Story Starter March – Gretel Boose

**MARCH CONTEST CLOSED**

 

This month, we’re featuring the creative talents of artist Gretel Boose!

To enter, write a short piece (100 words maximum) inspired by the art featured below. It can be any form of writing (poetry, prose, dialogue, haiku, etc.) as long as it is original. Submit your entry in the comment section below. Check the full entry rules and format here.

Being Different by Gretel Boose

Gretel Boose

Gretel Boose of Port Perry was born in Flensburg, Germany. She immigrated to BC in 1995 and relocated to the Durham area in 2000. She worked predominantly in painting, but shifted her focus towards three-dimensional work in ceramic and multi media in 2004. In recent years she participated in the Uxbridge and Pickering Studio Tours, Juried Art Shows in Uxbridge and Oshawa, and recently showed her work in a solo show in Bancroft.

She stated: “My new ceramic and mixed media sculptural work is an attempt to communicate my fascination with human expressions, and the secrets behind the mind and spirit. The stories told by the ‘Spiritual Beings’ often bring to light the question: “Who are you? And through you, who am I?”

Find out more about Gretel and her work by visiting her website: gretelboose.com.

Feeling inspired? Paste in your 100-word entry below!

67 Comments
  • Take me to your world of vanilla skies and raspberry smiles, where harlequins sunbathe in rays of gold and umber and cupids nestle in the afternoon clouds for a transient slumber. Where anthropomorphic darlings and peek-a-boo Dobbies slide on rainbows and merrily engage in other plentiful hobbies. And where at night, when all is quiet, you can all weave for me a thousand dreams to help me forget and run away, far, far away, from my realities screams.

  • Yes, I am different.

    Being different is not what it’s cracked up to be. You see, I don’t follow the crowd. I often stick my neck out but the risk has never paid off.

    I am not a copycat. Give me a chance, you’ll see I’m more of a pussycat.

    I may be a little plain but you could never call me vain.

    I jazz up my look with a clever hat, a conversation piece that may spark a chat.

    I’m not a carbon copy of everyone else. Who would want to be? The answer is me.

  • Beauty is indeed in the eye as we behold,
    Art can take on several unique forms,
    Every piece has a story to be told,
    On display from fine museums to college dorms,
    Designs as vast and different as one can create,
    Using any objects from huge canvas to a paper plate,
    There are countless kinds of important art,
    Galleries are also a treasure as bookstores are smart,
    I also consider myself a practicing artist,
    Words of all languages used for genres that are endless,
    Even in an ever-changing digital age,
    Tradition should reign supreme amidst all the tech rage!

  • Inside the wonders beheld
    within the veils of
    her smiling face
    the mystique of mystery unravels.

    She beckons for you to join her
    on her journey of adventure.

    Will you join her?

  • I gazed at sad eyes and a red nose through the shallow dirty water. Living on the Pacific coast , each morning standing at the shore was a fearful adventure. Since the tsunami months before shoreline was littered . This was a beautiful artistic creature. I wiped away seaweed from the ears. A plaque with Japanese symbols was adhered to the bottom. I looked into those sleepy eyes and returned her coy smile. These symbols were her return ticket home.

  • There is a freedom in being happy in your own skin. A quiet strength that brings a flush of new life to your body. A flood of peace blossoms in your soul that silences sharp voices of comparison in your mind. The beautiful realization at you are needed in this world because of your unique story. You glow in excitement as you live your life with intention and fearlessness. The harmony of mind and body comes like cold water to parched lips. Your revived mindset can make you the impetus for good, and the idea of the possibilities for this life is intoxicating. You can finally stare at discouragement in the eye and laugh; it is only a lame distraction from the magic that life can provide. You roar in strength at depression! Nothing can hold you back from the life you have every right to claim. You are ready to life a full life and just be in the present. There is nothing that can bring harm to who you are, because you know and love that person you are. You are bigger than any of your demons. You are ready to accomplish those larger than life dreams. There are so many possibilities as you are drawn into a happy daydream of what is yet to be!

