W P Weekly Photo Challenge – Ephemeral The ever elusive side of everyday moments

This gallery contains 5 photos.

Originally posted on Your Nibbled News:
“You’ve gotta dance like there’s nobody watching, Love like you’ll never be hurt, Sing like there’s nobody listening, And live like it’s heaven on earth.”    ― William W. Purkey ? Those special moments…

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Anzac Biscuits – Weekly Photo Challenge: Fresh

2015 is the ANZAC Centenary year, so I’ve chosen for this post fresh, crunchy, delicious and nutritious ANZAC Biscuits, sent by mothers, sisters, wives and sweethearts to soldiers in WWI. They were all volunteers as was my father in the Serbian Army. In November 1915, when the Anzacs were fighting bravely at Gallipoli, the equally courageous Serbian Army was forced to retreat under German attacks. They had heard of the extraordinary bravery of Australian and New Zealand soldiers and thought, if only the Anzacs were there to help, they would be able to beat the Germans. That retreat is known as The Albanian Golgotha or The Serbian Golgotha. The Gallipoli campaign could very well bear the same name – The Gallipoli Golgotha. The Anzacs withdrew from Gallipoli in December, but went on to fight in France, and the Serbs regrouped in Greece, in Salonika. The war was won in 1918, but the losses suffered by both armies were enormous.

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Yummy! How the soldiers must have loved them!

For the recipe click on this link:


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Copyright 2015 Irina Dimitric


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Originally posted on Rethinking Life:


It is time to grow! :D

It has been wonderful setting the foundation with all of you and our monthly scheduled topics. It is nice to share our work and our passion for peace and love AND we need to work to spread peace in our communities and around the world. It is time to do more!

We will be introducing more challenges, ways to get involved and asking you questions. Imagine if we all contribute our ideas and can act upon them to actually make a difference in achieving peace!

We will continue to have scheduled topics and of course accept general peace related art at any time.


Remember just blog as you normally would and then email a link to your post to artists4peaceproject@gmail.com for consideration!

Don’t forget to send in your submissions for April.


How does language influence peace?

Submission Deadline April 1st

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Call for Submissions: Me, as a Child Poetry Series

Originally posted on Silver Birch Press:

Spring is almost upon us (actually, in Los Angeles it’s already here) and our thoughts turn to beginnings — the inspiration for our latest call for submissions: ME, AS A CHILD Poetry Series.

PROMPT: In a poem, tell us about yourself as a child — written from a child’s perspective or from your adult perspective. If possible, please send a photo of yourself as a child to accompany the poem.

WHAT: Submissions can be original or previously published poems. You retain all rights to your work and give Silver Birch Press permission to publish on social media and in a potential print edition.

WHEN: We’ll feature the work in the Silver Birch Press ME, AS A CHILD Poetry Series during April 2015.

HOW TO SUBMIT: Email one poem to silver@silverbirchpress.com as an MSWord attachment — and in the same file include your name, contact info, one-paragraph author’s bio (written…

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Growing Up In The 1940s


This year we are celebrating the 70th Anniversary of the end of World War Two. It was such a long time ago. I’m trying to remember what it was like for me in those turbulent years of War, and what it was like for my father as a POW in Germany. It will be part of our Family History. From time to time I might post an extract on my blog. It’s a work in progress. So here is the beginning.

Growing Up In The 1940s
Part 1

The good old days. No digital technology. No TV. No transistor radios, just a big box in the living room. And a gramophone.

Zagreb, the city I lived in, the capital of Croatia, had only 250 thousand inhabitants. I walked to school and ballet classes with my best friend. We played in the public park in front of our homes, took a tram to the swimming pool or the zoo or the ice skating rink in winter. And the National Theatre, a beautiful neo-baroque building, built at the end of the 19h century, designed by two Austrian architects, well-known all over Europe, where I clapped, laughed and cried, was only a five-minute walk from my home. Just across the road from the theatre is Zagreb University I attended in the 50s. Between these two buildings, in the square in front of the theatre stands “The Well of Life” fountain, a remarkable piece of art by the world-renowned Croatian sculptor Ivan Meštrović. In the circle around the well the young embrace and kiss, while the old figures’ expression is one of sadness. A popular meeting place for students, I often met my friends there but wasn’t aware then it is considered among Meštrović’s finest sculptures. There are many more beautiful monuments in Zagreb and streets with names of famous people that I took for granted. One of them is a street named after Mestrovic’s good friend Nikola Tesla I walked along whenever heading to the centre, to Jelačić Square, or to the Concert Hall in that same street. It was in Australia that I learnt more about the genius of the greatest inventor of the 20th century. The Nikola Tesla monument in Zagreb was created by none other but Ivan Meštrović, a gift from a genius sculptor to a genius scientist. Zagreb is a beautiful city, often called ‘Little Paris’, a cultural centre with historic monuments and beautiful parks where seasonal flowers bloom in carefully tended flower beds. Returning home from my trips to hectic London and Paris was the sweetest thing – there was no better place to live.

I can’t remember seeing many cars in the 40s, but there must have been an occasional one, belonging to the ruling class and the well-off. Buses took us to the nearby countryside and trains all over the country, to the mountains and the seaside.

