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renga tree- hangoverjust before dawn
the hunchbacked moon
limps home

Abandoning Preciousness The most important thing about creating art is to create. If you want to be at ease with creativity, you have to immerse yourself in it, and do a little bit every day. Even if that little bit is only to take five minutes while waiting for the bus to come and do a gesture drawing of a man reading his book across the street from you. Or to take the moment to scribble down a thumbnail rough sketch of a concept that occurs to you. Do a little bit each day. Train your brain to think visually.

It can be difficult at first, accustoming yourself to make this small bit of time, because you’ll think:
“I don’t have enough time for it

The Green man Final draft part 2They camped that night and the princess asked of the Armoured Man’s beginnings as he stoked the fire to cook the remains of the bear. They did this with the princess’s supplies. They had found the steed quite by chance by a stream as they had looked for camp and the man had grown quite fond of the beast, chattering to him as they travelled.
The Armoured man told them that his own Kingdom had been taken by the Green man and of its people leaving the dying city in great droves.
His love was amongst them, a fair maiden with red hair. They had been parted in their flight but he had been told by others that she and her family had

The Green Man part.2A day and a night into her journey, the Princess realised she was lost. Her intention was to find the Green man’s court and to demand her father’s life before slaying him in her brother’s name. She would do it with his bow and a knife she had taken from the kitchen. But she had forgotten in her eagerness that no one had ever found the court and had come back to tell of it and if they did, their minds were not capable of telling the tale.
Only now did she realise the hollowness of this plan.
She had simply marched through the wood with her brother’s horse in tow hoping to come across it the court of a god. But she coul

The Green Man part.1There was a time long ago, the mother intones, when the forest god and humans were friends, or at least had an accord. The forest and the men lived side by side in harmony, the humans using the trees for their fires and homes and the humans would repay this by planting them anew each spring. And of course, now and again, a sacrifice to appease the soil.
But time wears at all creatures. Families grew and the need for land and homes and wood for the fire grew along with them. They forgot the accord and hacked at the woods, allowing only stumps to remain, never replanting the trees. They dammed the lakes and flooded heath and began to eat aw

Titania's Promise(a response to Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream)

Malicious sprite, darkly dancing,

shadow cast under a quicksilver moon.

Oh yes, these shadows have offended.

Spiky foxgloves stand and hiss.

Whispering falsehood and deceit

from full, rainbow-spotted throats.

Beware, beware. Capricious Robin

plays with truth, and breaks his toys.

He knows his herbs and potions—

houndstongue and hellebore,

wolfsbane and rosemary,

the bitter bite of wormwood—

He serves his lord and master well.

He made me a fool before my court,

My ladies laughed behind their hands.

He bathed my eyes in purple poison—

made me love unwillingl

A Sing Of NatureThe trees are talking, whispering for tomorrow.
I hear the sound of wind
Though no breeze blows.
Answers are told,
Told to those who listen,
Who listen to thin air
For the chance to change things
To change the world.

stories after darkthey meet most often
in the dark;
through midnight encounters,
lost lovers content with silence
and only the dim glow
of starlight from the window.
beneath the blankets
bedroom walls tumble down,
bedroom floors cease to exist;
and the entirety of space begins to
spin overhead,
fraught with all the possibilities
found lingering on that first
page, in that first word
tingling on the tongue
with anticipation,
then rolling off,
sweet, powerful,
honey for the heart.

once upon a time,
a little girl loved books,
and when her parents thought
she was asleep in bed
she'd tuck underneath the covers
and run away inside
the whi

Friend poemA friend like you is like a rainbow on a cloudy day...
Or like a flower growing in the middle of a city block...
Or maybe your just like every day magic.<3 ^^

BlueIn life what color I may chose,
like the light in your eyes,
I chose blue.
Blue like the sky,
blue like rain,
blue on a wing tip,
blue as a wave.

Blue is the misty morning dew,
blue is the meadow
with flowers anew.

Distance and time
may keep us apart,
watching the sunset,
blue is my heart.