  • Doris looked at her mother, father, and two sisters, and said to her mother, “Mom, why do I look different.” I do not belong to this family you are all the same color, and I look different. Doris mother held her close and whisper to her softly, even though you look different to the rest of us you are still my little beautiful girl with curly black hair, large brown eyes, a soft happy sweet smile, and a shade darker than us, but we are still your family, we love you the same, and there is no difference in love.

  • Jean L. Burbidge March 4, 2014 at 11:16 am

    On Being Different

    You come to me in dreams,
    Or when I walk the forest path,
    You ride the beams of light between the trees.

    I know you search for me
    But I am hidden in a world
    Reality, where you can never be.

    My mind your only place,
    I touch your face and smile again.
    My Spirit born anew in fantasy.

    Your gentle eyes my peace.
    They say you’re just imaginary,
    But I have played with you on days

    When no one else could find me.

  • Palely
    looking up
    part animal
    I cannot see the world
    only love and loveliness
    but there is a sprite
    amid and above
    to help me gaze
    when blind men see
    their sprite is sitting still like
    on several legs tucked under
    a skirt with pink edges
    the muse just sitting on their head
    looking out and up
    and chatting down
    whispering of the way
    and sitting on a skirt of doubt
    but hope
    comes in that wondering way
    like riding circus horses in your mind
    and seeing clouds as nothing more than smoke
    What is that, I spoke
    and you answered
    it’s nothing
    don’t worry. It’s nothing
    look elsewhere, not at the dark.

  • Take me to your world of vanilla skies and raspberry smiles, where harlequins dance on sunrays of gold and umber while cupids nestle in the afternoon clouds for a transient slumber. Where anthropomorphic darlings and peek-a-boo Dobbies slide on rainbows and merrily engage in other plentiful hobbies. And where at night, when all is quiet, you can all weave for me a thousand dreams to help me forget and run away, far, far away, from my realities screams.

  • Inhaling the cool mist of the woodland clearing I pause seated on the stone outcrop. I smile through half lidded eyes reviewing the results of the night. A warm shaft of morning sun washes the chill of sleeplessness away.
    It is done.
    Witness to the first caress of a new millennium I am privileged. Her safe arrival much like any other, a blessing not yet revealed to the world. For now I shall carry that secret in my very soul. In time she will belong to world and the world will be hers. I exhale.
    My heart is content.

  • “So what do you love about me, my musician?” she asked softly, dreamily.
    Ernst felt that little catch in his throat and swallowed. A butterfly in his stomach awoke and fluttered. He reached out with a beautiful, long-fingered hand and caressed her cheek.
    “Estelle, I love everything about you… your gentle eyes, your mind, your style, your sweet, sweet lips.” He kissed her… a long, lingering kiss. “You are unique, my enchanting lady… a faun; a divine angel, come from another world to fill me with hope.”
    Estelle’s eyes opened wide.
    “Oh darling,” she whispered. “How did you guess?”

  • My splendor sits on my head like an earthen sylph. Crossed lovers have caused my auroch ears to perk and my hair bang to jut like a bird’s tail. An evolved ungulate and feline-albino skink make many fall hard. But don’t let my doe-like eyes and ducked lips deceive you. I conquer like a deadly beast. I have grazed every continent and my prey is swallowed up by my beauty in one bite.

  • GILBERT: What do you see, Ben?
    BEN: Why, the stars. I see the stars, Gilbert.
    GILBERT: Are they beautiful?
    BEN: Oh yes. So beautiful, in fact, that they can’t be touched.
    GILBERT: Because they’re so far?
    BEN: Yes, Gilbert.
    GILBERT: What do they look like?
    BEN: Well…imagine millions of diamonds glistening in the dark.
    GILBERT: Oh. They sound wonderful.
    BEN: They are.
    GILBERT: I wish I could see.
    BEN: You can. Just imagine them all. Every one, brighter than the other. Look how they twinkle, Gilbert! It’s like they’re saying hello.
    GILBERT: I can see them now! They’re wonderful.

