N- naughty but delightful

note: some may find the images borderline provocative or evocative – peruse at your own bemusement, for amusement?

Naughty, by definition, implies impropriety, rudeness, raciness or bawdiness.

image sourced from Pintrest

image sourced from Pintrest

Is is not fair to say that for those of a thinking, inquisitive mind and nature, that it would be considerable in our estimation to decide for ourselves?

Unfortunately society seems to dictate where our attentions lie, to where we turn our eye, a glance, a longing gaze, an out-right hard lingering stare. It amuses me that by virtue of our calculations, we advertise and target-market using provocation and suggestions evocative of sexual fantasy, and yet, by our standards we are rather Victorian in our prejudices and pride.

 

 

 

image culled from Pintrest

image culled from Pintrest

Dream time   fantasy worlds   mystical minds   meld   polite by day   naughty by night   or rather   night-night   naughty two   meet me in my dreams   I’ll reveal   all my secret   suggestive seductions   rather than chance it   by the sun’s stroke   or gamble with Luscious Lady Luck   at dawn’s crack   smack it not back   but rather   adorn myself   in costumed affair

image sourced from Pintrest

image sourced from Pintrest

 

How do you perceive “Naughty” – what is your indulgence?

Existing within the realms of the fantastic, sheer opulence, wicked decadence, or prudently provocative?

 

 April A-Z Blogging Challenge

 

M- Gaia

Pintrest image

Pintrest image

 

Madam of the Magnificent

Her Majesty’s court -

Mandamus issued -

timeless.

Respect her Magnitude -

for She offers solitude

and peace

or maelstrom.

Her Mantle maps

Mosaics -

Munificent or Mournful -

depending on mind.

Maidservant not -

Maestro Mistress

Manifest in Mystery -

Shrouded not.

                           Mother.

 

 M: Mother Earth -  Blogging A -Z April Challenge

 

L- laundry list

image culled from Pintrest

image culled from Pintrest

Fibers are fantastic in wealth and combinations, especially as new means of production and exciting possibilities are available with such creative uses for recycled materials. Upon reflection though, I wonder if in our zeal to “clean up” our acts, we aren’t perhaps going a bit far – it’s all fine and well to think outside of the proverbial design zone, but wearing garments fashioned out of recycled soda bottles that have an excessively high flammability factor, makes me a bit nervous. Personally, I prefer a return to consideration of more natural fibers.

Lately, my attention has turned to the luscious and divine Linen.

In my opinion, linen has always “gotten a bad rap” – simply because of its penchant towards fussiness in care. This

being said, surely as technology has evolved, so has linen.

image culled from Pintrest

image culled from Pintrest

Linen quietly whispers reminders of calm, quiet, solitude, gentleness, especially when subtle in color and weave. It soothes the soul and hushes a frantic mind, body and spirit. It conjures images of lines strung with tonal waves of crispness, blowing in the wind, a lyrical melodic hypnotic dance. It is subtly mystical – weaving memories of hot irons, the smell of steam and heat pressing smooth crinkled wrinkles; transference of the fresh outdoors inside; time held fast as efforts to smooth away these “blemishes”, starting with a “clean slate”, that willingly waits for new  movements to re-create lasting impressions, until the next laundering.

I think I am more than ready for a return to the language of linen – imbued with lasciviousness, it is a latch-key that invites one to enter, its virtues laudable, its memory legendary, its lightness of being worthy of extra efforts in laundering. It is wholly lovable.

image culled from Pintrest

image culled from Pintrest

 

April A to Z Challenge

 

K- knot weeds and sticks

I’m a hobbyist knitter. I play with string and sticks and make endless knots, which results in kinda nifty things.  Although there are some who are “rabid” enthusiasts (I mean no offense) plying their trade with zeal, I’m sadly not one of this group. I knit because it’s a creative outlet that provides me with comfort, usually, although there are moments when it’s beyond hellish.

The history of knitting is as varied, surprising and divergent as the cultures and peoples who have practiced this skill and trade for hundreds of years. Today, there is quite the community, spanning the globe, who are united in showcasing the beautifully expansive art and craft of knitting. Thanks to the “cyber connection”, people can quickly and efficiently reach out and share their crafts, skills and designs with all.

Simply stated, knitting is about string and sticks. Yarns, composed of such a mind-blowing array of fibers, i.e. merino wool, nylon, silk, bamboo, sea-weed, lama, mink, bison, cotton etc. offer unlimited potential and possibilities for creation. The only limits are time, skill level, patience and desire.

