Hi Ann: I was just wondering how you are doing. Richard Thuss
Fine thanks, Richard. Â Just busy with real life!

tannertan36
No title available
TMBGareOK. The Official They Might Be Giants tumblr

Love Begins
Interview Vampire Daily
🪼
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
Cookie Run:Kingdom Official!
Mike Driver
Sweet Seals For You, Always
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
The Stonewall Inn
Doug Jones
Keni
macklin celebrini has autism

oozey mess

PR's Tumblrdome
almost home
Color Me Curious
$LAYYYTER

seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Colombia

seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Honduras

seen from Argentina
seen from Madagascar
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from TĂĽrkiye

seen from TĂĽrkiye

seen from TĂĽrkiye
seen from TĂĽrkiye

seen from Brazil
seen from Argentina
seen from United States

seen from Albania
seen from TĂĽrkiye
seen from Palestinian Territories
@annmarcaida-blog
Hi Ann: I was just wondering how you are doing. Richard Thuss
Fine thanks, Richard. Â Just busy with real life!
Parchment of low grey clouds
Wind-driven branches etch glyphs
Odes to winter
*******************************************************************************************
Copyright 2014 by THM.
Image: Carol Austin
What in your life is calling you, when all the noise is silenced, the meetings adjourned, the lists laid aside, and the wild Iris blooms by itself in the dark forest, what still pulls on your soul?
******************************************************************************************
Poem by Rumi
Image: Dee Carpenter
Rough wind, that moanest loud Grief too sad for song; wild wind, when sullen cloud knells all the night long; sad storm whose tears are vain, bare woods, whose branches strain, deep caves and dreary main,— Wail, for the world’s wrong!
*******************************************************************************************
Ann says: Happy November!!
A Dirge by Percy Shelley
Image:Â Marcus Larson
she had hollow bones that barely held her frail frame i would make whistles out of them after she was gone just like she wanted
the light in her warm eyes was dimming ever so slowly but still lit my way through the dark guiding me along my own path…that she paved
when time blows between octobers barren branches leading her into winters burgeoning storm and i hear a soft whistle as she disappears
…into the white
*******************************************************************************************
Ann says: Â The poet's mention of "hollow bones" suggests a bird. There is a poetic tradition of linking birds (especially swans) to women. Â I wonder if he was thinking of whistling swans?
Copyright 2014 by takingstockofwhatmattersmost.net
Image: Paul Bond
after work
the slender wonder
of an egret
*******************************************************************************************
Copyright 2014 by Kris LindbeckÂ
Image: Julia Cameron
A Thought on Haiku (By A Humble Haiku Master)
I would like briefly to discuss what seems to me a common and easily correctable fault that I often encounter among the many haiku that I read on Twitter, Google+ and here at WordPress. I appreciate the amateur, hobbyist nature of haiku; I am myself an amateur and a hobbyist. However, even amateurs wish to improve their craft, and I believe that addressing this one issue in composition would lead easily to more vivid and specific poems.
One fence post taller— Holds round black moons full of death, Silent wings falling
******************************************************************************************
Ann says: This is a barn owl, which is found throughout the temperate zones of the world. Â Relative to other bird species, barn owls are flourishing, perhaps due to their fondness for nesting in barns and other man-made structures.
Copyright 2014 by Seán Mac Falls aka Ormond
Image: Richard Young
sad mannequin your breasts are so hard and no nipples
*********************************************************************************
Copyright 2014 by James Ciriaco
Image: Alex Colville
Ever, ever Stir and shiver The reeds and rushes By the river: Ever, ever, As if in dream, The lone moon’s silver Sleeks the stream. What old sorrow, What lost love, Moon, reeds, rushes, Dream you of?
*******************************************************************************************
"Ever" by Walter de La MereÂ
Image: Â Tatiana IliinaÂ
white sky the storm is over but wind shakes from the trees cataracts of rain
********************************************************************************
Copyright 2014 by James Ciriaco
