I may be a little late with this, but figured I could still have some fun with it anyway. I saw Cee Neuner’s post earlier in the week and decided to jump on the bandwagon but save my post for today since my other Sunday series is finished. Cee was responding to the Black & White Sunday Challenge: Shape hosted by Paula from Lost in Translation.
Some of the shapes I chose to illustrate are featured in common items, while the third illustration is quite extraordinary.
And since I write poetry, I think I’d like to round out this article about shapes with a shape poem….
The Narcissist’s Love Triangle
me, that’s plain
to see. But also I grow
rather shy whene’er I pass a
looking-glass and just by chance
I cast a glance upon myself…. There
on the shelf are photos of the folks I love.
They are but three, you see: just I, myself & me.
Throughout the forest glen
One chilly morn in early spring,
I spied a wounded Carolina wren.
His rusty plumage
Had its own allure
And blended nicely with his roomage.
Such imperfection never looked so pure.
He had a broken wing,
But still he chose to sing.
Funny how only yesterday
I walked this path alone
But you came alongside and changed my world
You gave me wings
And taught me how to fly
And someday soon, when I am strong
I’ll mount up high and fly away with you.
Like an anchor holding fast within a squall
One who cherishes your friendship as you do
Your companion through both grief and joy
Always willing to look past your faults with gracious myopia
Listener more than talker, good one to help keep your head level
Trusted friend who knows you at your worst and best
Yoke fellow who eases the burden of life’s journey Continue reading “Loyalty”
By my own admission,
Your happy addition
Since your first arrival
Brought my heart revival.
I fear your attraction
Is my great distraction
For when you are nearing
I find you endearing
And your full enjoyment
My fondest employment.
Fervid winds blew all night long—
And all the while rain sang her song
While bridges swayed,
Made men afraid.
As morning dawned, the storm grew still,
Yet river’s swell
Remained to tell—
So your love fills me—always will.
In Greek mythology, Cassandra was a cursed prophetess. She was gifted with prophecy but the curse ensured her predictions would never be believed. Not that it stopped her from speaking out. It behoves all of us to speak out about what is wrong but also about what is right. We can do that in our creativity whether it be prose, poetry or painting. What matters is the message.