Two simple stitches, knit and purl, are the foundations for all that follows, no matter the complexity of the pattern, design or stitches involved. Add to this base, the different choices in yarn, not to mention the rainbow slide of colorways available, and knitting can truly be a personal and intimate work of art. No two knitters are alike – and even if working on the same project, their end results would be as different as the other.

There is something I find inherently fascinating and brilliant about knitting – from a few simple, perhaps calculated choices, each and every time a garment or toy or home decor object is finished, something unique is born.

My personal knitting “poison” of choice is socks. I’m a self-taught sock knitter with over 10 years of sock knitting under my thumbs, and I admit, that as time moves forwards, I become more fascinated with both the knitting process and my personal journey with it.

Why knit socks? Hardly worth the time and efforts of knitting thousands upon thousands of stitches when socks are readily available and oh so cheap to buy?

Several answers could perhaps shed some light on this often posed question. Simply stated: there is nothing quite like wearing hand-knitted socks, where all has come together – choice of fiber content, pattern and design, colorway, and fit. Form may equal function, but tried and tested die-hard hand-knitted sock wearers and knitters, and those generously gifted hand-knit socks as presents, will smile a bit secretively. It is a “knowing” – a silent understanding that there is something delightfully special when wearing hand-knit socks.

Socks cover and protect our feet. Feet – the pillars and foundations of our bodies. The weight of our worlds rests squarely here – millions upon millions of steps daily, taken without much thought or consideration. Feet, so often neglected and abused, sore at the end of a day, arches falling, calluses rubbed raw, bunions or corns perhaps? Certainly there is a movement and trend, more fashion conscious than health-minded, to take better care of our feet. “Pedis” are high on the lists of self-improvement and care, but I question the value and validity of foot flaunting merely for attention’s sake.

Socks, in all their glorious possibility, hold a very intimate place in our lives. More often than not, secretively hidden, perhaps a fleeting glance or slice revealed as a pant leg is raised, as one crosses one’s legs, they quietly cradle our feet. To my way of thinking, what better homage to the battered and road-weary feet than to adorn them with the best of all that we can offer? Cashmere, super soft alpaca, superwash merino, silk, breathable bamboo?

Socks can embody the most devilish or puritanical of desires – much along the lines of choosing one’s daily undergarments -risqué lace and frills, plain-Jane panties or even, for the boys, boxers or briefs? Carefully hidden, these daily choices, including our choice of sock/foot wear, are personal, intimate – and we can hold this close to our hearts and spirits, revealing as little or as much as we see fit – or – foot. Sure, the “girly bits and boy toys” are the traditional “play spaces”, but I think feet and socks – offer quite more by way of pure potentiality in divulging, revealing or hiding our most personal desires; highly provocative.

And so, I choose to knit socks.

vanila socks

knit some time within the past year

not all ends well

not all ends well

red socks rock

red socks rock

Blogging A-Z April challenge

 

J- jottings

Jottings worth jingling like loose coins in a frayed blued jeans pocket.

 

I am an actor and I live in the world of pretend in my working capacity. I live in the world of my imagination.

Derek Jacobi

So too could be said of artists – creators of all stripes, shades of black through white, faded blue jeans woven strands jarred loose by the sands of time joined in action – reaction, jostling for judge, jury and high executioner. Would you be willing to be any of the above-mentioned. Judge ye not lest ye be judged – but for all this consumerism consumed and be consumed life does not resume at a sane pace. Jail house rock.

 

Most of the songs I sing have that blues feeling in it. They have that sorry feeling. And I don’t know what I’m sorry about. I don’t.

I sing the songs that people need to hear.

Etta James

Blues melt into see -sea of misty waves rolling over rocks smashed by jeers and sneers in the face of one’s peers. Does any of this make sense? Does it matter? No. Not a jig - jiggery -jigg – fix to take  a swig from the rum soaked tee-shirt the jaded blues man swears he does not wear. Jingles may tell according to their bells for whom does it all toll?

 

As one gets older one sees many more paths that could be taken. Artists sense within their own work that kind of swelling of possibilities, which may seem a freedom or a confusion.

Jasper Johns

Joined at the hip I trip and stumble, jetting myself forwards – backwards – sideways – upside down. Drowning in a bell-jar I wonder did Plath feel overwhelmed all of the time. Did she crave a room of her own, like the big bad Wolfe or crave the jangled nerved jagged rock faces of the Canadian western coast like Carr. Too late to make polite inquiries of any – jocularity, jocularity – aside – a snide remark tossed off embossed cuff-links – who exactly is Hugo – and why is he the boss?

          

The creation of something new is not accomplished by the intellect but by the play instinct acting from inner necessity. The creative mind plays with the objects it loves.

