a journey filled with many familiar paths and some not yet taken... all leading to the ever-changing destinations just waiting to be discovered.


Monday, January 31, 2011

To Bed She Said

Illustration by: Henriette Willebeek Le Mair (1889-1966)

To Bed She Said

Night little monkey man,
Night my glorious steed,
Night my donkey friend,
Time for me to go and read.

Up and off to bed I ran,
Under covers like sister said,
Her to her room I did send,

Because its time for bed.

Stories to read, I did plan,
In came Mom, to bed she said.
So under covers I did blend,
Cuz in came Mom, to bed she said.

Petrina Lesko
January 2011
 This wonderful illustration was posted over at Monday's Child: fare of face hosted by the fantastic bkmackenzie...  especially for children's verse and inspirational efforts to encourage the younger writers out there to follow their dreams.  Hop over to check out other great verse for children.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Evening's Illusionary Wishes

 Shadows cast down by the days sunlit skies,
Evening prints within the sands time,
 Casted, permeating surfaces,
Raised depths, crevices drawn upward.

Colorless, robust shadows reflecting,
Dampened earth pulling in, tiding out,
Waters adrift, lessened earthly surfaces,
Moonlit nights, beaming down to her feet.

Was this evening shadows or daytime paths,
Surfaces drip, illusionary wishes.

Petrina Lesko
January 2011

iPhoneography by Iquanyin
This poem was inspired by several prompts this week. First was the prompt of Illusion found over at Writer's Island, and there was Evening which is this weeks prompt at One Single Impression. And last, the location for this great photo prompt was One Shoot Sunday found over their new site at One Stop Poetry.  Iquanyin is a photographer who uses only her iPhone or iPad to take and share some amazing photography.  To learn more about Iquanyin, check out the following links:

Twitter: @iquanyin
Flick: http://www.flickr.com/photos/iquanyinmoon

Thursday Tales - His Last Goodbye

"Please, give me a moment, will you?"
"Of course sir, but we don't have long, they'll be here soon."
"Just a moment that's all, I just need to take it all in for one last moment..."

There's a knock on the door, three beats, then a pause.  "Sir, they're here, we have to go now."
"Yes, yes, go answer the door.  Let them in please."

Gentle footsteps cross the studio floor as another knock pounds.  With the creak of the door opening, "Yes, can I help you sir, I mean ma'am."
"Is he still here, is he here?"
"Yes, of course, he's over near the easel, just a moment and I'll get him for you."  quick footsteps can be heard as the younger man walks up behind his chair.
"She's here, she wants to see you sir."
"Okay, okay, let her back.  I just needed a moment, thank you for getting the door."

Her footsteps, impatiently clicking as she too walks up behind his chair... "Father, we have to... What's this?"
"My last tribute to her."
"You did this?  But it's exquisite... you?  You did this?"
"Of course I did this, you are in my studio, aren't you?  Who do you think did this?"
"But... how?  You really did this?  Father it's an amazing piece.  You said you couldn't paint.  You said you didn't have it in the crippled hands anymore..."
"Yes, I said that.  And I don't.  It's time to let it rest.  It's time."
"But Father, this is amazing!  Have you done any others?  Is this the only one?"
"No... no others.  Just this final goodbye to a world lost a long time ago."
"But Father, how?  How did you manage such a fine piece?  Are you sure it's time?  We could keep the studio.  I mean if you still can paint, we don't have to sell it right now..."
"Yes we do... It's time.  It's time!"

Just then there is another, softer, knock on the door.
"As I said, dear sweet Anne.  It's time.  Opportunity knocks, you don't want to keep her waiting.  Go let the new owners in.  Go answer the door."

painter, montmartre
by Somebody 3121
 written by
Petrina Lesko
January 2011

This picture prompt was found via Thursday Tales, prompt #44.  It is by Somebody 3121 and can be found here over at deviantART.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Ansel's Footprints

Penumbrant dreamworld
Luminous branching shadows
Ansel's footprints left

Original photo by Tess Kincaid
prompt #50 @ Magpie Tales
Poetry written by
Petrina Lesko
January 2011

I am linking this post over to Magpie Tales where Tess Kincaid has offered an original version of this wonderful photo this week as prompt #50, as well as over to One Shot Wednesday.

Monday, January 24, 2011

Princess of the Night

Illustration by:  Anne Anderson 1930's
as shared over at Monday's Child: fare of face

Princess of the Night

The princess sits up in her castle height,
Watching over children within the night,
She drapes the moon with her veil slight,
With bat wings gifting her to sing of flight.

