The Art Eclectic

One day she had A Bright Idea belonging to another garden.

When she told her darkling friends, they said, "I beg your pardon."

The thought refused to wither there, yet neither could it bloom.

Florets wrought from iron grew and left it little room.

The Dark Garden would not let it go, so chained it to her mind.

Hound in Armour

Red and white against blue sky,

the flowers reach toward light.

While Roots Below compete for space,

Grendel (Official Video) | Beowulf | Viking Metal | Original Music

Grendel moves through the marsh toward Heorot, drawn by the laughter and joy of the men inside that he cannot share. He tears through the hall in the night, killing warriors, then retreats to the marsh to sleep before dawn, when a hero sets sail.

Beowulf can be streamed here: https://ditto.fm/beowulf

Public Notice

Uncertainties will be collected for recycling every Thursday.

The God of Loyal Companions

He really wanted to bless his followers.

But most just pet his dogs and left.

The picture of Gwen, outside Louden,

attracted many views.

It learned from each just how to watch,

and gathered what they knew.

And then one day, without fanfare,

it opened up its eye,

frightening all the tourists

enough to make some cry.

The tourists told their story,

and many stayed away.

But others grew more curious,

so more came every day.

Now the picture's never lonely,

and its eye does never close.

But it's getting very tired.

We found these drawings in a lost backpack. They may be a warning.

Based on the journal inside, we think the owner's name may have been Aria. If you know where she is, please tell her we have found her missing property.

The Heart Chooses — Book Two of the Pattern Series — is available now on Amazon: https://a.co/d/0dyDmzxc

We are all

wonderfully unique

and complex.

If only people

took the time

to know

our uniqueness.

Most stop

A Matter of Definition

Everything about her

Above, they have fun,

legs kick and they splash.

Below, darkness drifts

Bloomfish spend their lives swimming through ponds of unformed thought,

among the lilies yet to bloom and thunderstorms unwrought.

They feed upon the nibble seeds that drift beneath the foam,

Under Cover of Flowers,

he hides from all that's bright.

Perhaps we need to pick some,

Olym-paw-ya