Friday Fun: Tucked Away Cabins

I could sit and dream, read and think about writing forever in these picturesque landscapes and cabins.

Won’t you join me on the veranda? Cabin in the jungle, from Build Green.

This cabin has ecological credentials and is in fact a proper house, from David Coulson Design.

Never mind the cabin, I could do with this veranda and swing alone. From indulgy.com, copyright: L.M. Ragland

The one with the makeover, from Jenny’s Garden Shed DIY. Jenny, wherever you might be, can you come and do my garden for me? Living Vintage.com.

I don’t like roasted marshmallows, but I could imagine campfire stories with friends at this cabin, from The Shiny Squirrel.

Have I ever mentioned how much I like treehouses? From Tumblr.

Postliminary

Haibun Monday
For dVerse Poets we are writing a haibun based on a lesser-known painting by Van Gogh. For more information about this poetic form, please visit dVerse Poets Pub, where you will meet many talented poets of all ages, experience and taste. As for the title of the poem: ‘postliminary’ is the opposite of ‘preliminary’ – something that occurs after the fact.

Post-holidays, post-weekend, the party’s over, the curtains drawn.
Sweep floors, fold laundry, sigh over undone homework and chores. The clatter clutter glitter mutter of video games on a loop and on sufferance. I don’t want to be the mother that forbids. I don’t want to be parent with the unpopular principles, old-fashioned moans, the terror reign of rules.

I dream of a walk in autumnal country fields, swish-detour through the leaves. I dream of a time when you sought my company, when ‘Mama’ was spoken without reproach. Our laughter mingling, our hands meeting, grubby faces to be kissed. Tell me of your hopes, your fears, the mere dull niggle of the everyday. Debate a book, a film or life, open up your eyes and mind to breathe in all, to question but love. In front, the distant hum of the village, fattened to post-prandial languor. To the right the church tower is but a squiggle, the bell tone playful not grave. Ahead of us a horizon I want limitless and full of sunrays for you.

Like the fields we stretch
away to gold and gray. Look –
how near how far the change!

Jungle Tropics

room42.wikispaces.com

If I were there

timorous would encircle to describe me

with flutter-crawl of insect wings.

Milk-white skin best left to curdle

would be my hurdle in sweltering rays.

Foliage whisper would impinge

on my dreams with rumours wild.

Somersaults turned in haste to tinge my conscience.

 

I cannot understand

this rainforest calling in me:

relentless beat of fevered blood

faraway wonder

perfection untouched.

commons.wikimedia.com

Holiday Haikus

Silver mother-tongue:

winter nights are still too short

to share you with friends.

 

If you must pass too:

let the murmur of the snow

be your only guide.

 

Our Falcon-hut

hugs its icy green mantle

closer to its heart.

 

Shrill squawks of delight

our boys, your boys: who can tell?

Bundled-up snowmen.

 

If laughter ceases,

what is left? Bring more mulled wine!

Games room rings with us.

 

Inside the prison,

outside of the storm,

I am laughing.