Not your ordinary doll

 Doll by Bailey Powell

over the years

my porcelain cheeks

dented with tears and anxiety -

my long and waxy hair

tangled with leaves and mildew-

my limbs became tentacles

of different swatches

from my journey –

polka dots and squares

orange and purple strips

circles of blue and pink --

stitched my voice unique,

embracing the wholeness of me-

a fabric of color and striking patterns

full of knots, twists, holes but mostly dreams -  

And all because I chose

myself

Posted for:   OpenLinkNight of Imaginary Garden for Real Toads (Monday)
and D'verse Poets Pub (Tuesday)

Backgrounder of doll:  I, Margaret Bednar, am hosting with a little help from my daughter and her fellow classmates.  They were given an assignment to create dolls that reflect a part of who they are. They spent close to six weeks hand stitching and creating the backdrops for these gorgeous works of art.

Thanks for the visit ~

Desert

Namib Desert by Bernhard Edmaier

 

above eagle eyes, 
the desert stretches and weaves -
empty burlap sack 

~0~0~

fire-streaked sands
follow the wind-swept sky -
fine as silk-stitched blooms

~0~0~

once lush and ample
of fruits and blooms, she sleeps -
weary old woman
 

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Burlap
Haiku Heights:   Desert

and Haiku My Heart

Picture credit:   here

The aftermath

   © Tornado Tree by Isadora Gruye

My limbs are bare of palm leaves and fruits
The wind has tore them from my hands  
Violently, without warning -- fruits
from labor hands, slipped from my hands
Splitting grey belly,   scattering seeds 
In soil, dry of grief and repast, blooms break 
The sky grieves the empty blooms and seeds
But I am not broken --    I will not break !

~0~0~0~

The autumn tempest has ripped me bare
Of roof and sun colors but sheets -
Thin, hardly veiling gaping walls,  bare 
Of  sheets, I stood, amid pale sheets
Brown eyes searched the blue skies for answers
Brutal is the wrath of the bitter wind
I listened for answers...        one answer 
... Only the clouds pulsed, flailing in the wind   

                                                            @ Terry of Mobuisfaith


Poetry form:   An eight line poem by William Butler Yeats.  
Line 1: 9 syllables (a)
Line 2: 8 syllables (b)
Line 3: 9 syllables (a)
Line 4: 8 syllables (b)
Line 5: 9 syllables (c)
Line 6: 10 syllables (d)
Line 7: 9 syllables (c)
Line 8: 10 syllables (d)



Posted for:   OpenLinkNight of Imaginary Garden with Real Toads (every Monday)
and D'verse Poets Pub (every Tuesday) ~  Thanks for the visit ~ 

Tree

red maple tree

with leaves fiery and shaped of tears,  

silently she mourns  

~0~0~

pine tree 

coated with ivory and midnight moon,  

restless is her sleep

~0~0~

cherry blooms 

on a parasol of forest green -

spring in her step

~0~0~

willow tree

bowing in a dance courtyard - 

boldly she leaps   

Posted for Haiku Heights:  Tree

and Haiku My Heart

Making peace

Grace @ Everyday Amazing

yesterday morning
i yielded to blue mountains --
   cold and muddy trail 
   of jagged stones and fallen leaves 

i let the tree branches support
   my tired limbs
   and ragged breathing footsteps--
   one careful measure at a time

and at last 
   i was rewarded 
   with an exhilarating view
   of nature's beauty,  fresh and unguarded --
   a calming peace to urban-weary eyes 

this early morning,
   i yielded to embracing  
   my son and kissing his cheek,  
   as he stood by kitchen sink 
  
   an idealist,
   an angry young man at the business world,
   his choices versus mine
   are now clashing like water and dirty oil --
   
   and frankly I don't know how to handle
   this suddenly-grown up adult, but to accept
   that he is growing into his own 
   unique person   
    
i was rewarded
   with his smile and understanding nod --
   it was better than the stony silence of indifference
   and bitter words during the last days
      
there are many things i don't yield to -
  challenges, negativity and setbacks
    
but today, 
i yield to peace -- 
        trusting its fruits and rewards --
        like calm journey of rushing stream,
        like strong trees on cold mountains
in our home,
where it should all begin
     

Posted for :   D'verse Poets Pub  - Making Peace with Poetics - The first part deals with my adventure yesterday at Blue Mountains where we had our office conference.   The second part deals with my changing relationship with my second child.  What a timely topic.   Thanks for the visit ~

Silent forest

morning light
sparkles the rushing river --
restless feet on unmarked trail  

~0~0~

maple trees bow
in silent prayer as  
black scarred leaves float by 

~0~0~

hush of pine forests
with first blush of winter frost -- 
face of bride in lace  

~0~0~ 

forest trees heave
in sigh of fading footsteps -- 
white silence is music  

Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Transforming Fridays with Hannah Gosselin

and Haiku Heights:  Silence ~  I just came from Blue Mountains where we had our office conference.   There was light snow on the trees and mountains.  And I survived a tough mountain hike/climb this morning ~   Whew ~  Have a good weekend ~  

Also for Haiku My Heart

picture credit:  here

The storm

flash of lightning
as winds flee in haste -  
tempest of woman scorned  

~0~0

pouring rain 
sharp pointed as knives -    
oak trees fall in surrender
   
~0~0 

stormy skies: 
mighty wrecking ball, 
yet fleeting as blue butterflies 
     

Posted for Haiku Heights - nature 

picture credit:   here

Time for no regrets

                                                                 Roy Lichtenstein

i wake up this morning
shape of grey dawn

where did the time go

to roads filled with cars 
to brown office buildings
to conformity and neat address labels

you said it didn't matter that you lost the game
but i can see the hurt in your eyes

if you can rewind the time

to starting lane, empty room      
to pursuing that wind blown page
to artless conversations

when does the flower know when to bloom 
nor the grapes grow plump for the plucking

i draw a map hammering the future,
but the wind has other ideas,
scattering the colors of leaves everywhere

you hit the ball, and try to catch every pass,
careful not to hit the outside lines, you jump 

blurring the lines, it is difficult to tell
which option or choice is best like 
deciding if apple or pear is a better fruit 


legs and hands, tired and bruised, 
you change clothes and go back in, 
straight back, steel fire in your eyes

time does not have a face nor mirror
nor is real life like a cartoon strip in grid map-
we don't always bounce back after each failure

but i try to 
for your sake  
and no regrets from me either  
  

picture credit:   here

Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - Post modern (High/low art) - A bit of surreal pop art with my real life journey. 

My daughter's team lost all of their 4 volley  ball games this morning- finals among Grade 8 schools.   Though she played well all throughout the game, the team could do more practice and fire to win the games.   For me, it was chance to cheer her team, stay home and catch my breath as it has been a crazy week in the office.   Thanks for the visit ~