Summer Night Dream

© Albert Bloch Summer Night 1913

Is it a monster over there
red and furry
eyes that stare and mouth
gaping, wide open.
Nothing is clear
just don’t go too near.

A crown lays in waste
upon cotton-wool roads
(maybe a toad-king lost it)

Mountains reach for
who knows where
sparklers of ice catch sun
or, are they moonbeams.

People
(if that is truly what they are)
seem lost also
pondering the scene

an oddly placed hand
hides sexuality
and yet
theirs is so ambiguous
as too, is this
summer nights dream.

~*~

© Daydreamertoo              *All rights reserved

*I read this about this painting and have to agree:

Summer Night is a purely poetic composition. Do not look at it as a picture; look at it as if it were, say, the drop curtain of a theatre, for then it would not seem at all strange, but on the contrary a very unusual and very beautiful curtain”

So, taking the pic for what it is, and the title being a bit like Shakespeare’s Midsummer Nights Dream I also went with the dream theme.

Shared with Magpie Tales#133 Art of Albert Bloch

Poets United Pantry #113

The Witch

Nine times she’d beaten her black and blue
(this would have to end)
after a secret refresh of her courage she
vowed there wouldn’t be a number ten.

White magic was also powerful
and with feelings laid so bare
she sought out books of
ancient alchemy
(the more to learn the craft)
and to shift herself into gear
then, she’d known what she had
to do to beat the vicious crone.

With a smooth and final shove
into the stinking peat
the evidence of even her bones
would be lost inside the stench
of other organic matter also
being gassed as the peat
covered her head.

At last, at last
the young white witch was free
now she would live in harmony
because

‘ding dong the wicked witch is dead.’

~*~

© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

I really liked this pic and have wanted to write something for it. The wordle words seemed to lead me on a witches brew path this week.

Peat is found in many wetlands but, my own experience with it comes from living in the Scottish Outer Hebrides where the islanders/crofters even today, dig it, cut it into slabs, dry it out and use it for fuel.

Shared with The Sunday Whirl #72