                             C.G. Jung                                                      

 

Jab Jabber Jabberywocky Jackal Jackboot Jackdaw Jack-in-the-pulpit Jackknife Jacob’s Ladder Jejune Jeux d’esprit -

come play with me – word games - jottings – ramblings that are court jester approved.

I- an affair to remember

irises from my garden

irises from my garden

 

Iridescent.

Involuntary icy shivers -

slide down the spine.

Falls.

Landing softly on ruffled beds -

Linens crisp.

iris sibirica from my garden

iris sibirica from my garden

Irresistible.

Tufts of downy beards -

seductively standard.

Crested.

Flags of my interest -

Peaked, streaked, piqued.

 

Iris: This wide ranging genus consists of more than 200 species, native to the temperate regions of the northern hemisphere, is named for the Greek goddess of the rainbow, and is valued for its beautiful and distinctive flowers. Each flower has 6 petals: 3 outer petals, called ‘falls’, which droop away from the center and alternate with the inner petals, called ‘standards’. There are many hybrids. Irises are divided into 2 main groups, rhizomatous and bulbous.

source: Botanica’s Pocket Gardening Encyclopedia

irises from my garden

irises from my garden

 

 

                      I love irises – all forms, colors and displays. They are graceful and elegant. Stately and romantic. Beautiful and erotic. Fascinatingly sexy. Enchanting.

A – Z April Blogging Challenge

H- Hell Freezes Over

tw: this post may contain language offensive to some

 

Hell freezes over – but I don’t understand.

Spring has arrived – slow melt and muddy roads -

potholed – but not whole.

I feel broken I am broken.

I am cold – too cold – no amount of heat can possible warm me -

from the inside out.

There are those of certain religious beliefs that presume -

And I know not whether there is Truth within -

And I judge not others’ thoughts or principles -

Providing -

They respect my  differences of opinions -

But is there an afterlife?

Questionable to my mind -

Hell or Heaven?

Slaving away for redemption -afterwards.

After what?

A life well lived?

What does this mean?

No. No. It can’t be as ridiculous as this.

Heaven and Hell are here -

In the Now.

But we choose to live otherwise -

Other wise?

Perhaps not wisely enough.

Seek and ye shall find …

It is all here – now – balance tipped as the scales teeter -

Fall away scales

My eyes can see -

When my brain allows for it.

Information over load -

Sensory explosions ravage my body -

My body dies a  painful death -

A bit every day – in every moment -

Inching closer to the end.

It is hard – difficult – to accept that the fates will – could – allow

Pain – constant pain – chronic and defeating – predictably unpredictable

Never ending battle -

The simplest of movements – actions – taken for granted a million times

Each  day -

Filled with promise - hope?

Not today.

Aches – muscle spasms – a brain battered and fogged -

Every.Single.Effort.

Costs.Something.

Price – too high to pay.

Battle weary and worn.

But I will not be defeated.

My spirit may be crushed.

My soul doesn’t want to sing -

Much less soar.

Years of Miss-Diagnosis – Denial

Upon whose shoulders does this Fall?

I am partly to Blame.

I accept the Burden of my Responsibilities -

Failed -

Failure.

But I am a warrior -

Battleground bruised, beaten, scarred.

I refuse to stop – surrender -

But surrender is sometimes necessary -

Regroup. Re-think.

No. No. I tend to think too much.

A new life strategy needs to be learned.

I am not familiar with the plans -

Outlines vague - hazy – blurred – at best.

A crystal clear drop – offers insight -

Tears I shed – privately – alone.

No one can see.

I will not allow it.

Partly to blame.

I shoulder this burden.

Silently screaming.

Hell. Hell. Hell.

HELL – Fuck this pain.

It is NOT who I am -

Nor who I want to be.

Surrender to it Spirit sings -

And all will be well – in the moment -

Look for the slice of Heaven -

The smallest silver line – longing -

Desire born on the wings of the wind.

A silent shedding of tears -

burning hot -

A silent plea for empathy – compassion – kindness -

A gentle soul that wishes for a soft hand -

offered in understanding – love – friendship -

unconditional – with a spirit’s hope -

knowing – that essence can not be defeated -

and will be shared – nurtured – together -

Hell’s journey does not have to be faced -

alone.

This is my secret hope.

 

Blogging from A to Z April Challenge

 

E-BookBuilders

Helping Authors Build Better Books

Crazy Green Thumb's

Chronicling a delusional gardening experience.

Retcon Poet

the free verse revolution.

Poems & People

what if words could be symphonies, and people the orchestra?

2me4art

amy saab ~life as i see it.

