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I don't know if there was a thread already for this subject but I thought it would be nice to admire our own pieces of work for a moment.

I love to write and draw. Hope you enjoy.

Hope I don't have to remind anyone that all works belong to the individual listing it.

FOREVER YOUNG

Through a mirror, I can see flower standing amongst its companions. It stands firm with a glow that seperates its self from all others. Its color, a redish hue, is breath taking to ones own heart. I stand in amazement, I stand in weakness. For I want this flower, to pluck it from the ground that holds bear to its roots. I long to hold this beautiful flower so close to my heart and hold on tight. The tempting to smell its sweet aroma encasses my heart, causing my hand to reach onward and gently place my hands upon it. My hand travels through this mirror, this divide, causing a ripple between the two. My hand lays hold of this delicate symbol of love. I want to take it, but draw my hand back just a little, for I dont know of the consequnces that may lay. For just the slightest foreign movement, might send this moment in a whirlwind. I am stuck. All I can do is stare and lay gaze upon this beauty. Its beautiful outline shines as the gods place their graces upon it. The gods have made it their right, their duty, to make sure that this flower is taken for just one. So delicate it seems! So unspoiled, so honest in nature. No matter what happens, my flower, the flower that my eyes and heart so long for, remains resilient in that moment of time. It remains unwavering to my love, to my values. It knows how it wants to be touched, how to be loved. I slowly draw my hand, making sure not to touch its velvety petals. The mirror that had shown my love, has now diminished, giving way to the walls of my room. I stare and close my eyes, for in my minds eye is where my flower, my love, lives forever young.

 

Beautiful !!!

 

Yes cool.

Maybe wrong place to mention it but when I was very young I didn't understand the concept of "poetic license." As soon as I began hearing the child's poem:

"Row, row, row your boat
Gently down the stream
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily
Life is but a dream"

The last line really got under my skin. I lay awake nights worrying about it thinking "And all tis time I thought I was really here, alive and stuff, but now I've found out this is just a dream." What would happen if I woke up-would I no longer feel alive, or what?

I was grappling with that every day in my pre-kindergarten years when I got hit with another big problem. I had to say my prayer before bedtime every night, and that was:

"Now I lay me down to sleep
I pray the Lord my soul to keep
If I should die before I wake
I pray the Lord my soul to take."

I found that both depressing and scary.

I mean, I was kind of thinking: "DIE? Me? (sniff, sniff) hey everybody, I'm only 3 years old, gimme a break, OK?"

Again, having no clue that this wasn't really based on fact or probabilities, I worried a lot about dying while I was sleeping. I mean a LOT. It became very hard to fall asleep knowing I might never wake up. The insomnia never went away. It is why I'm sitting here typing this after midnight.

I'm just glad the folks didn't teach me

"Goodnight
Sleep tight
Don't let the bedbugs bite"

or I'm sure I'd have even more trouble sleeping.

So if I do die before I wake, listen, Y'ALL HAVE BEEN A GREAT AUDIENCE, LUV YA!! OK I'M OUTTA HERE!

(Exits, stage left, big grin and waving big waves with both arms)

(Applause, cheers, whistles from audience)

 

Spring---- to this day I am terrified of "bedbugs". Even tho I have never seen one.

 

Starts even earlier, Spring, with Rock-a-bye, Baby. (...And down will come cradle, Baby and all.)

 

Thank you. When I start to write, it's like the flood gates open

 

I wrote this for my mustang Shiloh and all the wild mustangs alone in the wild..My vet came and put her to sleep as she had laminitis and could hardly walk and then had a colic so I put her to rest. After the final injection the thunder rolled and the skies began to cry.