I Saw you in my DreamsI saw you in my dreams
And now, it seems the only place I'll see you

The JaguarThe Jaguar
(In the manner of William Blake's, "The Tyger")

Jaguar! Jaguar! sitting tight
Poised to pounce in dim moonlight;
What grim mother gave you birth?
To cause such terror on the earth?

On what distant hill or plain
Do you wander in sun or rain?
What sends you forth from your dark cave
To haunt the forests of the brave?

And what evil, wicked heart,
Gave you life from the start?
What grim vision did he fire?
What the feast upon the pyre?

What the magic? what the wand?
What the chanting 'round the pond?
What the potion? what dread claws
To drag dead sheep to your jaws?

When the Son of God was slain,
Upon the Cross

All This AgeThey came for us with sword and spear,
we met them with the lumber ax.
They came again with gun and bomb,
but still we beat them back.
But now they come with bank notes,
former targets of their rage;
should we now just tremble,
or cast down all this age?

The sun goes down a ball of fire,
behind waters and hills.
The day may soon be coming
when such fires may break the chill.
Our captains, financiers,
robber-barons, truth be told,
suddenly may find
that they have lost their hold
I know not what such
revolution brings,
but the apocalyptic eagle
watches over the fall of kings

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Submitted: March 24, 2012

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The House of Dreams

Journal Entry: Sat Mar 24, 2012, 7:21 PM

LiveJournal l Gallery l Bluecanvas l Watch Me l Note Me

I built a little House of Dreams,
And fenced it all about,
But still I heard the Wind of Truth
That roared without.

I laid a fire of Memories
And sat before the glow,
But through the chinks and round the door
The wind would blow.

I left the House, for all the night
I heard the Wind of Truth; —
I followed where it seemed to lead
Through all my youth.

But when I sought the House of Dreams,
To creep within and die,
The Wind of Truth had levelled it,
And passed it by.

Sara Teasdale, The House of Dreams,
From Sonnets to Duse and Other Poems, 1907

Thank you

Thank you so much to new watchers, to everyone for all your favourites, for your continued interest, and quite simply for your general tolerance.

I am not always able to reply to every comment (though I do try), and I have had to choose not to thank everyone individually for favourites and watches (but again, I try to acknowledge the latter as much as possible), for which I do beg your pardon. Please be assured, however, that I appreciate them very much.

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The House of Dreamsby *Himmapaan

Journals / Personal

*EarthHart Apr 24, 2012

Are you going to be doing any illustrations of Sara Teasdale's poetry?

*Himmapaan Apr 24, 2012 Professional Traditional Artist

Not professionally, at least. I've been thinking of doing some for myself, but am unsure if I'm really equal to the task.

I practically live her words as it is.

*EarthHart Apr 24, 2012

The very fact that, as you say, you live her words,
tells me that you are more than equal to the task

Let your heart work through your eyes & fingers

*Himmapaan Apr 24, 2012 Professional Traditional Artist

*EarthHart Apr 25, 2012

~giftofmagi Apr 5, 2012

This made me think of Blaise Pascal's quote, "The silences of these vast spaces terrify me."

This caused me to follow up on other quotes

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it's a rather bleak picture. Yet it's also, oddly, a source of comfort. We aren't just a little speck of matter in the big existential universe. We're under the watchful gaze of a Maker to Whom is ascribed the traits of a Good Shepherd.

*LadyLove-hate Mar 28, 2012 Student

It's so beautifully sad. Kind of a reminder of how crap life will end up for anyone who has had any experience. What's the saying? "Ignorance is bliss".

~mooing-duckerberry Mar 28, 2012 Hobbyist Traditional Artist

I like that the last line of each stanza is cut short. It leaves a little bit of discomfort.. can't be perfect.

Should I be concerned?

~Fiofiorina Mar 26, 2012 Professional Artisan Crafter

I wish you singing stars and twinkling moonlight and a peaceful dream!

~Sir-Pumpkinhead Mar 25, 2012 Hobbyist General Artist

Again, it's a beautiful poem. I hope you can share more. Needless to say, you have great taste

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