From Savannah

These following works were submitted by an a young artist named Savannah. More of her works can be seen HERE.

~ The Skull of the Unicorn ~

The war’s been over many years
but still you’ll find the signs
we left behind. There’s no more tears
or nightly fears
or victory cheers.
But in the grass lie broken spears
and skulls hang in the vines.

I came across one just today
as I meandered on.
A tulip bed sat by the way
but in it lay
a skull, gone gray
from some poor unicorn - fell prey
to some old foe long gone.

~ The Frog and I ~

As I reclined one early autumn’s day
among some rushes by a pond, I spied
a frog, half-hid behind a leaf some ways
away from me. When each of us had eyed

the other over, we decided that
we each were not an enemy. So I
lay back but then I heard the frog jump. SPLAT!
The mud went flying up into the sky

and down onto my trousers. But instead
of being angry, I began to laugh.
The froggie’s leap was beautiful. My dead
and dreary eyes cleared up by more than half.

I’d gone that day to ponder and to mope
but nature’s little joke restored my hope.

From Glaiceana

The following is a digital work from an artist named Samantha. Her other work can be found HERE.

~ The Frozen Coasts of Home ~

The way across the seas is very long,
and many months it took the men and I,
and many waves were bust upon our bow,
and many leagues we sailed beneath the sky.

We sailed with many mighty men of strength
Proud was our Jarl, and fierce his battle cry.
We sailed by the charts he held in his mind
at night by sight of stars in his eye.

We met with terrors of both mind and of wrath
but stout of heart were all of us that sailed,
and none of us despaired when kraken writhed
or left our oars when sirens sweetly wailed.

Northern wind tried best to wreck our longboats
but from the north itself it was we came
and northern wind springs from each viking throat
Like her we’ve nothing that’s about us tame.

We struck a land of green and straight away
we lit the fires of war upon the coast.
Ten villages within a score of days!
Cattle held on burning homes to roast.

The native dogs attacked us in our sleep
but battle-lust does not dim with the night.
With hewing axe and swiftly swinging sword
we put their little warriors to flight.

Then laden down with all our spoils and gold,
we set out once again upon the foam.
Amid the icy waves we sailed until
we reached the frozen coasts that we call home.

From Conner

This next work came from Conner McGowan who's other work can be seen here.

~ Just a pretty Face ~

I’m more than just pretty face,  I hope you know!
There’s quite a lot to me in fact! Why don’t you go
and take your cheesy pick-up lines, and you know what
to do with them! That’s right! Go shove them up your butt!
I’m sorry. I’m not sure what happened there. I owe

you a sincere apology, I guess. It’s just, although
I’m trying to be nice to men, I tend to blow
it but it’s hard when all they see is nothing but
just a pretty face.

But... you seem nice. I’m sorry for before. I grow
so used to men as beasts, I usually forgo
their company. But that’s a very lonely rut
to walk. Would you mind joining me at Coffee Hut?
I’d like to talk a bit and show you what’s, below
just a pretty face.

From Yasmine

This next piece was submitted by Yasmine, an artist who's other works can be seen HERE. When she suggested the following work, I couldn't help but think back to a poem I had written years ago. I think they work well together.

~ The Clouded Life ~

The way of clouds is come and go
and life is much the same.
The wind will never cease to flow
and gently blow
or harshly throw
that blanket bearing rain or snow
across old Sol’s bright flame.

It’s funny, I would have you know -
for life’s a tragic game,
my love for Sol was ever low
for to and fro
his burning glow
would daily smite me here below
from his unclouded frame.

But now I miss his cheery eye
although it burning be.
For life without the sun will die
and tears won’t dry
when poets cry
and dripping on the page will lie
for you who read to see.

From an Artist

This post comes from an Artist I have done some other collaborations with. They are quite talented. I present you to to works and two poems of vastly differing themes and tones. Enjoy!

~ Fighting Again ~

My mommy and my dad are fighting again
I think it's my fault that they’re fighting again
I want to run away from everything.
It’s more than I can bear -  fighting again
and again against the words that they say
to me - I’m stuck in their fighting again.
I hide outside the door - the apartment
walls keep noise from the stair. Fighting again
when will they stop? Why can’t we be quiet?
But no, their tempers flair - fighting again.
Here on these steps, my head bent on my knees
I sit and hear them swear, fighting again.

~ Morning Imagined ~

The morning rays come seeping through
the window’s paneled glass.
And here I sit (I often do)
to see the new
and gentle hue
of pastel-painted morning blue
and dew upon the grass.

I close my eyes - but I still see
imagination’s lands.
And then, so very suddenly
I am a tree
or bumble bee
or flitting, flying chickadee
with wings instead of hands.

My favorite fancied, rising thought?
I’m in a snug cocoon.
My bedclothes have me tightly caught
but out I faught.
And out I’ve brought
the nightgown wings that magic wrought
beneath the nighttime moon.

From Shipwreck

These sketches are from a contributor who goes by the pseudonym "Shipwreck." I have some more of their work but may not be posting it for a while yet.



~ An Unlikely Couple ~

He’s perfect in every way,
his hair always stays in its place.
Even scruff seems to belong.
But he’s wrong inside his brain-space.

His legal firm’s doing well
and, he’s well on his way to wealth.
But eyes are sad and empty
and there we can see his true health.

She’s different, not quite right.
but her light shines brighter than his.
As life goes whizzing by her,
something stirs within who she is.

Her cheeks may be a bit low
and below, her mouth is wide
but her too-high eyes are bright
and tonight they show cheer inside.

Lonely-Tide bar is the place
for these two faces to appear
on-stage. The night was chilly
and so he offered coat and beer.

With a smile, she accepted.
Something that was dead in him died.
His sad mouth turned up in a
smile. They got up and went inside.

From a Photographer

These photos were taken by another Artist friend of mine. We might very well see more of this artist in the future. I definitely hope so.

~ The Fountain ~

The fountain has gone dry
and soon the shrubs and trees will follow suit.
The water will not listen to our pleas.
The fountain has been dry
for months and it’s been months since we’ve seen fruit
from any of the trees.
The fountain will be dry
forever now and flowers will not bloom. No shoot
or bud or sign of bees.
The fountain has gone dry
but hope keeps planting seeds to take their root
before the winter’s coming freeze.

The fountain has gone dry.
The fountain has been dry.
The fountain will be dry.
But I will not stop planting here.
If deserts bloom then so can I.

               ~ Lovers' Arch ~

The lovers’ meeting place is very old
and lovers meeting there can be alone
and leave the world behind. An arch of stone
protects and gives them leave to be as bold
as ever they might dare. Their elders scold
but think on back to times when they had known
that lover’s meeting place. It’s very old
and lovers meeting there can be alone
as long as they would wish. A roof of gold
could not compare. These stones have known
the rise and loss of loves and could have shown
the stories of them all, could they be told.
The lovers’ meeting place is very old
and lovers meeting there can be alone.