An Artist, Photographer, Writer, Poet

Category Archives: Imaginary Garden with Real Toads Poetry

Two Eagles watching goslings napping


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Goslings napping, parents aware of Eagles across the pond


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black velvet pansies
this years delight
bright magenta blooms startle
coffee and cream pansies soothe
bleeding hearts favorite of neighbor
each time he walks by
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five families of Canadian geese
… no passport required …
Mill Pond for swimming and lessons
then nap time for all,
dad watches the sky
two eagles watching goslings napping
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men with cameras big as tanks
looking for eagles,
not goslings playing at feet
others with easels painting far mountains
in her own world
hubby grabs a book then dozes in sun
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first time sighting: egret at top of tree
tourists scan horizon ~ never over head
no sign of geese or goslings ~ gone in hiding
people from away escaping summer heat
for me and my feathered friends
Goldilocks DownEast summer

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Prompt: joyous discoveries you’ve made so far this summer
for Imaginary Garden with Toads


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(c) May 27, 2012 Ellsworth, Maine, USA … Sigrid Saradunn
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The prompt:  wisteria 
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Wisteria vines climb by twining their stems either clockwise or counterclockwise
 round any available support. 
They can climb as high as 20 m above the ground and spread out 10 m laterally..Symbolic Wisteria Meaning:

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Flora records indicate wisteria has been known to live up to 100 years and even older
 (there is a 1200 year old wisteria tree in Japan). 
It’s long-life bestows the symbolic meaning of immortality and longevity to the wisteria. 
European families mark the ages of generations passing with the growth of this vine, 
and so it makes sense the vine embodies an essence of immortality 
(as fathers and grandfathers tell their sons of stolen kisses beneath the same wisteria 
that grew during the day of their great grandfathers).

A great wisteria (藤, fuji) blossoms at Ashikaga Flower Park in Ashikaga, Tochigi, Japan. 
The largest wisteria in Japan, it is dated to c. 1870 and covers approximately 
1,990 square meters (half an acre) as of May 2008.
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Wisteria by Sigrid Saradunn
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Wisteria

I loved the sight 
of your blooms
falling over each other
covering the house I drove
by each spring.
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I’d wonder,
how long would it take
to grow so huge a vine,
covering the house into 
the heavens.
Amazing.
Just amazing.
Mother Natures 
flower show.
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And then,
and then…
Oh, my goodness,
I drove by and you
were no more.
Chopped to the ground 
by painters.
They couldn’t have
known what they
killed…
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Wisteria

I loved the sight 
of your blooms
falling over each other
covering the house I drove
by each spring.
You are no more.
You were not
even mine 
but
I grieve your 
loss
year ’round
as I drive by….
the house now 
bare and plain
without
the beauty shared
each May
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(C)  May 27, 2012 Ellsworth, Maine, USA… Sigrid Saradunn

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.the imaginary garden with real toads


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blogspot.com

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Sunday 

“the treadmill hours” *

the dreaded day 

of  

“what do people do 

on Sunday”

…. a sort of 

spin your wheels

kind of day

for me 

as a child 

and 

early teen.

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We didn’t

go to church

tho I knew 

people did every week.

Read 

the Sunday comics…

after Dad read 

the paper first.

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Mother

had a plan 

for

Sunday meals

it seems….

I laugh now,

 but it was normal

back in the day.

For a few weeks 

or 

months…

it seemed 

like months

 in my memory,

baked chicken, 

then 

yummy roast 

with

potatoes, carrots 

and onions

all

baked  together

til 

brown and delish.

.

remember 

wondering 

about what 

“other people” 

did on 

“treadmill hours Sundays”…

Reading 

in my room,

or watching sports 

on tv with Dad

(we got a tv 

with rabbit ears

when I was 10

or 11.

.

At first I was bored, 

 but got to

love 

the Milwaukee Braves,

Green Bay Packers 

and 

professional bowlers tour 

(that

might have been 

on Saturday…

so long ago 

it was).

 

Treadmill hours Sundays,

my first thought 

of  any Sunday

that I could remember 

a specific

memory.

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Times changed.

I changed.

But 

when I’m at a loss 

for what

to do

…like today…

I remember,

Sundays 

were always a puzzle 

for me…

wondering what is it 

that

others do,

and why 

are Sundays

 so important

that 

what ever people DO 

on Sundays,…

why

 can’t they do it 

on Mondays,

or Tuesdays…

ANY 

day

 of the week.

Sigh

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*The “treadmill hours” phrase is credited to

Hedgewitch at “Lifesentences” … it gave a name to those days

of wondering during my childhood of what DID

people do on Sundays.  Please read her post at:

HTTP://VERSISCAPE-LIFESENTENCES.BLOGSPOT.COM/2014/04/SUNDAY-SPACE.HTML

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YOU ARE AMONG TOADS

“Think as I think,” said a man,

“or you are abominably wicked;

you are a toad.”