She inspires imaginations, too, to write,
Of wings and glory, demons she can fight,
For children need to see with sight,
The things their hearts bring forth to right.

Watching over children within the night,
She inspires imaginations, too, to write.

Petrina Lesko
January 2011

This poem and others can be found linked over at Monday's Child: fare of face.  This site, offered up by bkmackenzie has offered a wonderful place to share with other poets and future poets, the children, verse that will hopefully inspire the young ones with our world of poetry.  Please stop by and offer your support today, and encouragement for such a wonderful venue.  Thank you to all of you who have participated thus far, and a special thank you to you, bkmackenzie.

What if Poetry Wasn't?

What if poetry was gone forever from this wonderful world we live in?  What if poetry never existed?

What if all the great poets before us were never introduced to this spectacular world that we make so much a part of our days?  What if Sylvia Plath, Emily Dickinson, Lord Byron, T.S. Elliot, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, John Keats, William Shakespeare were never given the venue to share their words?  What if that wonderful teacher, friend, parent never knew of poetry and never shared it with you?  How different would your world today be?  How different would you be?

How many of you wrote your first poem as a child?  How many of you, given the opportunity to read poetry as a child were truly inspired with this wonderful way of expressing those thoughts, those things welling up inside of us, waiting for just the right outlet?  How many of you were lucky enough as a child to have someone share this fabulous world with you, so it would remain, and inspire you for years to come?

Last night I was browsing my comments and glancing over some of the prompts offered up for Mondays and I was touched, deeply, sadly, at finding out that our dear friend, bkmackenzie, founder of  Monday's Child: fair of face, was announcing that this would be the last week that she would offer this fabulous prompt.  She doesn't see that there is enough interest to keep offering up this prompt, this venue where we poets can create and hopefully inspire the younger generation about this fabulous world we delve to explore on a daily basis.  What if you could never read another poem?

Please, if you remember that childhood spark, that exciting and fabulous feeling of discovery when you read or wrote your first poem as a child, stop over at  Monday's Child: fair of face and extend your support and let her know what a fabulous and important prompt she has offered... We would all love to read an offering from you, for the children of the world, the future generations, the special child in your world.

Let us all continue to share this fabulous world of words, form, structures.

As always,

                 Petrina Lesko aka Reflections

Saturday, January 22, 2011


image by Mike Roemer as shared at One Shoot Sunday

Circles form in the small cloud filled room,
Smokey images, time... moments left unsaid,
The juice, a vine forbidden wash upon gloom,
Cellars filled, brimming beneath the sun in red.

Moments encased, oak trimmed and entombed,
Luscious grapes, pressed, plunged, or was it tread?
The fluidity of smoke, then  to assume,
Glasses waved, tasted, for clarity of head.

Circles form in the small cloud filled room,
Cellars filled, brimming beneath the sun in red.
Moments encased, oak trimmed and entombed,
Glasses waved, tasted, for clarity of head.

Petrina Lesko
January 2011

This post, this poem was inspired by both the photo for this week by Mike Roemer over at One Shoot Sunday and this weeks prompt of Clarity over at Writer's Island

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Magpie 49 - Ladies Three

Trios of yesterday, three in the day,
Corsets hidden beneath dresses so fine,
Lace, buttons, derrieres all to sway,
Ladies proper, Victorian vintage and fine.

Out in the snow, will give it a skate,
Who will try first, these dresses deplore,
The ice looks smooth, we mustn't wait,
But for this event, less definitely be more.

photo prompt for Magpie 49

Who might see, should we give a try,
Looks so inviting, white blanket and all,
No boys around, no parents to spy,
Oh, but we're ladies, what to do if we fall?

Looks so inviting, white blanket and all,
Oh, but we're ladies, what to do if we fall?

Petrina Lesko
January 2011

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Sunday Sketches - Hope

Hope by Petrina Lesko
  Earlier this week I wrote a poem about lighthouses (you can read it by clicking here).  Since my thoughts continued in the same mode following my post of that poem, I thought I would try to sketch a scene held in my mind.  I still need to work on the perspective, I think the lighthouse needs to be taller, but I found myself not wanting to cut the top off at the edge of the page.  I am filled with 'hope' that everyone will have a wonderful week. 

To view other great sketches, please check out 'Sunday Sketches' over at Blue Chair Diary which is hosted by Sophia.  Sophia offers a link to anyone wanting to share their sketch or artwork (you will discover a world of some very awesome artists there) or you can link up your own drawing, painting, etc.