QUIETLY ALONE
A WILD MUSTANG'S FINAL HOUR

...and there she lay, quietly alone

gazing above at the sky

the waxing of the moon formed a crescent

that reflected in her eyes-

a breeze sent down from the heavens

ever so softly tossled her mane

the night time sounds engulfed her

and soon she would be out of pain-

and there she lay, quietly alone

as clouds began to fill the sky

bearing drops from seas and rivers

they soon began to cry-

and there she lay quietly alone

until something touched her soul

ever so softly she slipped away

the thunder began to roll-

and all the fields and valleys

welcomed the gift of rain

as Mother Nature stood back

to watch her cycle of birth again...

Linda Rowan

 

Summer poem
Hello crickets my little friends

I've read of you in fairy tales

I hear you at days end-



Hello jasmine, awakened by the night

your fragrance engulfs me

on your leaves the moon shines bright-



Hello stars, twinkling from afar

born from life's dark mystery

how wonderous you are-



Hello infinity,how did you begin

was there never a begining

is there never any end?

 

Spring, I said my nightly prayers and my Now I Lay Me, LOL. I never liked the " if I should die before I wake

My Mom used to say the bedbug saying to us almost every night.

Also, our Granddad would read us nursery rhymes...they were all so morbid but as a kid I never noticed??? Like

The old woman in a shoe who whiped her kids soundly then put them to bed...

Who shot cock robin...

Humpty Dumpty...

then the funny ones...

Jack be nimble
Jack be quick
Jack jumperd over
the candle stick...

Hey diddle diddle,the cat and the fiddle

or...............the songs my brother and I would sing as little kids...

Sing a song of six pence a pocket full of rye...

or...Wher have you been Billy Boy,Billy Boy...LOL

PS
I wish I could give Spring 10 likes,lol I am still chuckling.

 

I wrote a very intimate poem back in the 9th grade. It was for a national poetry contest for high schoolers. I won first place and it got my name in the Who's Who of Poetry. My English teacher wouldn't read it to the class because of the subject matter. She told me that my poem was the kind that they would study in college. All my English teachers said that they expected me to write a romance novel. Umm, no novel coming out of me. I'll stick to poems and short stories.

 

Bewtiched, the intellect
Unwinds in languid wisps,
Mistaking Siren calls for
Passions of the soul.

 

Among the crowds on a busy street,

I walk so all alone-

Part of me has long since died,

my dreams have all grown cold-

This loneliness that envelopes me

has sought me out once again-

Its seems that this misery

has become my long,lost friend-

 

That's more along my writing style.

 

LOL.so you are also melancholy. I wrote this song to myself many years ago after looking into a mirror.


1st verse:

Looking at your eyes,I wonder why

is it the sadness, of your fate, that makes you cry-

did your life,simply pass you by, as you look back

do you regret and wonder why,the life you live

isn't what it used to be....

~

2nd verse:

Did you only live, from day to day

never knowin', tomorrow's dreams, would fade away-

your yesterdays,never will return

only memories,in your mind,will they burn-

so you'll cry,cause they never will return....

....fades into chorus

~

Chorus:

You lived each day,as if it were your last

tomorrows came,but they went fast-

you were too late,they couldn't wait,

for you.....

music fill in then last verse.

~

3rd verse:

And time can't erase,what you feel,

all the love, all the hate,thats so unreal-

but whats the use,it'll always be that way

a losin' battle,in the life you live each day-

so you'l cry,cause it will always be that way

and so you'll cry,cause it will always be that way.....

~

Linda Rowan Copyright 1984

 

I know it's not the best but it's the first landscape drawing I've done in about 20 yrs. I'm not done with it.

 

Knowing full well what it opens me to, I will post this link anyhow:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10242879/1/Bobo-a-Hunger-Games-Fan-Fiction

 

This is my first carving I attempted in the 80's. I didn't have wood carving tools yet so I used Xacto knives and a small hammer to chip away and lots of sand paper.



This is an acrylic I did. I copied the pic from an Arizona Highway mag.

 

It has a Japanese flair to it .

 

I feel like such a slug.

 

You wrote that? That's a quite amaZing. I don't have that much patience. You're really good.