Freed to Love

catwoman-wow1She wasn’t a beauty in the
perceived physical sense


she was perfectly beautiful.

No, she wasn’t without flaws,

(for, none of us are)

she was perfectly perfect for
the hearts made to love her
in all that she was


when her eyes gazed into mine
I saw the universe through her soul and
knew without doubt she had freed my own
from its eternal quest to know true love.


©Daydreamer *All rights reserved

I want

ButterflyonhipI want

To feel sunshine on my
back as I go forth into
future times.

I want

to leave dark shadows behind
and bathe in the beautiful light
of universal love.

I want

my ears to hear natures
own sweet music and feel
her notes sweep over
the peace of
my soul.

I want

to be the lightest feather
on the tip of a wing
that soars.

I want

to live as gay and free
as a butterfly dancing
on the hip of
naked life.


©Daydreamer     *All rights reserved

Life should all be so simple…really.

It’s a kind of Magic

© Curtis Wilson Cost, Midnight Snack 1984

Hush now…
he paints the scene

One star in the sky

nothing  disturbs the surround sound
of nature’s own murmurings

the old house creaks
through the quiet hours

unless someone wakens to
break the dream

it’s a kind of magic.


© Daydreamertoo    *All rights reserved

Shared with Magpie Tales #139  Art of Curtis Wilson Cost
Carry on Tuesday #177 It’s a kind of magic

Love Sick

© Jan Steen, Sick woman 1665

‘It’s nothing serious’
the good doctor said
as she as she sat there
pillow for head, rest of body

She can’t eat
can’t sleep
can’t think
can’t focus on her chores

even the cuckoo clock
thinks she’s slightly gone
and lost the plot

‘My child, my child’
the doctor chided
‘I can find nothing physically
wrong with you
methinks it must be love.’

At which the teen
flushed and smiled.


© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

Apparently in the write up I read about this, the artist painted this a little bit tongue in cheek. If you enlarge the picture you’ll see she has a smile on her face and he himself referred to it as the woman being ‘love sick’….so, I went with that.

Shared with Magpie Tales #138 Artist Jan Steen, Sick woman, 1665

Venus and the Sailor

© Salvador Dali Venus and the sailor

Is she there to tease his senses
drive him crazy as he sails
the celibate salty seas.

Venus Goddess of love or, of torment.

Are you the dream he longs for
does he really hold a woman
in his hand

Which is the smooth operator
and anyway

My mother used to say:
‘Never marry a sailor’
(not that I ever would)
when asked why she’d simply reply
‘Because they usually have
a girl in every port.’

I wonder.


© Daydreamertoo           *All rights reserved

Shared with Magpie Tales #135

A Woman Being Played

two parts of the road as a whole © Borg de Nobel

I never knew my father
He died before I was old enough to
have too many memories
but, my mother told me he could
play a piano accordian like an expert.
Although he’d never been taught
he learned to play by ear
and, just as an elephant never forgets
neither did he.

He’d pick it up and music would
soon flow as he’d squeeze it
and, like a woman being played
would make those bellows sing.

*My father died at aged 27. I was two and a half.

Shared with dVerse Poets Poetics: Paintings of Borg de Nobel

Dirty old Town

© Adolphe Valette 1912

Smoke rises from the old barge
to merge with early morning fog
which will stubbornly refuse to yield
to days later warm-sun burn off.

He liked coming here to watch
the barges pass by.
It was his place to find
calm amidst an urban chaos.

He could reflect upon the
other reflections in a world
of passing strangers where,
he too wouldn’t be thought
strange for thinking
modern vehicles hideous
and new industry too extreme.

He was a Victorian man
living in a new age
aware the barge was London bound
but they could keep that ever
thriving metropolis
he loved his dirty old town.


© Daydreamertoo          *All rights reserved

The Title Dirty old Town is taken from an old folk song about the city of Manchester, which inspired the painting, and became famous in the 1950’s and 60’s sung by various artists including Rod Stewart.

Shared with Magpie Tales #131 Art of Adolphe Valette Under the Bridge 1912
Poets United #Pantry #111

A dinner table at night

The maid had cleared the table
and it was just as well
for, you could cut the atmosphere
with a knife.

Keeping the poise befitting a lady
she tried hard to hide her mood
but so far, it wasn’t working.

Nothing could convince her
through all his smoke and mirrors

His willingness to work so many
hours overtime
The complete change in his character
so cavalier now
He was not at all the man
she’d married.

nothing would convince her
that he wasn’t having an illicit affair
perhaps more than one, maybe two
After all, his patients seemed to
fall for his magnetic charm
just as she had once too.

There was something very different
about him lately
She couldn’t quite put her finger
on what it was, but when she did
woe betide him!
She’d be sure to divorce herself
from this Dr Jekyll and
whatever he was trying to hide.


© Daydreamertoo                *All rights reserved

As this artist also painted Robert Louis Stevenson (thought to be while he was in the process of writing the Dr. Jekyll & Mr Hyde story, Although I know it isn’t, I thought it might be a nice twist to have this painting by John Singer Sargent called ‘A dinner table at night’  be about the Dr Jekyll character and his wife.

Shared with Magpie Tales #129 Painter John Singer Sargent

Yesterday’s Dreams

Yesterday’s Dreams © Jack Vettriano

Light blows in through the thin net
as she breathes out her sadness.

Yesterday’s dreams
are now, just that.
Gone up in smoke
along with her cigarette’s.
(The prop she does her best
to hide behind.)

Unkempt hair.
Long tresses hang loose
but, she doesn’t care
A beauty left pondering
life’s often bitter blows
behind comparative seclusion
of the lace, iron-curtain.