And since I have obviously been inspired this week by lighthouses, I thought I would also link over at Inspiration Avenue as their topic this week was 'What inspires you?'  If you follow this link after Sunday afternoon, you will be able to see the work of many other really terrific artists, and what their response to this topic was.

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

A Beacon of Hope

Though the beacon has
long been dimmed, still
I watch the cliff side shores
of my journey, searching
for your light which has
guided so many before
me to their resting place.

photograph by Petrina Lesko

Brought home to lands
filled with beauty.
Home to a land waiting,
offering a life free of
the shadows of time,
shadows of souls once lost
to this journey of hope.

Still I search o'er the seas,
this vessel trying to
stay afloat amidst storms
of turbulent waters.
Like many before me
journeying to far off lands
in hope of a new life.

Your beam renders prospects,
hope shining, like the hand
outstretched, points us in the
direction of safe harbors.
Inlets wrapped in arms,
moorings that anchor us
to the bosom of the land.

Ventura, CA
photograph by Petrina Lesko

Distant cries of lost souls
thunder down, shadows
stirring the past, the distant
silhouette sailing near
the horizon's end, closer
to that everlasting place
where the sea meets sky.

Though the beacon has
long been dimmed, still
I watch the cliff side shores
of my journey, searching
for your light which has
guided so many before...
home to their safe harbors.

Petrina Lesko
January 2011

I am linking this post over at One Shot Wednesday.  Hope you all enjoyed this poem and are having a wonderful week, the beginning of our journeys into 2011.

I've just discovered Watery Wednesday and thought this post would be appropriate.  Think I will drop in, link up and check out all the other great photos of watery places.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Concerto & Blog Revalations

This will be a two part post, I hope that you all don't mind.  The first part will link over to Magpie Tales for this weeks photo prompt - #48 - as it seemed to relate well to the thoughts that have been forming within me for this post, for the last week or so.  The second part will cover some additional thoughts, somewhat of a summary of feelings that I have been mulling over regarding my posts and the direction of this blog.

Part I:  Magpie Tales - Concerto Revalations

picture prompt #48 for Magpie Tales
As explained in Britannica Encyclopedia - eb.com  a blog is an 'online journal where an individual, group, or corporation presents a record of activities, thoughts, or beliefs.' and  '“To blog” is the act of composing material for a blog.'   Okay, so then what is it to compose?  According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary online - m-w.com the second definition would be:  'a : to create by mental or artistic labor : produce  <compose a sonnet> b (1) : to formulate and write (a piece of music) (2) : to compose music for'.

Thus one would come to the conclusion that to create or compose a blog, one is in their own way, creating music for the reader much like a musician would create music for the ears of his audience.  While composing a poem, or sonnet, if you will, they are expressing a talent as if being one who participates in the presentation of a symphony.  Each post, each poem or tale presented, a specific song or concerto, a piece of the overall concert presented by an orchestra.  

Due to time constraints and a very demanding schedule, I have not been as attentive as I would like, often absent from blogland as of recently.  Though I have found this to be frustrating, this sporadic absence has given me the opportunity to step back, to listen to the music I have created up to this point, and then to re-evaluate if my blog is going in the direction that I originally intended for it. 

Overall, I would say the journey up to this point has been a very positive experience, much like listening to the first concerto of a symphony.  I have highlighted a variety of aspects, my poetry, my short stories, a few minor glimpses into a couple of short adventures in nearby areas, the progression building on the creative efforts I was hoping to free up, if you will.  However, I have also discovered, just as if one was at a concert, ones energies can build as the cresendo in a musical composition, building in a specific direction solely to highlight a specific instument... 

Part II - Blog Revalations

I have also found that the stats offered by Blogger can be, like all the positive comments, very addictive causing one to switch their focus to meet those numbers, to highlight those notes within the symphony.  I have just recently hit the 5000 mark for page hits, a goal I found myself anticipating, though I was surprised to find myself so interested in this stat.  In the past I have been rather hidden about my creative writing in general, much like I am about my personal life with those individuals that I come into contact with on a regular basis in the here and now 'real world' of my life.  Somewhere, within the last few hundred page hits, in my mind, I set this 5000 mark as a transition to my approach here on my blog.

I'm not sure exactly what this transition will be, maybe posting more things expressing my everyday world, whilst trying not to 'offend anyone who participates there'... this was the topic, or sort of, in another blogger's post recently... I don't know that there really is anyone in my world who would be offended if I speak of them, but a mental note made, that I should be aware of how I present things if I transition to speaking of the real world versus sharing the stories created in my imagination.  I hope that you all will continue to follow along as I explore further paths of this journey, and I hope you will enjoy whatever instuments that I highlight as the music here plays on.  

