Weekly Photo Challenge–Texture

This is my first time participating in WordPress.com’s Weekly Photo Challenge. The prompt is Texture, which is, along with color, at the top of my favorite’s when considering the elements artists carry in their “tool boxes.”

Texture is all around us–smooth, coarse, rough, silky, actual, implied…think of the importance of the sense of touch to a person who is visually impaired. Here are a few textures I noticed on our daily walk today in our neighborhood:

 

Photo: V. Slotto

Photo: V. Slotto

Succulent–a Haiku

though you seem prickly

smooth touch, each single petal,

but sharp on the tips.

 

 

 

 

Photo: V. Slotto

Photo: V. Slotto

Photo: V. Slotto

Photo: V. Slotto

Photo: V. Slotto

Photo: V. Slotto

Hibiscus–a Haiku

your color seduces,

showcases, contrasts sun’s dance,

look to the center.

 

Photo: V. Slotto

Photo: V. Slotto

Lava Rock

look what you’ve endured–

eons of harshness and heat,

borne through the ages.

Photo: V. Slotto

Photo: V. Slotto

Old Pick Up Truck

you’re always just “there,”

gathering rust and hist’ry

i want to know more.

Photo: D. Slotto

Photo: D. Slotto

A Pod

nature’s protection

keeping new life safe from harm.

can we say the same?

Photo: V. Slotto

Photo: V. Slotto

A Rose

silky, smooth petals,

drinking of dew, opening,

sharing her beauty.

 

N.B. I am new to the world of photography, though not of art or poetry.

 

 

Textures–dVerse Poetics

Today, I am honored to host Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub: http://dversepoets.com/  I chose to discuss one of my favorite art elements: texture. I hope you will join us at the pub–enjoy a drink, good friends and outstanding poetry.

Photo of Ascot (RIP) D. Slotto

Textures

About five-thirty
the morning of Friday before
day-light-saving-time,
light spills through blinds,
pools into discrete
silver puddles
at the foot of my bed.

Through the half-moon window
near the ceiling,
swatches of gray satin
unfurl across the sky.
Tears in the fabric
allow slices of blue to
peek through,
toss hope in my face.

In that shadowy space between
asleep and awake
ideas pelt my brain
so I can’t escape back into
my dream about the circus
where I rode barefoot,
standing on the rough coat
of a white mare.
I slip into awareness.

Cold smooth wood
greets my feet as I stand
and yawn.
My dog
shakes his silky fur, glares at
me for interrupting his dreams.

We stretch, enter the day,
touch life.

Today’s special at the bar: Margaritas…rimmed with salt to give you textural inspiration!

Painting Life–Poetry Potluck

Francois Detaille ok 0076

Image via Wikipedia

Painting Life

Were you to draw this life in black and white,
the lines would then be hard and not forgive—
no subtle shades to ease the journey’s plight.

With color’s tones and even tones of gray
the world assumes her nuances of grace—
the lights and shadows of our every day.

So you surrender paint and page and hand
unto the artful muse who lurks inside,
allowing her to guide your thought and pen.

You smear the brightest orange with yellow
taste the sweet scent of the fair Scotch Broom
and forge in black the loamy earth below.

Now play with texture to confuse one’s sense
and add perspective, draw the viewer in.
Create illusion to obscure pretense.

You will take risks when you engage in art,
allow your soul to bleed on canvas bare.
Be sure you understand this ere you start.

Submitted to Jingle’s Poetry Potluck where the theme for this week is ART!  http://jinglepoetry.blogspot.com

Old Folks at Play–Response to Monday Morning Writing Prompt

Truckee River Reno, Nevada

Image via Wikipedia

Old Folks at Play

“It’s been a while,” he said.

“Yep.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Don’t make me stop to think about it; I’ll find a reason not to.” I sat on the huge boulder along side the river and unlaced my tennis shoes. The rock was cold and hard, reminding me I was no longer young. My butt wouldn’t tolerate more than a couple of minutes of this.

“Remember when we used to sit here for hours, Chuck. Reading or dozing while we waited for the trout to bite?”

“Never did catch anything worth eating. C’mon, let’s do it.”

He reached for my hand, snuggled it securely in his calloused grip. Warmth and a sense of confidence settled in my old bones.

This is crazy. My rational self tossed out images: broken bones, snagged fish hooks, arthritic pain.

The rocks leading to the shore were rough. Grass and fox tails pricked my bare skin. Chuck tightened his grasp and I guessed he was toying with second thoughts too.

The first step into the Truckee startled  and I shrieked. Snow melt from the Sierra rushed over my feet then up the calves of my legs. The smooth stones soon gave way to muck that squished between my toes. A fish slithered against my ankles, its scales tickling my bare skin. I struggled to keep my footing.

Chuck turned to me and slipped his arms around my waist. I remembered how it used to be and then he pulled me to himself and blew softly into my ear.

“You’re not really thinking of…”

His mouth closed over mine to silence my doubts.

Two hours later, I helped him fold the blanket we’d spread out on the river bank. In my memory, I could still feel the crunching leaves beneath my body and the weight of my husband on top of me. Those little aches and pains that had been our constant companions for a good part of the last decade remained forgotten.

“You’re gorgeous, Agnes,” Chuck whispered.

I felt my pulse bounding in my head and caressed Chuck’s stubbly cheek. “Don’t let anyone tell us we’re too old, sweet stuff.”

That was when I noticed a gaggle of teenage boys, watching from a clump of bushes.

My response to the prompt for MMWP to write a poem or flash fiction that included texture. Check out other submissions at: https://liv2write2day.wordpress.com/2011/05/15/monday-morning-writing-prompt-texture/

Monday Morning Writing Prompt–Texture

Tree bark at f/2

Image via Wikipedia

I’ve been a docent at the Nevada Museum of Art for a few years and one of the elements of art that I enjoy exploring with the children I tour is texture. I ask them to enter the painting and tell me how something would feel if they could touch it–soft, smooth, fluffy or hard, rough, coarse? Hot or cold? I think sometimes the sense of touch is overlooked when we are writing sensory detail.

For today’s prompt, write a poem or flash fiction in which you feature at least one description of something with texture. You may find it fun this week to become more aware of the input your sense of touch offers to you and how it makes you feel.

Please include a link to your response in the comment section of this post and enjoy your sense of touch. However, if you visit a museum…please don’t touch the art! :0)