"This work is unlike any other, in its range of rich, conjuring imagery and its dexterity, its smart voice. Carroll-Hackett doesn’t spare us—but doesn’t save us—she draws a blueprint of power and class with her unflinching pivot: matter-of-fact and tender." —Jan Beatty

Archive for the ‘Dreams’ Category

Daily Prompt :-) A Star Is Born

Happy National Poetry Month! My first grandchild—a beautiful boy named Max!–was born yesterday 🙂 Our own lil star mariner 🙂 ❤ Oh the beauty and mystery of how this miraculous universe expresses itself 🙂 Stardust and myth ❤

The Voyage Of Earendel The Evening Star
by J.R.R. Tolkien

Earendel arose where the shadow flows
At Ocean’s silent birm;
Through the mouth of night as a ray of light
Where the shores are sheer and dim
He launched his bark like a silver spark
From the last and lonely sand;
Then on sunlit breath of day’s fiery death
He sailed from Westerland.

He threaded his path o’er the aftermath
Of the splendor of the Sun,
And wandered far past many a star
In his gleaming galleon.
On the gathering tide of darkness ride
The argosies of the sky,
And spangle the night eith their sails of light
As the streaming star goes by.

Unheeding he dips past these twinkling ships,
By his wayward spirit whirled
On an endless quest through the darkling West
O’er the margin of the world;
And he fares in haste o’er the jewelled waste
And the dusk from whence he came
With his heart afire with bright desire
And his face in silver flame.

The Ship of the Moon from the East comes soon
From the Haven of the Sun,
Whose white gates gleam in the coming beam
Of the mighty silver one.
Lo! With bellying clouds as his vessel’s shrouds
He weighs anchor down the dark,
And on shimmering oars leaves the blazing
shores
In his argent-timbered bark.

Then Earendel fled from from that Shipman dread
Beyond the dark earth’s pale,
Back under the rim of the Ocean dim ,
And behind the world set sail;
And he heard the mirth of the folk of earth
And the falling of their tears,
As the world dropped back in a cloudy wrack
On its journey down the years.

Then he glimmering passed to the starless vast
As an isled lamp at sea,
And beyond the ken of mortal men
Set his lonely errantry,
Tracking the Sun in his galleon
Through the pathless firmament,
Till his light grew old in abysses cold
And his eager flame was spent.

Make art about birth, about the miraculous being born.

http://www.nytimes.com/video/science/100000003302881/born-from-dust.html

 

 

Daily Prompt :-) Memory and Mystery

The Stolen Child

WHERE dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we’ve hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he’s going,
The solemn-eyed:
He’ll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than he can understand.

Make art about magical mysterious creatures. Or your earliest art memory. 

stolen child

Daily Prompt <3 Rebirth and Wonder

Happy National Poetry Month! ANDDDD it’s my birthday! So, one of the poets who turned my lil middle school girl self on to the wonder of poetry! 🙂 ❤ 