  • On Being Different if I were human, my body would look like yours, but I am just a beautiful image made from Clay, molded into a figure to resemble another living thing, but I don’t know what I am. I am happy with my looks: I am smiling at you, my hat is tall and exclusive, my little friend sits on top, my eyes are large and charming, my nose is red as a Clown’s, my ears sticks out like Rabbit ears, and my neck long as a Giraffe, but I love my uniqueness, I am one of a kind.

  • Noreen places the newspaper beside a plate of toast.
    “They say we’re eccentric.”
    “Who says?”
    “The art critic of the Globe.”
    Edward licks butter off his fingers and picks up the paper.
    “So our Lucy’s too quirky for them, eh?”
    He looks at Lucy and the sprite atop the sideboard.
    “Well, Old Girl, it seems you and Snickers made a fuss at the auction.”
    “We’d better hide her in the bedroom when the Nevilles come over,” said Noreen. “But for god’s sake don’t hang your ties on her ears.”
    “Bugger the Nevilles,” said Edward. “Lucy and Snickers stay.”

  • With just a few strokes you paint a vivid scene and a room full of sassy characters. Well done, Mary! Dace

  • Unease entered her subconscious. Her eyes opened slowly. She was alone. This was unsettling, as her tiny companion rarely left her side. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the peculiar weight that had settled on her like a conundrum that couldn’t be solved. Sequins on her hat sang as they tinkled, a myriad of tiny lights reflecting in the mirror that showed off her long graceful neck in a very admirable fashion. Wait! Was that? Could it be? Sure enough, there was Asa, admiring his own reflection with awe. He was right there, perched on her hat.

  • See my beauty and accept my faults; for love without lust is the most enticing of all.

    See this child sitting on high; forget your sorrows and breath deep in their peace.

  • “Oh I’ve been there, only the form is different. You can imagine.”
    “I can imagine?”
    “Can’t you?”
    “It’s just that when I start to see it in my mind’s eye, I get distracted by some noise. So no. I can’t imagine.”
    “Oh. Benji.”
    “What?”
    “Benji.”
    “Who’s Benji?”
    “He’s the distraction in your head.”
    “How do you know what’s in my head?”
    “Just a guess.”
    “So how do you know his name is Benji?”
    “Just a guess.”
    “Stop.”
    “I can see him. You’re a lucky one. You have a muse.”
    “His ears…?”
    “Yea. The same. That noise?”
    “Benji?.”
    “I think so.”

  • The artist applied a last touch of crimson to the lips of her unique creation and said “There! I gave birth to you. Now go and give birth to a million inspirations. Ah, yes, inspiration, that bastion of imagination!” She put her brush down and took a last sip of her sweet blood red wine and gazed into the soporific eyes of her creation. She then rested her head on her work table and slept, and soon after, entered the magical realm of her singular and beloved child.

  • “And then there I was, dappled sunshine on the forest floor, moss underfoot. They say I am human, but I know …”
    “Stop, Raine! Someone might hear you.”
    “The truth needs a voice…”
    “No! It’s as plain as the nose on your face, why can’t you accept that you’re one of us?”
    “I can’t silence my heart, my memory.”
    “There’ll be repercussions,” Faye whispers, her gaze flitting to the mottled windows. “You’ll pay the price.”
    Raine adjusts the ribbons of her pointe shoes, preparing to twirl. “So be it. The dance has already begun.”

  • Aha! There she is – that devilishly mirthful sprite. Just what does she find so tummy-tickling? Is she smirking because I don’t understand? Is it knowledge of some future happening not yet imparted to me? Is she a friendly, helpful little sprite like the shoemaker’s elves, appearing at night, intent on creating order from the overflow of papers unsorted, recipes untried, quilting undone,the house waiting for “shine.” Or is her mirth really just some personality quirk perhaps mocking
    my lack of comprehension? Where does one find the answer? Surely not within my own
    confusion! Surely not!

