Wine Bottles Made Into Wall Art

20190228_090253.jpg

Round and Round

Side by side

above and below

Green

White

Blue

Brown

Bottle after Bottle

Layer over layer

A piece of art

Became a show

Once the sunlight

Made them glow

 

If you love photography and challenges connected with Dutch foes the Photo and join the party which has been going on for three years. Meet other artist and follow their show. Thank you for stopping by. I’ll try to come by and peek to see what you been creating. Have a wonderful week. Blessings. Lidia

 

 

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Worlds Under My Feet

IMG_20180429_001501_410.jpg☄UNDER MY FEET☄°
°
Like footprints,
Bones wrapped
In lace, appeared
As If a gift
Been left
For me
To unearth
By photo edits.

Strange things
Air bubbles
Make when
Caught by
Drastic fallen
Temperature
In moving
Water.

Next time,
You discover
The gift from
Mother nature
Under
Your feet
Before it’s
Forever gone
°
☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄

IMG_20180428_082707_132.jpg☄UNDER MY FEET☄
°
Frozen beauty
Captivated me
Wishing a
Microscope
Near me
Not to see
Life or
Death, but
Patters and
Designs
Created by
temperature
Water
And time
°
☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄

IMG_20180427_153416_101.jpg UNDER MY FEET☄

°
From
My eyes
To my feet
An inconspicuous
Frozen world existed
unbeknownst to me.
°
When
Sunlight
Illuminated
My slippery path
An intangible Voice
cried-out, “Photograph me.”
°
After
Editing light
Contrast and color,
My heart skip a beat,
Slowly, hidden Galaxies
Revealed themselves to me.
°
☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄☄

From: night garden — MYMonkey MIND ( MYMM)

Think in the morning. Act in the noon. Eat in the evening. Sleep in the night. William Blake

via night garden — MYMonkey MIND ( MYMM)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

MYMonkey MIND’s posts send my creativity to a place where fictional story clips come alive. Here’s a flash fiction story which developed from the painting above.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

On a dark and gray day, she entered my coffee shop refreshing the atmosphere like a spring bouquet. Her brown hair framed her oval face and her marble light brown eyes shined with delight. She didn’t appeared any older than twenty-nine.

With every move she made, strokes of blush, silky rose printed on my black, mourning heart.

She placed her order, medium, coconut milk latte.

The cup I held shook. I cleared my throught, then asked. “Your name?”

With a smile and her right eye-brow raised she said, “Margie.”

As I wrote on the cup, I thought, have I met her before?

With her coffee in hand she made her way to the door, stopped and took a sip. A soft yellow light enter my shop. Her silhouette defined  her curves.

A shiver came over me as if wet snow had splashes on my bare chest. There for a second, her frame reminded  me of my lat wife, gone for a year.

Margie turned around, tilted her head and said, “I’ll return tomorrow, same time for the same latte order.”

My heart fluttered like a bird inside my chest. Life pump back into my thirty-five year old body as if I was a teen again. A desire see Margie tomorrow caused my hands to sweat. The longing for my high-school sweetheart diminished as the stranger walked away.