dragons on a summers day

Dragonfly garden 5-18-14

it is still July but the season has changed
and rabbits have had their way with my garden
raping and pillaging as they went
a castle over run
and I am left a distressed damsel
after the dragon has lost interest
and flown away
leaving only singed bones
of caladiums and daisies

such is a fairy tale from a summer afternoon
when the air has softened
and summers heat has turned down a notch
and the only dragons in the garden
fly on gossamer wings
schooling thru the soon to be autumn


I remember
the night you pulled down the sky
sown with stars
into the field of deepest blue
you said my eyes were starry
filled with the colors
of moonless skies

we drifted

the rivers flow
circumnavigated our foreheads
and rushed the winds back into ringlets
at the nape of my neck

you were young and brave
and fought dragons
until we were left
with only nacreous shells and roses of stone

the desert bloomed with our love
the peace taken for granted
as long as the bees returned to the hive
and the new moon rose over the spring meadows
where we lay

*** First, please forgive my ineptness at linking things – I am hopeless!
But, I have taken inspiration from the beautiful works of C Nelson Kellar for this poem and I hope you will explore her artistry at http://cherylkellar.com .
In reading about Ms Kellar, I felt an immediate kinship, not only is she living just a few hundred miles south but I was struck by her description of herself – her sense of humor and love of color. Her artwork is filled with whimsy but has a depth of knowledge and understanding of form and light. I was moved by the charming portraits as well as the abstract paintings.
And in her bold exclamation “I am an artist!” she gives me courage to declare my artistry as well.
Please take the time to discover C Nelson Kellar’s paintings.
Thanks – K

The Day After the Party

I wait for the dragons to arrive
slowly stretching my legs and back
just a small movement so as not to startle
my muscles or anything else
that might be watching
the light is laconic filtered camels
drifting into smoke filled streets
littered with red paper and broken balloons
what day is it? I’m asked
the day after the party
is the reply
as the crab skitters off in its
sideways dance
leaving the oddest tracks across the sand
shadows pass over the lengthening sun
before the sound of wings are heard

*** I have no idea – really must be the cold medicine – smiles