Thank you all for following along and attending my symphony.  
                                                                        Yours Truly...    Reflections

Friday, January 7, 2011

The Pocketwatch

The following picture is photo prompt #41 over at  Thursday Tales.  It is called Pocketwatch by Kiara.  More of her work can be found here over at Deviantart.  Please drop by these links to explore more of other artists' work and for other tales.  The following short story is my take on this prompt...

Pocketwatch by Kiara

The Pocketwatch
I fumbled with the brown butcher paper as I unwrapped the small package that had arrived in the mail earlier that day.  Inside I found a small box and an envelope with my name on it.  I opened the small box and found a beautiful gold pocketwatch cradled in black velvet lining the inside.   Then I opened the letter...

Dear Corrine,
                  I am writing to you today to share the enclosed heirloom that was to be a gift to your father upon his return from the war.  As you know, now that you have grown into the beautiful young woman that you have become, your father never returned from the war.  Just days before you were born, the family was notified that he was MIA, a soldier lost to the unknown evils of war.  This gift was to be given to him as a young man, from his father, whom also did not return from the same war.  This, of course, can be one of the evils of military families, however, it is also one of the blessings, having such a love of our beautiful country, that one family could pass the honor of serving from generation to generation.
                  But alas, you are well aware of the family history, the history of the heroes that we have lost.  Your grandfather had wired me while he was overseas, knowing that his son would return before him, to secure this small package from our father, so I could insure that he would receive it upon the day of his return as a young man, a proud soldier.  I did as he asked, having our father send it right away with the enclosed letter along with it.  I have cherished this over the years and have waited for just the right time to pass it down the generations.  I believe that you will totally understand its meaning, and that this is the correct time to pass it on.
                                                    With love always,
                                                           Your great-aunt Corrina

Inside of this letter from my great-aunt was another envelope, one that had hints of yellowing as does paper over the ages.  The outside of the envelope showed only my father's first name... Collin.  As I opened this second envelope, my hands trembled, goosebumps running the length of my arms.

Dear Collin,
        I am writing this letter just hours after you have come into this world.  It was just this morning that I saw you for the first time, lying there in your mother's arms, our beautiful son.  I asked my father to select this pocketwatch for you (as you know, he was a clocksman, a keeper of time-pieces).  I have always held his fascination of time deep within my heart and look forward to being able to share this love of time with you also.  I have asked him to set it to exactly 7:51 for the moment you were born.  I shall hold this safe over the years, and when the time is right, I shall give it to you, just as he gave me his coveted pocketwatch when he felt I was old enough to understand its special meaning to this family.  Until then my beautiful son, I will hold you forever in my heart.
                                                             With all my love,
                                                                       Your devoted father, William

The tears flowed freely now from my eyes, a single tear landing on the yellowed paper just below his signature.  I sat down and stared blankly at the pocketwatch I was holding in my hand.  'Thank you Aunt Corrina, yes... yes I do understand the meaning this has had throughout the generations of our family.  Thank you, thank you.'

Written by
Petrina Lesko
January 2010

I am linking this tale over at Thursday Tales.  Thank you Yamini and Leo for inspiring us to share these wonderful shorts for all here in blogland.  And a special thanks to Kiara for lending us such an inspiring piece of art.

Wednesday, January 5, 2011

'Til Then, New Beginnings

I've spent much time over the last couple of weeks pondering the passing of 2010 and the coming, the arrival of 2011.  Many feelings have bubbled to my surfaces, then fizzled back into the waters of my thoughts... drifting along, awaiting the dawn of new beginnings and new days.  This poem or parts of it have bubbled to the surface and drifted back away until tonight, before spilling onto the pages of my thoughts in yet this form.  I am linking them over at One Shot Wednesday.  Hope you all enjoy this one.

'Til Then, New Beginnings

Stepping forth into this space, this time,
Your outstretched hand guiding, leading,
Lending direction, journeys unexplored.

Still, in the small quiet spaces, rhyme,
Tales unfolding from the depths pleading,
Yet untold, springing forth from hearts implored.

Touching tenderly all the sublime,
Begging forth the peaceful seeding,
Of new paths, awakening within all stored.

To the end, the sour good-bye tastes lime,
Tart, sweet, all the more want of reading,
But dost the words here lie forth not be bored.

For in here lies the beginnings of mime,
Inspiration awaits, yearns are bleeding,
The red putrescine of words, words adored.

Bursting forth with new days, new time,
Waiting, exploring of words, needing,
Words lifting upward, higher they soared.