And after I thought of it, I said,

“I will, then, be a toad.” ~ Stephen Crane

 

You are among toads

 

 


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1962 High School Graduation photo…my mental mirror image
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mirror oh mirror

who’s that old lady
in the glass ?
She seems at home
… friendly too.
Cat with a 
white Chaplin ‘stache
by her side…
she who said
“never will I be
an old lady
surrounded
by cats”.
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A strange person 
is looking out at me.
Short gray hair, 
no auburn curls in sight
Round and fluffy
not the younger slimmer
woman that used
to live here
back in the day
she left one day
and never
returned.
.
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Cataracts now gone,
what a vision
of a stranger then,
a clearer vision
seen in the glass, 
mirror oh mirror…
of the stranger come 
to roost.
Can’t be ~ is be
a stranger in the house.
The eyes look the same
now…
the stranger is missing
her fashion rims 
of blue or purple
how can that be.
.
.
Sigh
mirror oh mirror,
the stranger in the glass
seems here to stay.
Don’t know when she
arrived, 
just all of a sudden
an old lady …
she tells me that middle
age is when you can 
multiply your age by two
and think you’ll still
survive.
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The old lady in the glass
mirror oh mirror, 
says for me to forget
middle age…
it whizzed by unseen
in the mirror.
One hundred forty 
seems to be a bit
extreme
for a middle age 
to dream of.
Sigh
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Big Sigh.
Old lady in the glass,
mirror oh mirror,
speaks with 
wisdom
beyond 
her 
thinking
of being
thirty five
in her 
heart of hearts
and 
soul of souls.
BIG SIGH
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September 22, 2012 at the Common Ground Fair
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YOU ARE AMONG TOADS

You are among toads
“Think as I think,” said a man,
“or you are abominably wicked; you are a toad.”
And after I thought of it,
I said, “I will, then, be a toad.” ~
Stephen Crane
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” Monkey Business”‘  photo (c) Jennifer MacNeill

Artistic Interpretations with Margaret –

“The Collector” through the lens of Jennifer MacNeill

http://jmacneillphotography.com/

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Holidays, birthdays, anniversaries

are some of the occasions in which

 gift giving occurs.  

Most of us have certain belongings

we cherish, not for their financial value,

but for the memories they evoke.  

A few of us have gotten rid of things

for the opposite reason. ..

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We all display about our homes

a few of our favorite things,

but what happens when we

discard them or well,

they “outlive” us?

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At

the top

of the attic

stair well

on a shelf

Grandma’s toys 

for all to see. 

I wonder,

when I visit

that house,

with everything

still in it’s place,

what

grandma  was like

as a little girl.

No one seems

to   know

or if they do

what is the

SECRET

no one will

talk about

even

now ?

.

Her

Photos

sort of look

like a neat

and prim

me…

ha !

THAT

will be the

DAY

neat and

Prim

ME

!

.

Her toys,

so clean

after all these years.

Were they loved

and carefully

played

with?

and

not

for 

show ?

Maybe

gifts

that

needed

to be

fussed over

when the

“giver”

visited.

.

Did grandma

have names

for them

…. talk to them

like they were

her

children

and call

“goodnight

to them

at bed time.

.

The monkey

has no music to play ?

Did the music sound

like noise and

annoy her mother

and disappear.

 Or a sibling

hide the music box

and

it was

never

thought of

to be found again.

Family mystery …

what grandma

was like

when she was young.

Sadness

overwhelms  me

when I think

that I only knew

grandma

when she was old

and cranky.

Her photos

show a neat young girl,

with wavy hair

pulled back in a ribbon…

and a pretty smile.

I

wonder ~

if she ever

climbed a tree

or got dirty and dusty

playing like

other kids.

.

Toys on a shelf.

Like that was

their life.

Show pieces

not play pieces.

I

wonder.

Always there,

it seems

and kept

for the ages ~

if back in the day

grandma

ever made up a  

story,

just for herself,

about her

toys on a shelf ~

to give them

each a life.

The toys

aren’t talking.

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“MuM” ‘s the word.

“Monkey Business”

 the name of the game

 families play

 instead of

“I’ve got a Secret”

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the imaginary garden with real toads

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Home to more than 236 types of birds…

http://scenery.cultural-china.com/en/113Scenery8538.html

Red Beach, Panjin, China

Red Beach is located in the Liaohe River Delta,

about 30 kilometers southwest of Panjin City in China.

The beach’s unique color is caused by a type of plant

called Suaeda vera or Shrubby Sea-blite 

which is a coastal species that flourishes in the saline-alkali soil.

The plant remains green during the summer but in the fall,

 when the plant has matured, it takes on a deep red color

creating a stunning red sea landscape.

