Green is my favorite color.
Red is my favorite color.
I like blue, too.
Give me the colors of the rainbow,
To shine on you!
TiffanyCreek
Month: January 2016
A Spanish Dance
You will find her in a garden,
in Andalusia,
Dancing the dance of Spain.
You will find her absorbed in the breeze,
Where the scent of the orange blossoms reign.
With sensuous fingers and hands,
As if grasping a ripe pear,
Gently, they trace her curvaceous form,
Moving high, into the air.
The arm undulates, to the ground.
Invisible fruit is released.
Mournful eyes of the dancer follow,
As her head inclines.
This is Flamenco,
A Spanish dance.
TiffanyCreek
Dedicated to my friend María, from Galicia,
who TRIED to teach me to dance Flamenco.
He who fights…
…with monsters might take care, lest he thereby become a monster; And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.
Friedrich Nietzche
“When I am dead, my dearest” by Christina Georgina Rossetti
“Twilight” Photo by GRB
When I am dead, my dearest,Sing no sad songs for me;Plant thou no roses at my head,Nor shady cypress tree:Be the green grass above meWith showers and dewdrops wet;And if thou wilt, remember,And if thou wilt, forget.I shall not see the shadows,I shall not feel the rain;I shall not hear the nightingaleSing on, as if in pain:And dreaming through the twilightThat doth not rise nor set,Haply I may remember,And haply may forget.
Community Portraits
Brothers
Man by the flag of the USA
Officers in Uniform
Photos by Dave Dreimiller, Hiram, Ohio
The Young Day
Winter arrived.
A speck on the ground.
Snow Strong.
Rain falling down.
The sky is warm.
Gray cold clouds, at bay!
Bare bone trees,
The morning’s hue,
Like a small boat,
Tow in the young day.
TiffanyCreek
The Beauty of Imperfection
In my youth, I made this calligraphy, “Dust of Snow”. My mom guided me in the process. Her love for the poetry of Robert Frost naturally influenced my choice of words. Having saved the original, she handed it over to me later in life. I cherish it for posterity. Beautiful in all its imperfection, it reminds me of who I was, and the person I grew to be today.
The Cistern
I followed the force of Love…
to the cistern,
Sitting high on the hill.
Underneath the windmill,
Which creaked in the breeze.
Its stone and brambles,
And eerie depths,
lured me in like a child falling into a well.
A place, where sticks and leaves fall to dwell.
Upon walking through snake infested weeds,
Plucking flowers on my return,
I made a bouquet for she who loved me.
No matter how far,
no matter how near,
no matter how often…
I climbed the hill to the cistern.
TiffanyCreek
On Tiffany Creek 