Thursday, August 17, 2017

Weekly Haiku Writing

Image result for lonely girl with moon


Love, Unaware

The moon wanes between
gray-blue clouds that commiserate
my sleepless dreams of you.




Image result for lover in the doorway


I Sway

You stand center my doorway,
my body brazen a primal hope
you'll close the door, stay the night.

Wednesday, August 16, 2017

It's A Retro Snapshot!


"Girls of Summer"

Summer is almost over.  Soon tourist season will conclude itself with closed up shops and the empty, haunted feeling of isolated boardwalks.  The girls of summer will most likely pack their bags and return to their post-beach-lives and mundane nine-to-fives.  But they will always be young and free and sun-kissed inside those old photos packed away inside scrapbooks and pressed into night-time novellas meant for some sleepless 3am.  




Created for an art challenge at The Three Muses.

Saturday, August 12, 2017

I'm Back...Again

Took my blog down for a bit to rework some links and get rid of excessive posts.  Also have carpal tunnel, which sorta makes blogging a painful experience. 

I missed ya'll.  Especially my artsy folk. 

Happy to be back....always.

Also, back and at it at Pink.Girl.Ink.  as editor-in-chief.  Shoot me some tantalizing artwork or some soul-searing poetry.  I'd love to showcase my blogger friends....such worthy artists lurking here.

I also revamped the Author Page.  It's pink and rather fluffy now.  Kinda like my mini skirts.  Anyway, it much better suits my taste this way.


Love and Lots of Light
Stacy

Thursday, July 27, 2017

Weekly Haiku Writing

Image result for glowing night sky

Sky Glow

There's a spot of sky,
crimson-blue against star-glitter
where the moon hangs himself.


Related image

Shadow Lady

She wrung fate between her
fingers, a sculptor tempting time,
to make his heart grow fond.

Wednesday, July 26, 2017

Some Circles...

"Dangerous To Me"

They always tell me not to walk the streets at night.  But at the dark-witch hour when the mimes retire and old dogs prowl alone, I feel most at home.  I scurry my shadow between streetlights, ignoring the calls of their flashing lamps like a twisted-pedestrian criminal.  I speak to the sidewalk ghosts who sing to me their songs of sleep;  lift my fingers like a dancer-on-air and allow the heat of the city to seep between my toes before shifting my one-woman sideshow into the corner all-night diner for some charming cappuccino elixir.



Created for a digital art challenge at The Three Muses.

Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Snapshot Country

I do miss those carefree country days...



The words are mine.
Stock photo found via a google search.  

Saturday, July 22, 2017

Twittering Tale #41

            


Mid-summer solstice spun her anger, in a whiplash of sky-tears and tree leaves,  across city highway buildings and windshields hot of road grit.  (144 characters)

Weekly Haiku

Image result for woman words unsaid

Something Left Unsaid

A sultry whisper is lodged
in the darkest edges between
all the words I can't speak.



Image result for woman writing by moonlight


I Write by Moon-tide

My body made a shell,
flesh-pink against velvet secrets,
a whim stitched of moonbeams.

I Won't Lie, It's Semi-Autobiographical...



Into the Forest of Myself 

I have painfully learned
the principles of exclusion.
By morn I entertain
an empty room, speak
to the soul inside myself:
'come, let's drink some tea
and fold a prayer
between the lotus pose.'

I am other-worldly, that
small dark house behind the hill
that none dare enter
for the fear of yellow light.
It's only the antique lamp I read by,
and all those gents weaved between
the pages of yesterdays New York Times;
they sell to me their lusty prose
and, for a while, I don an evening dress,
love fervently with my body,
each pale, glowing limb
a beacon for some distant sailor.

And, come night, I dine
with the ghosts of my former self.
Like little historians
dressed in pink-on-black,
each one has her own story.

Friday, July 14, 2017

Man's Best Friend

"Gal's Best Pal"

She would always remember that day at the pound.  The rows upon stacked, metal rows of dogs yipping, puppies howling.  And then, the cage at the end, left wedged against the wall, where the tiny puppy sat.  He was pudgy and eight weeks old at best.  How his sad eyes lifted and his tail wagged at her, "Hello."  How she couldn't resist taking him home.
Created for an art challenge at Digital Whisper.