October’s Ominous Occurances

Falling into fictitious fantasy…

Sometimes hitting raked leaves…

Or knocking all breathable air away…

Finding hallucination funny

Or ghastly as mind bends

Along with body, bloody, terror.

Fearing to name the horror

Or look into its face

After all it’s

                   ğŸ”±   October ⚰️                  
 

Musings on Artistic Fantasy

“Sunday morning coming down…”. We remember or have heard the line from that country song. I seem to hear it in the deep soulful voice of Johnnie Cash. I had my share of those dark empty awakenings. Enough to be thrilled and blessed with joy this Sunday to awaken to a world of freedom from self. In this world I have boundaries to express my greatest fantasies in writing and art.

Now to be sure, art is in the eye of the beholder and is intrinsically relative, but mine is definitely primitive, unpredictable. Art to me is fun and fantasy. A fellow blogger asked me recently what my favorite art “subject” is. Wow! I could not answer her. I suppose the closest I can come is “Fantasy”. Here I reluctantly and with fear and trembling, post a few of my pieces. “Sunday morning coming out…”. Feedback from any and all will be graciously accepted!    

 Cheers and Happy Sunday!  

Myra

 

 

Valentine Wish…

Oh, my love-my one without many romantic boxes-let the wood nymphs, the fairies, the good white witches and all cupids gather around you!

Let them cast all their magic dust, pollen, leaves and spells upon you. Let Cupid prick you softly yet firmly with his arrows so that your “amas” blasts forth!

Let The Spell be cast. Let The Knowing be complete. Let my hopes be fulfilled.

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Oh Grantor of Wishes for romantic feminine hearts, gather all Casters of good spells

together on this day for Lovers!

Let my lover and I go happily into the  magical forest, neither dressed nor undressed,

neither hungry nor fed, neither afraid nor unafraid.

Let us go…only together completely and utterly in Love.

The Taxidermist

Cold as stone, he found him.

Lifeless matted friend .

Sled a’home took him.

 

In lamplight dim began.

Thawing fire a’blazing,

Chipping, tearing, cleaning.

 

Warm as toast, he made him.  

Lifelike woolly king.

Stately, grand and grazing.

 

Through shining rays he witnessed,

Sprouting crown and smile.

His parsnip fell again. Amazing!