Most of Red Beach is a nature reserve and closed to the public.

Only a small, remote section is open to tourists.

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Natures Wonder
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Red Beach, Pajin, China
a magical scene
at first sight
that could be anywhere
in the world ~
a sea of flowers
blueberry fields in winter
in Maine
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a joyful scene
full of life
the 236 types of birds,
the stunning blue sky,
and
the immediate questions:
wanting to know
where it is
and how do I get
there NOW
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a protected scene
guarded for the future
generations ~
for it is NOT just anywhere,
but a protected preserve
for plants and wildlife
A special unique
creation of nature
A special treat
for all the senses
to rejoice in.
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And when I look
at fields of red
I will remember
this crowning jewel
of nature
giving thanks
it will be treasured
for all generations
to come
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You are among toads

“Think as I think,” said a man,
“or you are abominably wicked; you are a toad.”
And after I thought of it,
I said,
“I will, then, be a toad.” ~ Stephen Crane
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© Sigrid Saradunn.    1960’s  Puppet Political Protest: Bread and Puppet Museum, Glover, VT.

Protest puppets stored in a 150 year old barn/museum. A do it yourself tour .. and don’t forget to turn out the lights 🙂  ♥

For more history of the puppets and museum:  http://breadandpuppet.org/museum

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The “real toad”  challenge for today is to write one’s  own protest piece.
It can be serious or silly, form or no form. The choices are up to the writer,
but give a voice to something   you are passionate about.
As always please make it a piece  original to this challenge. .
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From my Soap Box:
Independence for All
Getting old is not for sissies . . .
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When is middle age ?
When is old age ?
How old is the observer
seems to be the clue.
..
At 32, I was told
“you get around well
for your age.”
The “compliment”
comes
from a 19 year old
exercise “expert”
at the gym.
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My rallying cry:
Never let them see you sweat,
never admit to anything
THEY can’t see.
First you stoop and then you droop
getting old is chicken poop.
Never let them see you sweat,
never admit to anything
THEY can’t see.
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When I’m fifty,
my daughter thinks
I’m almost ready
for “the home”
and need supervision. 
“Middle age
is not the time” I say.
.
Sigh.
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I realized a while back
that two times fifty
is one hundred.
Almost past “middle age”
in my maternal
and paternal genealogy !
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I’m the Queen of Denial,
I admit…
but it’s my story
and I’m sticking to it.
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Now I know
why my mother
never admitted
to over 49
and
came to seemingly
believe it. .
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My rallying cry:
Never let them see you sweat,
never admit to anything
THEY can’t see.
First you stoop and then you droop
getting old is chicken poop.
Never let them see you sweat,
never admit to anything
THEY can’t see.  .
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The time has come
my children  
are becoming the age
it was thought
I was ready
for THE HOME.
.
My son caught on,
and
says he now is
older than I.
.
He’s in his forties,
and I’m 39.
.
My rallying cry
is patiently waiting
for the one
who thought I was ready
for THE HOME at fifty. 
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For when she’s fifty,
I’ll remind her,
it’s time to live
with your children at least
or
get ready for THE HOME.
When she’s out looking
for the mind she’s “lost”
she can look for mine too…
absent-minded
runs in the family,
for sure.
(she’ll find it’s not fatal,
just time consuming,
looking for things put
“some place safe.” )
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My rallying cry:
Never let them see you sweat,
never admit to anything
THEY can’t see.
First you stoop and then you droop
getting old is chicken poop.
Never let them see you sweat,
never admit to anything
THEY can’t see.
.
Do what is needed
to keep free and happy.
Join the crowd of being safe…
And when it is suggested
that a cane or a fall
is a “sign from above”
that it is time to move
and live dormitory style
for the rest of your life.
.
Protest loudly
and DO WHAT IS NEEDED
to help yourself and others
be INDEPENDENT
as long as they can.
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My rallying cry:
Never let them see you sweat,
never admit to anything
THEY can’t see.
First you stoop and then you droop
getting old is chicken poop.
Never let them see you sweat,
never admit to anything T
HEY can’t see.
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And when you can,
remember the quote,
your parents told you,
and you passed along:
“Just wait til you have children”  ?
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This must change
with every dire threat to:  .
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“Just wait.
It won’t be long
til you’re the age I am now.
Just wait and see.
You’ll change your tune.” .
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Hold your ground and smile.
They’ll change their tune soon enough.
.
My rallying cry:
Never let them see you sweat,
never admit to anything
THEY can’t see.
First you stoop and then you droop
getting old is chicken poop.
Never let them see you sweat,
never admit to anything
THEY can’t see.
.
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You are among toads

“Think as I think,” said a man,
“or you are abominably wicked;
you are a toad.”
And after I thought of it,
I said, “I will, then, be a toad.”
~ Stephen Crane