  • The “Art” of being DIffEReNt

    Once upon a time ago
    And yet it was not long ago
    I used to think that I was so
    What others saw in me.

    “Her neck’s too long,
    Her eyes too wide,
    Her impish smile,
    Her lengthened stride,
    Her turned up nose,
    Her laugh too loud,
    Her boyish figure,
    She’s much too proud!”

    Now I have matured and so
    Although it was not long ago
    ’twas long enough for me to know
    I am uniquely me.

  • An Artist work truly brings out the inner side of their spirituality, and natural talent hidden. I love Art it represent something from the invisible to the visible. It produces something different exceptional, only an Artist can do. There is always a hidden message: a definition to the Artist work that will capture your interest, curiosity and attention. Every piece of Art work is different; no two are the same, because the Artist inspiration is always a challenge to uncover what is hidden, what is in the inner mind and imagination to bring it alive to awaken a new experience.

  • Grandmother’s Secret

    A strip of tape with the words, FOR JULIE, was stretched across the top of the box.

    Curious, Julie brushed away a layer of dust and picked at the tape until the cardboard flaps popped open.

    She pulled out wads of crumpled newspaper until a small ceramic face peered up at her.

    Julie reached into the box and carefully lifted out the sculpture. What is it? she wondered. Thinking it might be a cookie jar, she gently tried to lift off the top.

    “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” said the sprite, in Julie’s dead Grandmother’s voice.

  • “Gwendallyn, get down, you’re squishing my hat,” Mama whispered.

    “But Mama, I can almost reach it! If you stretch your neck I’ll get it for you.”

    “Darling, we must get home before the light comes. We’ll return tomorrow, there’s sure to be others.”

    “But Mama, please? It would look so pretty on your ear!”

    “Fine,” said Mama, “will it oppose the one you gathered yesterday?”

    “Yes, beautifully,” Gwen replied.

    “Alright, but hurry. The mother-human is up,” said Mama.,“she’ll empty this drying box soon.”

    “Do you think she wonders where they go?” Gwen asked, grabbing the sock.

    “Perhaps,” Mama answered, smiling.

  • I can’t think of anything today. I seem to be in two different places at the same time and nothing seems to fall into place. I guess that last glass of wine last night did me in. When I got up this morning I feel like the top of my head had gone out of proportion and when I looked in the mirror I didn’t recognize myself. Oh well, the wine was wonderful and the company excellent. One day of feeling like hell is worth it sometimes. I just wish I didn’t have to go out in public looking like this!

  • Marie Beswick-Arthur March 14, 2014 at 2:14 pm

    “You’re out of your head again.” His backhand struck her cheekbone on the second pronoun.

    “Maybe that’s where I want to be.” She spat the words—already having forgotten his objection. Might have been the switch from milk to soy.

    “I don’t ask for much.” He applied the ‘poor me’ approach as pre-atonement.

    “Yes you do.” The childish reply led her to beg the angel on one shoulder to push the devil off the other. And as the request was processed the two entities merged on top, and she stretched her neck outside the boundaries of bruising.

  • “I see it Chloe, I do. Wish harder, we’re going to get there.”

    “What does it look like, Sprite?”

    “Oh, it’s a wonderous sight, brilliant blue and ever so lovely. I just know the Queen of the Fairies will help us. She’ll get us out of this trap and we can go home.”

    “Oh Sprite, that is my deepest desire. As much as I love that Gretel has made me here, I do so long to be home with my own kind.”

    “Think harder, Chloe, get me higher. Just a wee wish more. I know I can reach her.”