It could have been
should have been
would have been


the chance is gone
along with yesterday.


© Daydreamertoo     *All rights reserved



*This is just my interpretation of the pic. I see her as being perhaps, resigned, melancholy,  sad.

Shared with Magpie Tales #126  ‘Yesterday’s Dreams’ by artist  Jack Vettriano

The Artist

© Jean-François de Le Motte Still Life

In love’s first fresh bloom
her letters were fragrant
from her favourite perfume

sealed with wax against
prying eyes, lest they
read of her deepest desire.

She was Helen to his
ardent Paris
long after she’d ended
their illicit affair
he cannot let her go.

He paints her in cameo
along with lists and
book of Troy they once shared
with hurried scribbles
on paper scraps she then sent
but they are all things that matter
because it’s still life and
this, he treats as
his altar.

He paints it all upon canvas
until satisfied
her words are now immortal.


©  Daydreamertoo              *All rights reserved

Shared with Magpie Tales #121


Sculpture by Leonardo da Vinci


A sudden streak of lightening
burst through the open wood shutters
of his studio
its flash hit the sculpture square on
quickly followed by a loud crash of thunder.
The surprise caused the elderly man
to miss-strike with the hammer and chisel.

He saw it pierce and split his skin
and knew there would also be a bruise
come morning.

Too on edge to sculpt anymore
but the night was still yet young
his old bones groaned at the crouch
as he picked up then shook a layer of dust from
pieces of parchment which lay in a crumple
on the cold stone floor
and, without missing a beat
of wasted time
Leonardo lit more candles
and ‘neath their flickering glow
proceeded instead
to draw.


© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

As soon as I saw the Sunday Whirl words, I knew I wanted to find an artist but because of the word chisel, someone who also did sculpture too. Who better than Leonardo da Vinci. A remarkable genius with so very many talents.   Leonardo da Vinci

Shared with Poets United Pantry #101
The Sunday Whirl #59  12 random words. Make a poem with them.  This is a lot of fun each week. If you haven’t ever paticipated, please join in.

Through a Child’s Eyes


Simple morning chores all done
she was drawn by the metallic tinkle.

To a jingle-jangle of sound
which echoed so clear.
It was sweet, sweet
music to her ears.

Such a beautiful noise
drowned the gurgling sound
of water swirling at her feet.

The chimes were not placed
there through error though.
As with most of the small
Himalayan village
her papa is a fisherman
and he’d placed them
there to please the Gods.

To ask them for their blessings.

In awe
…she hesitates
wishing so to own.
To covet their music-bringing-joy


as if to show displeasure
at being thought a toy
to her surprise
a sudden gust arrives
and blows the chimes just
out of the young child’s reach.

shaken by this
to vindicate herself of
anymore such selfish thought
of ownership
she gives thanks instead for their sharing
and offers a silent prayer.


© Daydreamertoo           *All rights reserved

The prompt by Dani today at Poetry Jam was to use art/painting for our inspiration.
I wanted to write something to do with Tibetan wind chimes and, Googling it came across this artist’s stunning work. He has so many lovely paintings at his website.
Wai Ming

Shared with Three Word Wednesday: CCLXXIV Jingle, Error, Vindicate
Poetry Jam Painting a picture with words

Separate Lives

Image © Edward Hopper House At Dusk

Sun slinks low to the horizon
giving leave for darker shades
of dusk to arrive.

Trees rustle their conversations
with all manner of inhabitants
muted, to suit the dying of light.

The steps take us up into
another world.
One where,
we may not wish to go in
the dead of night
but, the street lamp
offers a quiet glow of courage.

Light plays across cold-stone walls
of the old house
softening their intimidating depth.

If walls could talk
what would they say about those
hearts they’ve known?

For all its rooms the house
is empty
save a woman, who waits.

Maybe she has always been
isolated in that one room
looking at its four walls but peeking
at the world outside every now and then

just as we all tend to live in our separate boxes
leading our own separate lives.


© Daydreamertoo *all rights reserved

*I wanted this to be a bit on the dark side because the painting seems somewhat dark and lonely too.

Shared with Magpie Tales #119 Edward Hopper House at Dusk Painting.


Alphonse Mucha

Look at those eyes!
You just know for sure
they won’t ever tell you lies.

An intense stare
she shows you her dreams
in thoughtful pause
before preparing to dance.

With subtle nuances
here and there
fingers touch her cheek
as if to say:
‘Let me daydream for two
more minutes, please.’

The flower stem
is almost forgotten
(but, not quite)
as she remembers to
keep a tenuous hold of
its beauty because it
reminds, she too is
a beauty.

Life as a gypsy is hard
and yet she is proud
of who she is and
from whence she came.

She doesn’t care for all
your airs and graces
for there is a purity
in belonging to her clan.
She  knows the history of her
bloodline heritage
of who and what
she is and, has no need of
ever wearing shame.


© Daydreamertoo                *All rights reserved

This is my interpretation of the picture. One of my great-grandparents was Romany so, I feel a certain kinship with them.

Shared with:  With real Toads The Czech Art Nouveau painter and decorative artist Alphonse Mucha

Andy Warhol

They could all be soldiers
lined up there
in red and white uniform
all staring in the same direction.

Stand aaaaaaat ease.’

If you’ve seen one
you’ve seen ’em all.

Maybe O.C.D. would not
allow for variation

after all, it wasn’t Heinz 57
variety isn’t always the
spice of life


I never did see why
anyone could like
tomato soup.


© Daydreamertoo *All rights reserved

The photograph and his famous one of the cans of tomato soup made me wonder if Andy Warhol had some type of O.C.D

Shared with Magpie Tales #106