I Am Waiting

BY LAWRENCE FERLINGHETTI

I am waiting for my case to come up
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder
and I am waiting for someone
to really discover America
and wail
and I am waiting
for the discovery
of a new symbolic western frontier
and I am waiting
for the American Eagle
to really spread its wings
and straighten up and fly right
and I am waiting
for the Age of Anxiety
to drop dead
and I am waiting
for the war to be fought
which will make the world safe
for anarchy
and I am waiting
for the final withering away
of all governments
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for the Second Coming
and I am waiting
for a religious revival
to sweep thru the state of Arizona
and I am waiting
for the Grapes of Wrath to be stored
and I am waiting
for them to prove
that God is really American
and I am waiting
to see God on television
piped onto church altars
if only they can find
the right channel
to tune in on
and I am waiting
for the Last Supper to be served again
with a strange new appetizer
and I am perpetually awaiting
a rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for my number to be called
and I am waiting
for the Salvation Army to take over
and I am waiting
for the meek to be blessed
and inherit the earth
without taxes
and I am waiting
for forests and animals
to reclaim the earth as theirs
and I am waiting
for a way to be devised
to destroy all nationalisms
without killing anybody
and I am waiting
for linnets and planets to fall like rain
and I am waiting for lovers and weepers
to lie down together again
in a new rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for the Great Divide to be crossed
and I am anxiously waiting
for the secret of eternal life to be discovered
by an obscure general practitioner
and I am waiting
for the storms of life
to be over
and I am waiting
to set sail for happiness
and I am waiting
for a reconstructed Mayflower
to reach America
with its picture story and tv rights
sold in advance to the natives
and I am waiting
for the lost music to sound again
in the Lost Continent
in a new rebirth of wonder
I am waiting for the day
that maketh all things clear
and I am awaiting retribution
for what America did
to Tom Sawyer
and I am waiting
for Alice in Wonderland
to retransmit to me
her total dream of innocence
and I am waiting
for Childe Roland to come
to the final darkest tower
and I am waiting
for Aphrodite
to grow live arms
at a final disarmament conference
in a new rebirth of wonder
I am waiting
to get some intimations
of immortality
by recollecting my early childhood
and I am waiting
for the green mornings to come again
youth’s dumb green fields come back again
and I am waiting
for some strains of unpremeditated art
to shake my typewriter
and I am waiting to write
the great indelible poem
and I am waiting
for the last long careless rapture
and I am perpetually waiting
for the fleeing lovers on the Grecian Urn
to catch each other up at last
and embrace
and I am awaiting
perpetually and forever
a renaissance of wonder

Make art about the rebirth of wonder. 

ferlinghetti

Daily Prompt <3 Your Singing Place

Happy National Poetry Month! 

The Singing Place

 by Lily Long

Cold may lie the day,
         And bare of grace;
At night I slip away
         To the Singing Place.
A border of mist and doubt
         Before the gate,
And the Dancing Stars grow still
         As hushed I wait.
Then faint and far away
         I catch the beat
In broken rhythm and rhyme
         Of joyous feet,—
Lifting waves of sound
         That will rise and swell
(If the prying eyes of thought
         Break not the spell),
Rise and swell and retreat
         And fall and flee,
As over the edge of sleep
         They beckon me.
And I wait as the seaweed waits
         For the lifting tide;
To ask would be to awake,—
         To be denied.
I cloud my eyes in the mist
         That veils the hem,—
And then with a rush I am past,-—
         I am Theirs, and of Them!
And the pulsing chant swells up
         To touch the sky,
And the song is joy, is life,
         And the song am I!
The thunderous music peals
         Around, o’erhead-
The dead would awake to hear
         If there were dead;
But the life of the throbbing Sun
         Is in the song,
And we weave the world anew,
         And the Singing Throng
Fill every corner of space—-
Over the edge of sleep
         I bring but a trace
Of the chants that pulse and sweep
         In the Singing Place.
Make art about your singing place. 
birds and krishna

Sometimes the Prompt Is a Heartbeat Away

Daily Prompt

Dreamt someone I love brought me a drum, and together we listened to its heartbeat. Make art about a drum, the sound of a drum, the drum as a call to prayer.

my drum

Sometimes the Day Needs Some Magic

Praying for Brussels, praying for us all.

Sometimes We Have To Follow the Prompt

 

Daily Prompt

The intuitive mind is a sacred gift and the rational mind is a faithful servant. We have created a society that honors the servant and has forgotten the gift.” A. Einstein

Make art about intuition, about how intuition whispers, about listening to it, or about what happens if we don’t.

intuition

Spring Is Prompting All Over!

Two Prompts ‘Cause I’m Sooooo Happy Spring’s Here! 

Happy Spring Prompt 1

Dreamt last night I was playing with a little bitty baby bear We tussled and snuggled and giggled and romped. Make art about a baby’s capacity for joy. 🙂 Or about a bear. 🙂 

cute_cub

 

Happy Spring Prompt 1

Make art with the first day of spring, about rebirth.

162284-It-s-The-First-Day-Of-Spring

 

Sometimes the Prompt Reminds Us Who We Are

Daily Prompt

Make art about the flow of energy.

Sometimes the Prompt Keeps Us Company

Daily Prompt

Did you ever think that, maybe, a child’s imaginary playmate might actually be there?

Make art about an imaginary friend.

imaginary friend

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