'Til then, new beginnings will be rhyme.

Petrina Lesko
January 2011

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Mag #47 - Life

photo prompt for Magpie Tales #47
She sat staring at the art piece on the table, struggling to identify it's origins, it's meanings.  The onyx-like appearance, transformed, twisting to and fro, all circling within itself, never-ending in its form.  She knew Mildred would return soon with the tea tray, setting it out, pouring for both of them, telling her the days news.  Then they would share a bit of the family history, each sipping gingerly from their cup, conversation spanning time, intertwining it here and now, like the piece resting here on the table this morning.

She was always amazed that Mildred would have a new piece sitting here, when she arrived each week to spend time, visiting, linguering in the stories of yesteryear.  Mildred's tales had always been a fascinating time for her, even when she was young and lived just down the block.  She spoke of a time, long ago, yet not so long ago, of a time with her husband and their coming here to this place.  The journey always sounded so exciting.  She wondered again, what meaning could this piece, the art, hold for today's conversation.  Where could it have possibly come from?

She gently picked up the piece from the table, turning it over, reading the words inscribed in the same black on the wood showing through underneath...  'Life'  then just below, 'Hank'.  Bewildered, she set the piece back down in the center of the table, her thoughts racing trying to decipher what, how this piece could be called 'Life'.... Just then Mildred walked into the room, carefully placing the tea tray down next to the blackness.  The silver shimerring against the black artwork, reflected it's image in the shiny finish of the art piece.  'Fascinating piece, isn't it?' Mildred asked as she sat down in the high back chair across from her.

'Yes, ma'am, it sure is.  I've been sitting here exploring my mind, trying to decipher it.  But I'm sure nothing that I've thought of will come close to the true meaning it holds,' she said picking up her tea cup from the tray.  'When Hank and I met, back in the day, he was a young, strong soldier, on his way off to war.  We knew we were in love and wanted to spend our lives together, but there was no time to get married before he left.  I was so scared of him going, of him not returning to me.  We were out walking in the woods on the last afternoon before he was to ship out.  There on the forest floor was this broken dead root, all twisted, like my insides.  He picked it up and handed it to me, telling me it would remind me of his arms wrapped, holding me in the night when I was scared... scared of him not coming home.'

Mildred interrupted the tale to offer more tea, cookies, then set the plate back down on the silver tray.... 'I pined throughout that winter, those years, waiting.  Never hearing a word, never knowing if he was returning or not.'  She paused, sipping from the cup she held in her hand.  'When he finally returned, when the war was over, we were married.  And as you already know, you remember I'm sure, we stayed together for the rest of his life, always taking afternoon walks to 'our special place' in the forest.  Then one day, years later when we were readying things in the root cellar, there on one of the shelves, this piece rested. Hank reached up to it, stroking it gently, then handed it to me.  He told me it represented our 'Life', the twisting, circling strands were the days of our lives, intertwining.  He said when I went off to war, I had to go away from the starting place, but only to return 2 years, 3 days, 5 hours and 49 minutes later, returning on the circle of life, embracing our love once again.   He told me the circle was our love, the blackness the war that separated our days in the beginning.' 

She sat in awe, entranced in the tale Mildred told, as she always had since she was a little girl.  She sat wondering why she had never noticed the piece anywhere in the house before.  It was such a lovely story, bittersweet, yet hopeful, expressing the most extreme in this life, in their years together....  War, endings of life, yet circles of years bringing a shared life, a shared love, forever together again, forever sharing the twists and turns placed before them.  The two women sat in silence for a long time before sipping from their cups again.  Mildred broke the silence with these words, 'I always said he was ahead of himself, ahead of time as an artist, sculpting his wood scraps into the most amazing, meaningful things...the black is coal, he painted it with coal dust to represent the ashes of the war.'

Petrina Lesko
January 2011

I am linking this short tale over at Magpie Tales.  Thank you Tess for another inspirational prompt.  Your photos, your poetry is truly inspirational for me and my attempts at writing. 

Monday, January 3, 2011

One Little Kitty

Illustration by Vivienne: 1946
as found over at Monday's Child
One Little Kitty

One little kitty, one more two,
How I like my milk, you go shoo,
One little kitty, one more too,
Don't want to share, not with you,
One little kitty, one more two,
How 'bout some milk, more for two,
One little kitty, one more too,
We shared our milk, me and you.

Petrina Lesko
January 2011

This short poem was inspired by this week's photo prompt over at Monday's ChildThought I would give a go at writing something for the young ones.  Hope you all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed thinking of how to write for children.