  • She was a beauty walking through the room, with her long elegant neck, her porcelain skin, the hint of Mona Lisa upon her lips. “What do you think of the ball?” they asked. “It is so beautiful, like a dream”, she replied. It’s just a room with balloons spoke a voice. “The flowers, are they to your liking?” “Beautiful, they smell glorious!”, she answered. “They stink!” the voice snarled. “What is that?” they demanded pointing to the area above her head. “That,” she smiled, “that, is my other point of view”.

  • Being different is like telling a child about the Circus, and the Clowns that he/she has never seen in his/her life, and you expect them to know what the Circus, and Clowns are all about.

    Being different creates a new avenue to explore, to ask questions, to look at differences and similarities, to venture out into the unknown, to take chances, to be confident about who you are, regardless of another person’s opinion.

    Being different is like having a relationship with someone you love, but who is from a different religious back ground, and it is against your values, and beliefs.

  • Am I am morphing from beast to human or from human to beast?

    It’s my choice: I can only smile wistfully as I consider the folly of being human, with so many clinging to separate identities, judging, comparing, going to war; yet sensing there is a better state of oneness and a higher awareness to aspire to.

    And I can only smile reluctantly, contemplating a shift to animal form, with its innocence, unself-consciousness, and perfect dance with the cycles of nature; yet with no chance of elevating to a higher realm.

    My guide nudges me, her gaze unwavering and true.

  • Inside my head there are things that lay in waiting, hoping, praying that someday my fear shall leave. That someday the darkness will give way to light. A part of me, my deepest secret climbs everyday to the top. Reaching, searching for the crack in the mask that will lead us to our destiny and beyond our dreams and desires. So in time we wait, we search and we hope for the endless possibilities of our future selves.

  • Karen Dickie-Evans March 23, 2014 at 11:39 am

    If I can pause in the stillness and just be, I’ll feel the wisps of early morning air cool my cheeks. The sunbeams will embrace me putting me at ease. I’ll hear whisperings and lean towards the gentle suggestions carrying me away. Ideas: playful and astonishing, wistful and bright. All my senses will alert to the coming adventure. My ears softly flitting, my eyes dreamy, my neck poised. If I follow this indulgence then, oh then, I’ll climb high and beyond. Then I’ll partake, awakened.

  • The auction is over. The prize is mine. The muse with her muse balancing on her head perch on my desk, one gazing forward, the other upward. No looking back. Together they see the world as I want to see it—only today and tomorrow linger; yesterday but a memory.
    I imagine my muses to be two of the nine daughters of Zeus, the goddesses of knowledge and literature. I put faith in their power to stir my imagination, learn from the past, venture into the future, and capture the present moment. I name them Cymbal and Pheeling.

  • It’s that time in the evening. I dread it, yet long for it.
    You will come to me like a mirror image of oneself while I slumber.
    A nightmarish twist of my conscience? A dream possibly filled with realty?
    You are not me, but still, I see you as myself somehow. You are most definitely inside my head, my thoughts, my very existence.
    You do make me laugh at myself, and for that I am thankful.
    Am I mere existence of what used to be? I can’t remember. Remind please.

    Wake me or let me drift, help me to decide.

  • That Elf bursting out,
    part of myself
    is a pal much loved
    my naughty elf

    Always conjuring some funny schemes,
    While I slumber, he concocts weird dreams.

    While trying hard to watch my weight,
    He’ll leave heaps of chocolate
    on my plate.

    He nailed someone’s loafers to the floor
    connected current to the wood shop door.

    Creating clever poetry,
    Elfie is king of pun.
    When we’re punning on the open stage,
    others will groan and run.

    When I feel discouraged, full of fear
    Elf reminds me, “Don’t forget…I’m here.”

  • June moved a book to one side and her eyes lit up. “I found it.” she said softly. Her hands cradled the glazed figurine she had made with her daughter Lucy. “This will help patch things up after our argument.” she whispered. “Mom! Mom!” It was Lucy’s voice. Was she here already? She should probably go let her in. Gentle hands touched her shoulder and lifted her chin. “Mom, are you ok? The tornado took the house.” Confusion crawled into fear across June’s face as she stared at the sea of destruction around her. “Where is your father?”