Strawberries in the Desert

Story telling from Australia

Stitches 'n' Scraps

Knitting, crochet, scrapbooking and other random crafts

Knocked over by a feather

Fighting fibro and depression with humor...sometimes.

Tipsy Lit

Books, Booze, Brilliance

Mama Bear Musings

Thoughts and Writings that have been Hibernating in my Mind

A Mixed Bag

A poem ... A story ... A Photo ... Something Else

Pairings :: Art + What Goes With It

Art + Photo + Words by Jann Alexander

elliesofia

My Take on Life in Poetry, Images and Blogging!

Trent Lewin

Dream hard, rage hard

Kate Shrewsday

A thousand thousand stories

Nola Roots, Texas Heart

Live with no excuses and love with no regrets!

Cooking with a Wallflower

Cooking. Baking. Crafting. Writing.

M.FUNK

ARTIST // PHOTOGRAPHER

Deidra Alexander's Blog

I have people to kill, lives to ruin, plagues to bring, and worlds to destroy. I am not the Angel of Death. I'm a fiction writer.

Matt on Not-WordPress

Stuff and things.

jennovafoodblog

Nutrition: a different outlook.

The Zombies Ate My Brains

Rescuing what might remain of the grey matter.

janyceresh

If sarcasm and self deprecating humour were an Olympic event I'd definitely qualify.

E-BookBuilders

Helping Authors Build Better Books

Crazy Green Thumb's

Chronicling a delusional gardening experience.

Retcon Poet

the free verse revolution.

Poems & People

what if words could be symphonies, and people the orchestra?

2me4art

amy saab ~life as i see it.

Strawberries in the Desert

Story telling from Australia

Stitches 'n' Scraps

Knitting, crochet, scrapbooking and other random crafts

Knocked over by a feather

Fighting fibro and depression with humor...sometimes.

Tipsy Lit

Books, Booze, Brilliance

Mama Bear Musings

Thoughts and Writings that have been Hibernating in my Mind

A Mixed Bag

A poem ... A story ... A Photo ... Something Else

Pairings :: Art + What Goes With It

Art + Photo + Words by Jann Alexander

elliesofia

My Take on Life in Poetry, Images and Blogging!

Trent Lewin

Dream hard, rage hard

Kate Shrewsday

A thousand thousand stories

Nola Roots, Texas Heart

Live with no excuses and love with no regrets!

Cooking with a Wallflower

Cooking. Baking. Crafting. Writing.

M.FUNK

ARTIST // PHOTOGRAPHER

Deidra Alexander's Blog

I have people to kill, lives to ruin, plagues to bring, and worlds to destroy. I am not the Angel of Death. I'm a fiction writer.

Matt on Not-WordPress

Stuff and things.

jennovafoodblog

Nutrition: a different outlook.

The Zombies Ate My Brains

Rescuing what might remain of the grey matter.

janyceresh

If sarcasm and self deprecating humour were an Olympic event I'd definitely qualify.

Momus News

Humorous News, Photos, and Short Fiction

Three's Cooking

Learning to cook from the heart, for the soul.

61 Musings

Musings from a 61 year old introvert.

Eli Glasman

Blog of Australian author Eli Glasman

Charron's Chatter

Original Poetry, Limericks, Short Stories, Op-Eds & Funny, Fender-Sized Philosophies

toofulltowrite (I've started so I'll finish)

Well it's not as if you had anything better to do, so let me entertain you

helen meikle's scribblefest

writer editor proofreader

Ermilia

Blind Sight Coauthors

mariestephensgardening

Ideas and Inspiration for the Every Day Gardener

The Ambitious Drifter

Words and Images

The Silver Leaf Journal

The life of every man is a diary in which he means to write one story, and writes another; and his humblest hour is when he compares the volume as it is with what he vowed to make it. - James M. Barrie

Edward Hotspur

The Official WordPress Blog Of Edward Hotspur - whoever that is.

The Political and Social Chaos Blog

The Opinionated, Weird, Serious and Comical Aspects of Politics and Social Chaos!

A mom's blog

“A child is God's opinion that the world should go on.”

JED's Playhouse

We have a lot of fun here, some of it even makes sense!

Rob's Surf Report

Where the closest ocean is all in my mind

The Daily Post

The Art and Craft of Blogging

Doodlemum

a day in the life of my sketchbook...

~ Pixelknit's Ponderings ~

. . . on knitting, spinning, journaling, reading, stitching . . . and a little life thrown in for good measure.

NothingButKnit

yeah right.

Knitting to Stay Sane

Challenging myself, one stitch at a time.

barefoot rooster

cockadoodle-doo: one rooster's ramblings

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