Untitled Art © Manon Doyle - Hoochie Poochie Studios
Visit her website to see additional artwork. And, her blog HERE.
The artist lives in Dublin, Ohio, and specializes in mixed media.
Visit her website to see additional artwork. And, her blog HERE.
The artist lives in Dublin, Ohio, and specializes in mixed media.
Artwork used with permission from Manon Doyle.
(From her journal pages)
12 comments:
Thank you for sharing, the art is great.
Night winds lull the flowers to sleep
As they bow their heads to the moon
For in her heart she will keep
Love’s sweet, melodic tune
[PS...I LOVE Manon's work!]
when all passes and leaves
the red alone will shine
upon me
beside me
within me
the red flowers
'They're coming closer, I must run!'
Greetings from London.
INDIGESTION
I had the strangest dream,
I think that's what it was
Cause it blatantly ignored
Scientific well known laws.
In my garden leafless stalks
Held a single rounded bloom
And a crescent moon ascended
Inside my living room
I hope it was a dream,
And not some weird disease,
It could have been that sandwich
Made from Sheila's greenish cheese
Hi Nancy,
Thanks for using one of my journal pages. This happens to be one of my favorites. I love reading the poems that my fellow bloggers are writing.
My pleasure, Manon AND Otis:)
Love Manon's life-work-art...
her eyes, her eye to the soul, & all.
Contemplating the hue
of poppy, slim fingers
fidget with shadow hair.
A crescent moon above
illuminates the wind's
writing on the wall,
as it smolders
in silent words on
a simple dress.
Beyond the realm
of thought, a
plastic heart melts
from the flames
of coherence,
their fumes orientate
dry tears.
Eight panes
across eight lanes;
the lines drawn
to be crossed.
Hi
I love your blog, so much poetry. Also love the work of art, so beautiful.
They only come out at night,
at a crecent moon,,,
my special night flowers.
I touch their blossoms.
They listen.
They know my secrets.
I have walked among them before. They have seen my tears, they have wittnessed my torn heart, they keep my secret.
Night flowers follow me like shadows. They comfort me.
tweedles (mom)
A lovely, ethereal quality to the art - beautiful. I wonder what her story is?
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