Russ McIntosh
Dual Vistas
Digital Photo Illustration
Response

Blue Sky
By Robert Haydon Jones
Inspiration piece

Inspiration Piece by Brian MacDonald

Sweetest Dreams

by

Brenda Moguez

Tell me a story of magical mice, princesses
a fairy, a wand, a castle in a land far away
with a kind king, a grizzly bear, a witch, a
book of spells and a girl with magic in her heart.

She can fly and speak Spanish, bake heart
shaped cookies–filled with bittersweet chocolate
and chopped walnuts–the breadth of a saucer,
perfect for dunking into ice cold two percent milk.

Have her sing lullabies and love songs only a
prince would know to sing for his maiden with
raven locks he finds walking alone in the forest
along the river carrying a basket of berries and wild violets.

Bed time now, close your eyes and fly away on the wings
of white doves as they sing their song under the blaze of
stars and a full moon, with only owls and wolves to
share the quiet under the blanket of a darkened sky.

Sleep little one, sleep until the sun is high in the sky
until the evening cold is burned away by the red, gold,
and amber rays of the mid-morning sun; sleep little one
until your dreams are finished, until the morning is clear.

In your dreams, you will meet magical mice, a fairy with
her wand in the castle guarded by a bear and a witch,
watching for the Prince and his fair maiden riding the grey
mare followed by the girl with a magical voice and a book of spells.

Sandy Coleman
“Elsewhere”
Response

The Map
By Laura Shovan
Inspiration piece

She emptied her son’s backpack

after the bus put up its wheelchair lift

and drove away, after she rolled him

up the ramp and through their front door.

Once there was a map in his backpack,

mirror image of the pale blue T-shirt

she had dressed him in that morning, freshly laundered,

now streaked with God-knew what.

The map of his shirt said a black smudge was finger paint

(it was nearing Halloween, his aide wrote,

they were doing spiders), green was grass from recess,

the glowing orange splotch – not a pumpkin –

Miranda “borrowed” a highlighter from the teacher’s pen jar,

drew a lopsided heart on his shoulder.

The brown was chocolate (they told Robbie

not to share his MnMs, but….)

When her son died, she thought about the map.

If he had worn a map on the last day, what would she know?

The spider and the grass, the misshapen heart,

chocolate melting on a quiet tongue.

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Electric Epiphany
By Anthony Valade
Response

There is a reason for them to create.

Attached their hands with string as I’m rigged into the storm, Closed their eyes and prayed with electricity flowing through each vein, As the storm’s rain poured down on to the skin, Burning from the inside, “This is a place we have never been.”

Her eyes contracting into the skull as she screamed into his mouth like a black and white movie that was never found.

Steaming, thoughtless, and lying on the ground whispering to the sky asking for another go. Then the clouds break into white shattered light descending towards their eyes and stops short.

The hearts skip one-one-two. On the bridge flipping back and forth, silhouettes flashing from the fantastic view.

The air roared vigorously throwing hair, spit, blood, and laughter around. It seemed like love even from this high up and looked like death in-between seconds.

They call their names with emotion pronounced by thunder bellowing in affection. The string digs in from every movement, from all the attention, down to the bone and past the cringing.

“This is erupted perfection, We can’t contain in coffins or remain in the ground, This life is ours to create, Ours to master, Let our fluid electricity own the sky and contemplate a new place, Let our hearts parade up. For we remain forever in the air above. We were made to create a thing called love.”

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NOTE:  All of the art, writing, and music on this site belongs to the person who created it.  Copying or republishing anything you see here without express and written permission from the author or artist is strictly prohibited.