1940 was a good year. I was five. My Montessori kindergarten teacher, Tante Dédé, spoke to us in French as much as possible. I particularly liked the puppet theatre when Tante Dédé was telling us stories in French. Later in life, when I had children of my own, I dreamed of recreating the magic of Montessori and make a puppet theatre for them, but it never eventuated. I suppose I wanted them to experience Tante Dédé’s thrilling world, a world of make-believe, of creating pretty things out of plasticine and clay, of painting, sewing and knitting, of song and dance.

Sur le pont d’Avignon, on y danse, on y danse
Sur le pont d’Avignon, on y danse, tous en rond 


P1000623 Montessori Fancy Dress PartyMontessori Fancy Dress Party – I am seated next to the cook in the middle.

Dancing was my passion. I would twirl and twirl around the living room to the music out of the big box.

And then, on 2 April 1941, my dad, in army uniform, came to my bedroom to kiss me good night and with a smile on his face, his eyes warm and shining, told me he’d soon be back. I had never seen him in uniform before. Although I was only six, I knew that a man in uniform meant something very serious, something ominous. My dad was going to be in danger. Will I ever see him again? When he switched off the light and shut the door of my bedroom, I clutched my white teddy bear tightly and cried myself to sleep.

A few days later the Germans marched into our town. Soldiers in grey and brown uniforms paraded through the streets and zoomed around on motorcycles with sidecars.

Tante Dédé’s kindergarten closed down. The age of innocence had come to an abrupt end.


©Copyright Irina Dimitric 2015. All rights reserved.

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Weekly Photo Challenge: Orange


Just as an orange nourishes your body, so the orange colour energises your soul. The colour orange was named after the fruit.

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~ Nasturtium is not only a weed buster,  but it’s also edible and very good for your health. To learn more about it click on this link: http://fionajeanmckay.hubpages.com/hub/The-Various-Health-Benefits-and-Uses-of-Nasturtiums

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~ Bird of Paradise in my garden. I just love this combination of colours! Nature sure is an accomplished artist.

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~ At the end of the day I stand in awe of the fiery masterpiece and cannot but say, ‘ Thank you, God!’

Copyright 2015 Irina Dimitric


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SunWinks! March 8, 2015: Rhymes with “Economy”


Metonymy – an exciting challenge! Doug says, “Metonymy is as vital an item in the poet’s toolkit as yellow ochre on an Impressionist’s palette.”

Originally posted on SunWinks!:

[This column first appeared in slightly different form on Gather in 2012]

SunWinksLogoDear SunWinks! Symbiotes:

Metonymy!  (gesundheit…)

Pardon my Greek… The word “metonymy” itself may look as arcane and hairy as, say, onomatopoeia, but like onomatopoeia, you can find metonymy almost anywhere you look! Metonymy (meh-TAWN-i-mee) is the rhetorical figure in which an object is referred to by substituting something—usually smaller and more concrete—that is related to, symbolic of, or a constituent of that object.

An individual instance of metonymy is called a metonym. The type of metonym which consists of a constituent or component part of the object referred to is called a synecdoche (sin-ECK-duh-key). We use metonyms every day without even thinking about it. Here are a few familiar examples. You can think of dozens more.

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Gertrude Stein’s Mentoring – SunWinks! March 1, 2015: Abstract Poetry


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A rose.

A rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.

A shrivelled rose is a shrivelled rose is a shrivelled rose.

Which is sad, very sad, very very sad.

You see

It is true, very true, so true, always true;

It is true because it is so true;

It is so true because it is so.


Repeat what?

Repeat repeat repeat: it it it repeat!

It it it it it it it it it it it it it it it it it !

There. You see?

Yes, of course, I’m a shrivelled rose.


© Irina Dimitric 2012


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The Black Prince – Prose Poem – SunWinks! February 22, 2015: Waxing Prosaic

Who is The Black Prince?

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There he stands haughty, resplendent in his shiny blackness, black as tar, black as night, with a touch of white, just to soften his stern image, a sign of his noble lineage that stern image.

Oh, those piercing lemon yellow eyes of his, oh God, help me and protect me! If this be a look of love or hate, of pride and vanity, or of desire and dominance, I’ll gladly be his slave: such is his black brooding beauty, resist it I cannot! “Here, take this small gift.”… What? He hesitates… Why this doubtful look? Why this change of mood? It’s not in his character to be timid…or is there a timid streak?

“Wait a minute, stay, don’t go”, I implore. “Look, I’m as gentle as a doe.”…Then he slowly moves closer and picks it up swiftly with his big black beak.

© irina dimitric 2012

Doug, this poem was written for Len’s Sunday Writing Essential, 19 September 2012.


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SunWinks! March 1, 2015: Abstract Poetry: The Medium is the Message.


Poets, this week Doug Westberg invites you to go wild!

Originally posted on SunWinks!:

Dear SunWinkers!

This is a lightly reworked reissue of my September, 2012 column for Gather.com on the topic of Abstract and Cubist Poetry. I also urge you to read our recent SunWinks! columns on Edith Sitwell and Intrinsic Rhythm and Cubism as these three columns all encourage you to sharpen your sense of the sound, rhythm, and structure of your writing by putting aside considerations of meaning.

* * *

SunWinksLogoWell, we’re all done with modern poetry. I’ve exhausted every conceivable topic, every possible technique. There’s nothing left to talk about. Just go back through my previous columns and you’ll know everything there is to know about writing modern poetry.

Did I have you going for a second?

The fact is, there is no end to the invention, the creativity, and the variety of modern poetry and approaches to modern poetry. Think of how many stylistic genres and…

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