our saviors… 

by Brenda Warren

Saturday, July 26, 2014

Day canto

 Designer headaches
Frederick Meijer Gardens sculpture, photo via Migraine Chick

                 “Sunset like the grasshopper flying”.
                                                         Ezra Pound.

Twisted arms over a head…
Spera voices…
Hopping steps to the bath…
I feed grapes to the ladybug…
while get lost in your poems,
in their flux…

Apple-rape, my emotional day
finds me clinging for
the hands and arrows,
choosing gps-shorter/faster path.

Atmosphere of caring yet royal
tolerance and grace,
switching levels between
high and low,
changing ‘locks & dams’.    

Someone gets wax-poetic
watching hands-swans in play;
look for rhythm/melodic patterns
when your life on display.

On the way back –
a buzzing hand of egg timer
Deja vue – uncompleted desires,
obligations, encounters, tasks…
Pure suggestions:
‘Find your flow’, ‘Be real’,
‘Touch the ground’,
and all 24 hours:
‘Get optimized’.

Please, click the image to read more. Thanks!

Shared with Open Link Night d'Verse

Wednesday, July 23, 2014

A treasure

Courtesy of Mama Zen

An amplified profane 
in his liberal mode
able to miss
the ancient
the call of
a shell drums
seemed to him
a quarrelsome
I treasure it.

Read more at:  Poetry Jam

Three Word Wednesday,

Imaginary gardens with real toads

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

For the umpteenth time…

 Kay Griffith
Art by Kay Griffith at Amsterdam Whitney Gallery

For the umpteenth time
the stars 've stretched
to touch with the sharp
edges the warm waters
of safety lands.

Spreading wet wings
to dry in day’s
mercantile spirit
I hide the vulnerable
under the pillows’ pile,
prepare for the voyages
by heart’s mind,
I accept shapeless abstract
surreally thrown
on the canvas towel
in disgust of Resurrection… 

Shared with PU Poetry Pantry

Sunday, July 20, 2014

Without hands

by Brenda Warren

    Words’ storming swarm
    entangled in the forest
    of my thoughts –
    magic hum…

    while the heart hangs
    for odd scent
    jumps to thrive
    in a potion of passion!

Read more at: Sunday Whirl

Friday, July 18, 2014

Take a snake for a snake*

You recognize her
by peaceful
in a solitude pose,
the nocturnal eyes

until the time to mate:
shade the scales,
move restlessly
for the skin is a prison
aka shagreen…

well, but a smell
will attract the mates:
20 minutes away
they feel and crawl.

Fraught struggle for week!
Try to find one, the honorable
out of 100…hisssss!

She brings babies
only 2 out of 30
will  survive…

Then She just 
‘tongue in the cheek’
mom’s duty done
picks new sounds
from the ground…
Going, goes, gone…
On the move
in ‘S’ curve
Snake- queen.


*The title's inspired by poem 'Illusion and Ignorance' by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar

Read more at: PU Mid-Week Motif, Three Word Wednesday


Steps ~ courtesy by Tess Kincaid

Worn-out the skin
yet seductive content
invites to ascend
the scent of the
kerosene stove
so nostalgic…

Read more at: Magpie Tales

Thursday, July 17, 2014


“The moon will carry his candle.”
E. Pound.

I clung for slipping away taste-
a cinnamon in my coffee…
the reflection of vanishing days.

When turned over a corner- I found
new memory, faces, temptation-
old colors and tastes left behind.

New opened up emotions/feelings-
the heavy clouds, smoky and vivid,
yet menacing to leave before
I read the meaning of ‘em in Tarot-

defragmented in small
hail-drop particles
falling on my so delusional

We're here, counting
the eclipses,
hiking to the moon
obscured from the view.

The shadow shrinks,
the moon awaits,
lit the candle,
rolling/turns the facets to
smiley, surprised, sad ones...
out of throat the Earth/school
and all lackluster
honorable mentions
and honor certificates
come alive…

The last curious cheeky
sunbeam peeks in the room
just to witness the fall of million
manufactured bubbles at the ground.

Broken soap dreams
have never existed behind the door…

We walk…stomp-stomp…
remember the joke:
if God wanted us
to have only a head – 
he would created
the buns/kolobok.  

Brenda Warren

Read more at: Sunday whirl

Saturday, July 12, 2014

Soul seeds


Washing the sins in the rain,
begging forgiveness,
you are plotting
a new adventure,
oh, restless soul!

You’re testing…
you’re testing such more of me…
you’re testing…
to explore hidden at root the seeds,
brought from another fates, constellations…

Who are they?
What lit their lantern?
What sacrificing gift
they've given to a melting pot
to synthesize in today?

Oh, omnipresent rain!
hold me tight in your flowing endeavors,
shapeless to satisfy the thirst –
if you please - clarify an eternity. 

Shared with PU Poetry Pantry

Wednesday, July 9, 2014

Mystery of Joy

'Occurrence' by painter Eric Aho

Come back to retreat,
stop by nostalgic
an eerie tides atmosphere,
guarded by stoic
reality of ‘c'est la vie’.

Contrasting key-images
are passing through
a translucent tunnel
of theatrical gesture.

Read more at: Three Word Wednesday, PU Mid-Week Motif

Sunday, July 6, 2014


photo of 1850's ~ courtesy of Tess Kincaid

I trace what I see…
under my fingers
your lines vibrate
in resonance with
‘what would be if…’

so old motif,
the pattern of past times,
19 century’s hot lines,
an invention of free minds.

Read more at: Magpie Tales

Saturday, July 5, 2014


by swade_wade-d4ylse4 ~ deviantart.com

The days ’ve  returned
the way from grain to flower-
invisible to eyes, the change
sensed from within.
Tentative smile,
the glimpse afar,
the thoughts on the path
to find a trouble,
to solve the riddle
follow the heart’s compass.

The arrow. Detour.
The rooting numbers.
Life seemingly hangs out
for the straw.
The chocolate
cherry/berry ice-cream
reunion with ghosts-
they silently applaud
for efforts.

Proceeded in the dark,
where parallel lines crossed,
the rainy cape keeps
old sins sealed;
where blindly
reached the coast,
the arms with candle,
highlighted  bloody
footprints on the
ragged hill!

The days ve returned…
Who wished on…?
Who dares
to call them ‘mission’ ?

by Brenda Warren

Read more at: Sunday Whirl

Shared with PU Poetry Pantry

Friday, July 4, 2014



Time rolls. We grow new skin.
Insignificant layer at first.
It’s fragile, then gradually- rough.

I still remember the motive
of changing the role
while acting, behave
from the new customized
view and values.

New face, new style
dictates newer path,
but mouth keeps
on repeating
old phrases, words,
old tasks. -

Divulged.  - Imbalance
between a form and content.
An agreement’s broken inside…
Is it a godless desire
to ask the heart:
“Show my avatar…” ?

Read more at: Three Word Wednesday, PU Mid-Week Motif

Thursday, July 3, 2014

The Mandala reading

I know, you don't want me to feel furious,
you're just being you, and I stumped there…
Bypassed hills and valleys, stretched far
through the railways, called to try a new.

We live in the different worlds’ values:
what you sacrifice for the security-
defines my core; where I'm extending
boundaries- feels delusional, mysterious…

When I come closer to the chance,
it always asks for the patience,
for retreat, to collect the facts, to commit,
to stay on the road until the end.

My sky becomes empty, the birds fly in 
unknown; untouched apples in the garden,
flowers turn in dry herbs; I wait…
The King of spades/swords – the guardian.

‘Where feelings become an amusement-
the heartiness gets replaced by subtlety.’

Read more at: Magpie Tales