  • Flint stretched after a long afternoon nap under his favorite tree. Kicking the smooth bark with a shiny black hoof, he caught an apple and took a big bite. A little juice ran down his furry chin onto his round overstuffed belly. Too much rich food had given him a bellyache. He preferred fruit but King Rufus’s royal decree stated that all Manimals would do their part to help reduce the rodent population. Flint did his best to only eat the leaner ones after reading a new study that showed eating too much human was bad for your health.

  • Matthew lounged on the high stone wall that surrounded the small village of Happy. His eyes scanned the landscape with a summers laziness. Something caught his attention, could it be that time already? Yes, he saw it again. The Manimals were here! Grinning ear to ear he slid off the top of the wall to spread the news. Throwing open the door to his dad’s shop he exclaimed. “Its party time dad! Fireworks! Music! Costumes!” Smiling, his dad boosted him onto his shoulders. “And nothing tastes better at a party than roasted Manimal on a bun, right buddy.”

  • Delilah drifted back to consciousness, her bed was so soft and warm. Her skin was basking in the heat of the strong, wild man beside her. Deep in the wilderness there was no judgment of a love like theirs. Out here Manimals and Humans lived harmoniously together surviving off the stubborn land. She smiled remembering how he had approached her slowly, not wanting scare her away with his large hairy form. Wrapping her arm over the large figure she nuzzled her face into his hairy back. It was just like her own, except she was part panther.

  • Media tries to dictate what we should wear, where we should eat and which recreational activities are “cool”. Being different does not fit in most society “norms”, but it does present a welcomed and refreshing diversion from the mundane drab sameness we see everywhere.
    She was not embarrassed of all that made her unique. In fact, she had confidence as she garnished her exceptionalities. She had a companion, closer than any friend, who whispered encouraging words of reassurance to her, perched so close to her ears that the voice was not audible to others. Her demure smile stirred wonder.

  • Kathryn Edgecombe March 24, 2014 at 8:52 pm

    I can tell that my imagination is about to get me into trouble again. In my mind’s eye I envision her as a mischievous little elf who sits on my head and whispers ideas into my ear. When I listen we often find ourselves in exotic places like India or a beach in Bali. Maybe it’s a hike deep into the woods alone where a careless step kept me in my tent for days. Sometimes I argue with her, try to expose the errors in her plan. Today, she holds out a glittering jewel; like a crow I reach for it.

  • Awe

    Lily Tomlin, in The Search for Signs of Intelligent Life in the Universe, announced that she was “doing her awe-robics”, as she bent to adore a dandelion bravely blooming through a crack in the city sidewalk.

    There is an opening, a rising and a filling up,
    Compelling, in this billowing moment,
    Filling my field, my aching desire for beauty
    And her urgent sister, freedom.

    Not an attribute but an animal, ranging
    Slurping the spoor of wonder,
    Throwing her head back, inflamed,
    Spiralling in unbound ecstacy
    She rides
    Howling laughing flinging
    In her remembered power,
    Unbroken

  • I have a secret deep inside of me.

    It’s a lovely secret. It puts a smile on my face.

    It’s the secret to happiness which is within me.

    I need to share this with the world.

    Happiness is yours to achieve. Let me show you how.

    Let me make you smile.

  • Inca Mother

    Llama Mama, melancholy,
    Gazing on the people,
    Do you mourn ?
    Worry we disregard
    The word of the lords,
    Of Inti and Viracocha;
    We have not learned.

    Will once again
    We turn to stone;
    Sink and drown
    In wickedness?

    Mama Llama, visionary,
    Looks your daughter
    To the skies ?
    Stars send warning,
    The wrath of Illapa
    Remembering:

    He cracked the great jug,
    Spilling the Milky Way
    Upon us; a deluge
    Of fire and rain.

