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.

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.

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.

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

Clarity

image by Mike Roemer as shared at One Shoot Sunday

Clarity

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.