Poetry and Artwork Published in UCCS’ literary arts journal, riverrun

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Two new poems and one artwork by Chrissy Lorraine have been published (under her old nickname of Nina) in the 47th edition of the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs (UCCS) literary arts journal, riverrun. The poems are entitled, “Earth’s New Gown,” and “The Storm,” and the art piece in oils is entitled “Fox Fantasy.”

“Earth’s New Gown,” is an eight-stanza, thirty-two-line, rhyming (ABAB form) and metered poem about falling snow. It is located on page 24 of the journal.

“The Storm” is a poem about a snowstorm, written in a structure and style created by Chrissy. The style is 8 lines of object nouns followed by three present progressive verbs describing that noun, and then a 9th object followed by fourteen present progressive verbs, finished with a six-syllable statement of summary. The end effect is lyrical and rhythmic when read aloud, with a building tension and climactic finish. This poem is on page 48 of the journal.

“Fox Fantasy” is a painting in oils on canvas, using a sfumato style of smooth brushwork, and featuring a masked white fox in a surreal, springtime landscape, with a large blue bird. The painting is featured on page 113 of the journal. To read and view these publications, please follow the link, below.

The 47th edition of riverrun can be found here

The Silly Sloth & The Squirrel

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The silly sloth so loved the squirrel,
that the two ran paw in paw,
looking for snarks and going for larks,
and outright defying the law.

While chasing their tails, delivered, the mail —
a letter was once dropped off.
A letter for me? A letter for you!
But at papers, both did scoff;

Yet the letter did hint at a tale of tails,
and that did so interest them,
that they ripped it open, ripped it apart,
and could not at all read it, then!

So they threw it upwards; it rained like confetti,
and they danced under the falling tatters —
and then they sang a song; a laughing sweet song
their feet going pitter-a-patters;

And they ran through the woods, and over the sky;
they ran until time stood still —
they ran and they ran until they fell down,
and lay oh-so-dead on the hill…

~ Chrissy Lorraine

© Chrissy’s Creative Corner 2020

All images public domain

The Beetle

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There once was a beetle,
Her name was Asneedle,
She lived in a Popinjay Tree.

For hours, she’d wheedle,
And ply her fine needle,
Her work was a sight to see.

But one day she smelled
A tree that was felled,
And put down her needle and thread.

She went down her tree,
The better to see,
And now she lives there, instead.

~ Saoirse Fae

© The Fairy Tale Garden 2015

All images public domain

The Dream Fairy

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Upon a wish,
A crystal, clear,
In sparkling splendour
Of the night,
Your dusky dream,
Her ears can hear,
The blessed fairy
Of the light.

In tickling whispers,
She receives,
The heart’s desire,
Within your breast;
Like mountain dew
On golden leaves,
Her granted wish
Will give you rest.

For how she sits,
Amid her cloud,
On crescent moon,
In listening pose,
Enables her
To hear so loud,
E’en the snowflake
Touch the rose.

So make your wish,
And make it grand,
Do not fear,
Don’t make it small;
For although wishes,
Be like sand;
Bountiful,
She grants them all.

~ Saoirse Fae

© The Fairy Tale Garden 2018

All images public domain

Faith

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Faith…
A word that means, “to trust;
to trust without proof – to believe;
to believe when all others question.”

Faith…
A word that gives hope to others,
and to the self, gives support –
that when things go awry, we keep going.

Faith…
A word that provides comfort,
to those who feel called, chosen, loved;
a bond with God that forms one side of a promise of protection.

Faith…
A feeling that creates emotion;
that creates trust, not of logic, but real –
A swelling of the heart that consumes the soul.

Faith.

And when we need it most,
May we have it –
And when others need it most,
May we help them find it.
God has made a promise
to those who trust and love Him
and in our faith, we may have peace.

~ Chrissy Lorraine

© Chrissy’s Creative Corner 2020

All images public domain

Lela the Legless

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The spider, it crawled,
It creeped; it wriggled,
Into the sole
of an ancient shoe.

Abandoned, the shoe
had fallen, downhill,
and had come to rest
where the wind never blew.

Dry and warm,
the sole-fabric nestled
the spider –
and later-on, her brood

And to the spiders,
the shoe was a palace;
Even though
some might think it crude:

It sheltered them
from wind and storm
And gave the little ‘uns
room to play –

That ratty shoe
has made a home
for five generations,
now, today.

But here you came,
galumphing down
the hill, down which
that shoe had tumbled;

And as you ran,
your toe caught on
the lip of that shoe,
and your step, it fumbled.

And out came Grandpa,
Sue, and Tim,
Scurrying hastily
for their lives;

Their safe haven broken,
knocked over and squished,
Trampled and trodden
by your size fives.

Benny and Joe,
Frank and Molly,
All made it out,
All legs intact;

Most of the spiders
got out uninjured;
only one hurt,
as a matter of fact:

“Lela the Legless”
is now her name,
but she wears it with pride,
as she carries her fame.

All know her story:
how your monstrous shoe
knocked loose the stone
that would make her lame;

How the stone caused a rockslide
that tumbled and rumbled,
pinning her
down under the scree;

How her brothers and sisters
all stopped to help her,
even while
they tried to flee;

Each grabbed a leg;
Each gave a pull,
But one by one,
They all came off!