  • Humans and animals are from the same life force even though they are from different species of living things. All living species takes on it own form, and is different in the sense of their reproduction a specific kinds. Nonetheless, Humans and all other living Species share the same space and energy on earth that created all of us in the first place, therefore, although humans are superior to all other living species, without these animals to share our space, world and life, our world would never be the same without this beautiful addition of the animals life among us.

  • Francine Fleming March 26, 2014 at 10:36 am

    “Get your grubby hands off! It’s art.”
    “Sez who?”
    “It’s art, I tell you.”
    “What d’you know ’bout art?”
    “I know. I studied art, back in school.”
    “Ya right, Picasso. The only thing you studied was pretty girls’ phone numbers. Now shut up and help me shift this junk.”
    Marty peered into her doe eyed gaze, longing to caress her porcelain neck. He could hear her, pleading with him, beseeching him to rescue her from certain oblivion and he vowed that he would, tonight, while the others played poker in the back office.

  • Gretel paced anxiously and looked at her watch. She hated art competitions . However it was now a way of life . In the early days it provided much needed exposure . Goodness knows a struggling newcomer could use the income now and then . But Tabitha was like her child. Part fawn, part baby , part circus attraction, she was dynamic .

    She removed her from the bubble wrap and gently kissed her cheek for good luck.

    The bell sounded the warning . Gretel placed Tabitha on her tiny stage and whispered , “You go girl ! ”

    The judges walked in as Gretel disappeared behind the curtain.

  • “They’re coming!” McVee announced to his mistress. The advancing shadow of the airship darkened his face. Thankfully the war was over. Time to go home.

    Now if only he could pry the Queen away from the hideous Semong, with their pointy plum-coloured noses and cauliflower ears! Somehow they’d endeared themselves to his charge, dancing suggestively like trained goblins on the other side of the transparent shield. Given a chance they would only eat her whole, but he didn’t have the heart to tell her.

    “I’ll miss them, McVee,” she said.

    “They’ll miss you more,” McVee said.

  • JENNIFER MOOK-SANG March 28, 2014 at 2:56 pm

    Oh my god, what is that?
    Like it?
    Where’d you get it?
    Yard sale.
    Why on earth did you buy that piece of junk.
    It reminded me of someone.
    Ha! Your mother!
    Well … A mother.
    What?
    Look at the eyes—they see everything and forgive.
    Hmmm.
    And that smile—complete acceptance and love.
    What about the red nose—drinks too much?
    No, she carries the ills of the family and suffers without complaint.
    What have you been drinking—?
    She reminds me of you.
    Oh … oh … well, I suppose she is kinda pretty, in her own way.

  • She has a smile like the Mona Lisa, mysterious, causing deep contemplation. It is a relaxed, calm smile revealing self-acceptance and deep inner peace. The very things that cause others to be curious about her, give her a tranquil assuredness.
    She has many visiting mediums: sprites, pixies, fairies, and cherubs that adore and strengthen her. They advise her of potential deceptions and the thoughts of others before they are revealed.
    These confidants nestle into her hat and remain as long as they are needed, then fly away leaving the space for the next visiting friend.

  • Andree Levie-Warrilow March 30, 2014 at 10:24 am

    You’re admiring my hat. Magnificent, yes?
    Well, I wouldn’t trade it with the Queen of Egypt.
    Sure, Nefertiti is beautiful – but consider the weight of that Royal head gear!
    Can I tell you a secret? We’re sisters. Both born from clay, midwifed by the Muse of Sculpture herself. Both boasting swan-like necks and hooded bedroom eyes.
    But beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, my friend. Nefertiti got the burden of ritual and rank bearing down on her; you can see the strain in her eyes and mouth.
    I got a happy Elf!
    No wonder I’m smiling.