Image: Christopher Mathie
“Oh rascal children of Gaza. You who constantly disturbed me with your screams under my window. You who filled every morning with rush and chaos. You who broke my vase and stole the lonely flower on my balcony. Come back, and scream as you want and break all the vases. Steal all the flowers. Come back… Just come back…”
***********************************************************************************
Ann says: Juma may be referring to the aftermath of the 2008 Gaza War. The conflict destroyed tens of thousands of homes, many hospitals, and nearly all of Gaza's family farms, leaving 50,000 homeless and resulting in acute food shortages. (Wikipedia).
Khaled Juma, Palestinian poet
Image:Â Ayan Villafuerte
ARIEL (Poem by Sylvia Plath)
Stasis in darkness. Then the substanceless blue Pour of tor and distances.
God’s lioness, How one we grow, Pivot of heels and knees! — The furrow
Splits and passes, sister to The brown arc Of the neck I cannot catch,
Nigger-eye Berries cast dark Hooks ——
Black sweet blood mouthfuls, Shadows. Something else
Hauls me through air —— Thighs, hair; Flakes from my heels.
White Godiva, I unpeel —— Dead hands, dead stringencies.
And now I Foam to wheat, a glitter of seas. The child’s cry
Melts in the wall. And I Am the arrow,
The dew that flies, Suicidal, at one with the drive Into the red
Eye, the cauldron of morning.
***********************************************************************************
Ann says: Ariel is one of Sylvia Plath’s best-known poems.  In it, a woman rides a horse into a bright light, gradually merging with the beast.  A “tor” is a hill.
Ariel by Sylvia Plath
Image: Alex Colville
Introducing Mustafa, Ekphrastic* Poet!
If you like my blog, you’ll love his. All the poetry is by Mustafa, and he has a great eye for images.
One Little Star
*** My little girl danced in a grand theatre,
Where the magical music would lift her to fly.
She leapt and gamboled within constellations
Amidst the veils of celestial sky,
And I watched her from the sea of darkness,
Where her brilliance caught the tear in my eye.”
*** ~Mustafa Demiri
Mustafa’s Tumblr
*Ekphrastic poetry: Poetry that visually describes a work of art.
Corkscrew Angels (Poem by Dan Collins)
Corkscrew angels are surfing the mind Box Elder, Maple, Elm, Cotton Wood, miniature thoughts; mighty forests aligned. Corkscrew angels are surfing the mind, gliding intent, as if they were blind. Budding with promise, imminent good, corkscrew angels are surfing the mind, Box Elder, Maple, Elm, Cotton Wood.
***********************************************************************************
Ann says: When trees disperse their seeds on the wind, they can float on the breeze or they can flutter to the ground. Maples, box elders, cotton woods and elms all have winged seeds (samara) that flutter to the ground. This makes it more likely that the seed will land in a site suitable for germination that is not directly under its parent.
Copyright 2014 by Dan Collins, aka Atticus.
Images: 1. The Guardian.com  2. Stock
Desert Plume (Ghost Rider): Free-Write by by Selene Skye
geldings batter themselves against what they lost
my two-step across the sand
only rubs the wound raw
mares look through me
wild eyes rolling
they don’t do well with a see-through girl
stallions understand my pressure
eager to pound my heart
with bone hooves
mounting bareback
my saddle their spine
they give me lead
plumes of white breath
flared nostrils
the sky breaks open
lightening between my breasts
rain
my cloak
screaming across the desert floor
a girl
a horse
an open vein in a canyon
someday this memory will reopen
and I can stop pretending to be a flesh-and-blood woman
nudge the hourglass
sand streaming up my thighs
a stallion
to give lead
to my pressure
*********************************************************************************
Ann says:  Most of Selene’s poems, including this one, go straight from her head onto paper with no edits. I envy the image stream that wells up from Selene’s subconscious mind, resulting in her unique brand of surrealism.
Copyright 2014 by Selene Skye.
Image: Stock; artist unknown
Hers is the dance of wood and water, things that endure, things that pass. The river lives in the flow of her arms, the geography of her hips. The wood echos in the insistent beat of her feet, the steady drumming calling you home to a place that only women know.
********************************************************************************
Flamenco Dancer © The Raven’s Song (aka Jude Dippold), 2014
Image: Frida Kahlo.