Poème 31

By Annette Marie Hyder
My lashes sweep down
a symphony of violin bows
strung with pieces of night
instead of mare hair.
My mouth is a bow too
but of a more martial kind
a red as dark as chocolate
with arrowhead kisses
dipped in Farenfew wine.
My pulse points are drums dressed
in thin skins of parfumé
they beat like moths
drawn to pheromone flame
and the song of the night swells up all around me
in the strains of the violin rain.
(NaPoWriMo day 30, poem 31)

Something beautiful for you to look at on this last Wednesday of April

The Underwater Fairytales of Andrea Franke, Snow White
I Woke
By Annette Marie Hyder
I woke in a strange and flowing land
sunk far below the sea.
My wooden floor had turned to sand
and it looked to me
that the curtains and wall hangings
had turned into seaweed…
(NaPoWriMo day 30, poem 30)
Underwater Fairytales, yes please!
This Conceptual Photography, via Fleur de Mal, is part of the ongoing project, The Sinking World of Andrea Franke.
From the press release:
“Plunge into the strange, surreal and mysterious world of award-winning visual artist Andreas Franke and experience his photographic Phantasy Fairytale underwater art exhibition at Huvafen Fushi and NIYAMA in the Maldives.
Each photographic piece has been submerged in the Indian Ocean and can be seen from inside the underwater music club Subsix at NIYAMA and inside the underwater LIME spa at Huvafen Fushi. Should you decide to purchase a piece to take home with you a percentage of proceeds will be donated to Per AQUUM’s Coral Regeneration Program. 
The exhibition magically combines photography, nautical exploration and digital mastery to produce compelling underwater dream worlds where Western fairytale characters are creatively superimposed against the backdrop of the Indian Ocean. Each photographic art piece evokes a feeling of folklore and magic with Snow White, Little Red Riding Hood and Star Money exhibiting at both NIYAMA and Huvafen Fushi, while the Snow Queen features exclusively at NIYAMA and The Last Unicorn features exclusively at Huvafen Fushi.”
FairytaleNewsBlog points out that the underwater algae and other microorganisms are encouraged to organically become part of the exhibits and that Andrea Franke is using the sea floor as his gallery. So love this!
You can read an interview with the artist and see videos of the project in the making at FairytaleNewsBlog.
I want to go! Don’t you?

The Queen, the Fool, and Old Two-face

“Scientific Gaps (No one else seemed to notice it, so she stepped right in…)” Digital Mixed Media by Alexander Jansson
I love this piece! It puts me in mind of not only childhood imagination in general but my daughter’s childhood imagination specifically. From the time my daughter was 18 months old till she was five she had a very intense and personal relationship with her dad’s (my ex-husband’s) artwork. Her dad’s ‘scupas’ (sculptures) were her friends. Even the creepy two faced 3-D piece — face contorted in fear on one side and snarled into a rictus of a fake smile on the other side — had a place in her heart.
In this photo she is getting up close and personal with Le Fou to give him a kiss of congratulations for winning a ribbon in an art show. She tried, on a regular basis, to entice the large bas-relief Reine des Coeurs (Queen of Hearts) that was in my bedroom to come down from her card and play with her. The card was larger than life and vibrantly colored. The queen would have been — if she did step out of her card — about the size of a ten year old. “Don’t be shy.” Jazzy would coax. “Come on,” she would coo, “come play with me!”
I guess she never really stopped having a special place in her heart for those sculptures because recently her dad sold the creepy two faced piece through a gallery to a collector in Florida — a piece that had stayed with him through the years — and you would have thought that Jasmine had been personally robbed of one of her most cherished possessions. How could he? “I would have put it right on my desk!” she insisted. The insult and the grief! It was as if that sculpture was a part of her.
And in a way, maybe it was/is? Perhaps those sculptures are primary influences that she feels still. She wouldn’t invite the queen to play with her now but she sure would keep her around, her and her many subjects from the kingdom of childhood imagination.

The rain makes a bouquet of my hair,

By Annette Marie Hyder

flowers just for you —

a tussy mussy of spirals spilling
down the vase of my neck.
I see you 
in my mind’s eye
take those flowers in your fist
flower-curls loop round your wrist
as you bring your mouth close to mine
lean in and, lips like a bee,
give me a honey-tipped kiss.
(NaPoWriMo day 28 poem 28)

Heart of the Wind

By Annette Marie Hyder

You are the bird that lit on my wrist,
my wrist heavily bandaged in falconing leathers
and closed-fist raised to the sky.
You are the bird who without leaving a scratch
plucked my heart as the wind for your flight.
(NaPoWriMo day 28, poem 27)

Sunday Things: This time when the rain blew in

By Annette Marie Hyder

This time when the rain blew in, it tried very hard to behave because it was a Sunday and it vaguely recognized that people still put a premium on the idea, glowing from having been rubbed repeatedly in passing through so many hands, of there being something special about a Sunday.

At first the rain had thought that Sundays were for punishment, a day to pay for all the sins committed though the week. Weren’t all the liquor stores closed of a Sunday? What more proof then could you need?
But the laughter and the way that people who were out and about had a gladness to their step made the rain reconsider that impression and come to the conclusion that people had made Sundays into cathedrals  — mind-cathedrals — and that all the grand edifices erected in the world thereafter were Johnny-come-latelys, facsimiles, poor reflections, of what Sunday really is to people — a special day glowing in different ways for each.
The rain is no respecter of the Sabbath but it decided to follow some of the older traditions of that old time religion and picked a sacrifice, a scapegoat, and poured all its godly energy out on me.
I am a lover of the rain and yet I am not pleased to be the unwilling recipient of its mark on the forehead of my home. There is a large leak now in the kitchen ceiling over the island counter that is right beside the kitchen window. I imagine the rain likes looking in that window and seeing how it channeled its power in a deluge right the heck over me.