  • Desmond E. R. Ottley March 30, 2014 at 3:35 pm

    To applaud, or not to applaud, was not the question!
    For surely it was evident
    The heights to which our satisfaction soared.
    For whether it were the clarion notes
    Of windblown instruments,
    Or lyres and other harp-like such,
    Or the alarum bells or clanging cymbals,
    Or dulcet tones of non-discordant
    And harmonious sound
    Which did proceed from simple human voices,
    From everywhere there came such sweet sounds,
    That even famed Tchaikovsky, were he there,
    Would utter humble tribute to the music;
    And skilful Bach, greatest of the greats,
    Would offer his own spontaneous praise,
    And say “Twas truly good.”

  • Large doeful eyes yearning to see the impossible
    Ears pricked forward listening, eager for any sign of acceptance
    Nose rubbed raw from pushing on the gates trying to become someone she can never be
    Curious elfin helper urging her forward to we know not where or why
    Ever present Mona Lisa smile-shy and accepting in the end, of her fate

  • “We are well know for our outlandish behaviour, I know that. But to look this different tonight? Why are we so weird?” Gimp asked, as he gazed at the jet black and starless firmament. “Speak for yourself mate. It was your idea to come along riding my hat butt naked” Blimp drunkenly murmured.

  • My mane binding me to my earthly roots; my soulful wandering truth placed upon a pedestal. I reach upwards ever hopeful to touch the firmament. I peer into the place of Creation, away from the hellish mortal servitude that defines what all Life is.

    This existence between heaven and earth, a choreographed dance set to a score of an intricate and intimate theatrical overture; composed by the universe. I am ever-mindful but eternal, grounded and forever connected to what is above, bound to my unrelenting awe. I am still.

  • Cecilia-Anca Popescu March 31, 2014 at 7:54 am

    I speak my mind
    and the words burst
    freely and purely
    like babies
    from their mothers’ wombs
    bringing joy to me and to the world.

    Sometimes one, the dearest to me,
    stays longer on my mind
    and transforms into a glorious idea.

    Then I share it with the world,
    still precious in its infancy,
    naked, unspoiled by conventional clothing.
    A satisfying warmth conquers my entire body,
    from my toes to the tip of my nose.

    My eyes shine
    and the smile blooming on my face
    makes me look different
    than the monotonous standard.
    A visionary.

  • Lady Giraffe

    Do you know who I am?
    Do you know what I’ll be?
    I know that I’m happy,
    But do I know me?

    My nose is so red,
    My neck is so long.
    I don’t have a body,
    I don’t have a song.

    If I were a cat,
    Could I chase rats?
    If I were a mouse,
    Would I live in a house?

    Perhaps I’m a clown,
    Perhaps I’m giraffe?
    My face doesn’t frown,
    Does my hat make you laugh?

    Shall I be human?
    Shall I be a tree?
    Shall I be a cake?
    Shall I just be me?

  • “This cannot be, I’ve looked at it from above and she has looked from below. There is no means by which it could exist. And yet, here it is before me.

    “She moons over it. I cannot see the sense. It is an emotion, and it causes an emotion, admiration for her, exasperation for me. Why would this be allowed?

    “And should I allow this to continue? She gets nothing accomplished in such a state.

    “Oh well, she gets nothing accomplished to my satisfaction anyway. Let it exist. Let there be love. Let it be.”

  • “It’s so noisy.”

    “Bitty, please,” she says, as she steps over the curb into the ring. “Mr. Barnum is going to cue us any second now. Concentrate.”

    “I’m smiling, just like you said. I’m waving too, but no one sees me, ‘cuz I’m too little.”

    “They will. Here we go.”

    Bitty screams, gripping the edge of the hat, as Momma pirouettes touching her flaming torch to the vertical circle. The lion runs toward them.

    “He’s going to eat us. Run!”

    “Keep waving.”

    Bitty shrieks, as the lion jumps past. “Can we go now? I think I just peed a little.”

  • REMINDER THAT OUR MARCH CONTEST IS NOW CLOSED. GOOD LUCK TO ALL WHO ENTERED!

  • Obviously, an inspiring piece, by a perceptive artist. Lookforward to seeing more of her work.

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