It was Grandpa
who saved
the day, that day;
Grandpa, yes, that grey old toff –

He hoisted the rock
Off poor Lela’s head,
dug her out,
and carried her down;

And setting her on
a soft mossy spot,
He gently and closely
examined her crown.

Each of her siblings
Brought him a leg,
and he tried
to attach them, again;

But to reattach them
couldn’t be done,
not even with
all web they could spin.

And so, “Legless”
was how Lela remained;
her siblings
carried her all around,

In a litter
spun from the finest threads,
of silk
mixed with fluffy down.

And each
night at twilight,
the family sits outside,
their gazes meandering over

To where,
were it not
for your misguided trot,
that shoe nestled in the deep clover

would still
be their home,
their lovely abode,
a sixth generation begun.

Instead,
they reside
in an old metal can,
and they’ll thank you not to make fun!

~ Saoirse Fae

© Chrissy’s Creative Corner 2019

All images public domain

Originally published on Saoirse Fae’s WordPress – the original post is linked Here

The Cancelled Day Trip

A Poem With a Focus on whole-line Alliteration in the Order of ABAB CDCD EFEF GG,
also using those same letters for most of the words in each line,
as a tip of the hat to the poetry rhyme scheme of the Shakespearean sonnet
(while also being a Shakespearean sonnet).

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The Cancelled Day Trip

Andromeda always admired Atlantis,
because of the blue-sanded beaches;
Alas, her avowed, adored friend, Amaranthus,
Was backward, belligerent, and bleakish:
She couldn’t come up with a canny enough cause
to decide her in definite deployment;
instead, she capriciously caressed her crude claws,
distressing her dire disappointment.
In ebullient, edifying, ecumenical eloquence,
her friend fought fiercely in favor –
with encouraging, effervescent, and enthusiastic elegance,
and familial and facultative flavor.
Gainsaid, she was, though, with god-awful gibbering,
and grotesque was her girlfriend’s long graceless gloating.

~ Chrissy Lorraine

© Chrissy’s Creative Corner 2020

All images public domain

The Free Spirit

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Arms spread wide to touch the sky,
She embraces all she is,
Not missus or madame or ma’am or mom,
She is definitely a Miz.

Her heart, it soars, it flies, it sweeps,
It blasts all in its path,
In fiery passion and flaming expression,
Her joy can flash to wrath.

In highs and lows, there’s no mid-ground,
Adventures are a must,
Experience is first upon her list,
In this, she’ll always trust.

Brazen and brave, she takes such risks,
And always bets her all,
And though catastrophe abounds,
She learns from every fall.

Her heart is light and heaven-bright,
Still full of innocence,
The twisted world has not impressed,
Or made its own imprints.

The future, now, still seems far off,
She’ll plan for that tomorrow.
Today, she’s all wrapped up in now,
And trouble, she won’t borrow.

She’s currently in the prime of life,
The world bends to her will,
And though someday, her age will fray,
For now, she takes her fill,

Of life, of hope, of love’s sweet passion,
Imagination free,
She revels in joy and tastes the day,
Content to simply be.

~Amarine Rose Ravenwood

Originally Published by Voice of Eve, Issue 2, 2018

© Chrissy’s Creative Corner 2019

All images public domain

A Mother’s Love

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A slower kindle,
A softer ember;
Old youthful fire,
Now just a cinder.

Mellowed like wine,
Or a half-faded rose,
A calmer waltz,
That ebbs and flows.

Less moved to passion,
But when so, deeper;
My love overflows –
For my grandchild’s keeper.

What used to matter
Matters less;
I take more time…
More time to bless.

I look for joy,
Less frivolously;
I’ve found what’s true,
More thoroughly.

My wisdom blooms;
I try to share…
But most of all,
To show my care.

Above all things,
I’ve found a love;
And where I breathe,
I breathe thereof.

A softer gait;
A slower pace,
But my full heart,
It can embrace

The ones I love,
More deeply now,
And richer still,
And this I vow:

You are my joy,
Our chain of life:
And I live now,
Much less in strife.

So let me hold
You in my heart,
My dearest child,
And never part.

~Amarine Rose Ravenwood

© Chrissy’s Creative Corner 2019

All images public domain

A Mother’s Treasure

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She holds her child near,
Her child, so dear,
As the chair rocks to and fro…

It’s been a hard day,
And the long night is gray,
As she straightens the little hair bow…

Sleep may be far off,
for the little one’s cough,
Yet, the mother’s touch is sweet…

And the gentlest sway,
of the chair, just for bae,
is controlled by Mama’s feet…

The fire, nearby,
In the hearth, makes Mom sigh,
And her head drops down to doze…

Snuggled in place,
is that sweet, precious face,
and the child is in repose…

There’s rest, after all,
‘Till the morning’s bright call,
And the night is deep and mild…

A mother, she gives,
For as long as she lives,
To the care of her cherished child…

~Amarine Rose Ravenwood

Originally published by Voice of Eve, Issue 2, 2018

© Chrissy’s Creative Corner 2019

All images public domain