Saturday, December 31, 2011

HAPPY 2012...

                                                           Fawlty Towers

START WITH FRIENDS, be with friends.  Full speed ahead to 2012Wishing you clarity...may you bend to a gentle wind.

HAPPY NEW YEAR to all the incredible talent out there!!  Thanks for a wonderful ride....

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #97

                                                              Photo/ Bert Stern

TODAY WE CAN SALUTE invitation from Tess at Magpie Tales. 


Hey Joe, it's what I do,
I turn the infra-red on
across the universe.
Even interstellar dust
can't obscure my game.

Did you want me
to round the bases with you,
when restless hands
keep reaching for
my effervescence of desire?

What book did you have to open
to find me?
I don't live in words,
but in the space
between your eyes and mine,
a cocoon on my way
to metamorphosis.

See me flying by,
a chrysalis,
exuvium crumbling,
A Monarch butterfly.

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Thursday, December 22, 2011

Season's Greetings

LET IT SNOW, let it snow, let it snow.....then drop in for some chestnuts roasting nice it would be if we were all next door!

         Let me have a child's Christmas,
         one more time.
         Let me see 
         the star that shines
         a blessing on this world.

         Most of all,
         let the circle of loving faces
         smile at me again.

         My wish is the same as yesterday's.
         Peace and hope for all.

  Merry Christmas..Happy Holidays! 

copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011


Monday, December 19, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt # 96

                                                Image/ Lee Friedlander/ 1966

A NICE LITTLE MYSTERY this week from Magpie Tales, thank you, Tess...


You think you're incognito,
but I'd know you anywhere.
Not fooled at all
by that Lugosi cloak,

and midnight greige
does not become you,
but better button it anyway,
to heat up the morning chill.

I like you more in green,
eyes matching sea glass
washed ashore,
not shielded by dark specs,
like some ersatz celebrity.

You still favor
that fringe of Medusa hair,
and as always flash
a gargoyle smile
for the paparazzi rush.

Let's not forget the shadow
that follows wherever you go,
of the Buddha,
humming a celestial Ohm.

I'd know you anywhere.

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Sunday, December 11, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #95

                                                      Image/ Mostafa Habibi

THIS WEEK'S Magpie Tales....thanks, Tess Kincaid.


Forever and a day you were right,
yet there you stand in quicksand
believing that the sucking sound
will lift you up to the second floor.

I hold the lifesaver,
a sweet candy
on the tip of my tongue,
bright red, a sugared cherry

the color of a heady summer's bloom.

I recall when you were
my redeemer,
knew the answers,

but you painted everything grey.

The years are an ocean,
lapping against the shore,
rising to flood your intentions.

It took so long for me
to gather my fragments
and shape them into a fortress.

You are
the medicine years,
a drug ground down
to swallow with water.
Now you sink
as a grain of sand,
part of the fate of hermit crabs.

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Sunday, December 4, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #94

                                                Lunch/ George Tooker/ 1964

AN INSPIRATION for this week's Magpie Tales from Tess Kincaid.


Looking for a cuppa Joe,
I came across a resistant morning.
The gush of the weather
drove me indoors.

Neon flashed: EATS.

I made myself diaphanous,
the better to pick and choose
floating wisdom.
My sixth sense tingled
from sundry communiques.
Under my breath I commanded,

chew that last crumb,
brush a bitten lip,
wonder about tonight's
Blue Plate Special.

Are you lonely today?
Say something to me.
The coffee's cold,
no time for a refill.

The weather has changed,
look out the window.
You don't even know.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

Sunday, November 27, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #93

Photo/ Christine Donnier-Valentin

THIS PHOTO is presented to us by Tess Kincaid at Magpie Tales, for Prompt #93....Let's see what we can make of it!


Looking for the new,
perhaps I could acquaint myself
with a blue sun,
a different law of karma,

isolate myself from the path,
float above the road,
lead a minimalist life.

There is a futility to wandering.
I blink at the impermanence
of an unmarked room,
the couch holding a lonely ghost
from the night before.

I dream of the silkiness
of an easy awakening,
no longer running from the cold,
going back to Alpha,
waiting for the morning breeze.

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Monday, November 21, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #92

                     Photo of Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward/ Courtesy Tess Kincaid

LOOKS LIKE FUN TO ME...A good idea from Tess at Magpie Tales !


Just in time for Xmas giving...Do what glamorous Paul and Joanne do!!  Start with a kiss under the mistletoe, flirty fun to sweep you away! 
( Make sure the kiddies are snuggled in bed!!)

Then put your right hip here, slide your left hip where you lay that knee!

Pucker up your luscious lips, place your hands behind your back, and turn yourself around...

That's how you do the Kama Sutra Twist!!

Early orders receive life-like mistletoe to get the game started!!  Instructions included!

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

Sunday, November 20, 2011


PHOTOGRAPH OF FLORENCE THOMPSON with three of her children by Dorthea Lange, 1936.  Reproduced from The Commons on Flickr with use restricted to personal, educational or research purposes.  Linked to Poetry Jam.


We'll picnic on the barren ground.
I have some bread, but
no sweet tonic
for your parched throat.

Angel at my side,
put the empty basket down,
here's the babe,

set her within.
Hello God,
here's another sacrifice.

Clouds of sand,
a sting to the eyes.

Let's find a tree
to guard us
from the regal sun.

The air dry as a bone,
twigs to play with,
nibbled clean by crunching ants.

Destiny runs its course,
surely means to bring fairness,
goodness to this day.

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Saturday, November 19, 2011

A Child of Winter

                                        Jamie Pierre

                               MATTHEW JAMISON PIERRE

                               February 22, 1973-  November 13, 2011

BEYOND BRAVE, beyond daring, Jamie Pierre was a professional free-skier.  In 2006 he skied off a 255 foot cliff at Grand Targhee, Wyo. , plummeted head first, without a helmet, into the deep powder.   He skied away with a cut lip from being struck by a shovel as his partners dug him out of the 12 foot hole.

On Sunday, November 13, 2011, on a more routine trip to Snowbird in Utah, an avalanche carried him over 800 feet over rocky terrain.  He was partly buried and died of trauma.  Jamie Pierre was 38 years old.

                        Chris Figenshau

Go to YouTube to view the World Record Ski Jump.  He also made appearances in Warren Miller films: Playground, and Children of Winter.  Also, on the Ski Channel, "The Story of Jamie Pierre".

He had many concussions over the years but refused to wear a helmet.  "If somethings so dangerous it requires a helmet", he said, "then maybe I shouldn't be doing it".

Fearless one....RIP.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

Thursday, November 17, 2011


                                                  Falling Woman/ Picasso

WHAT A LUCKY MORNING, to have found Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads.  This is Kerry's Wednesday Challenge/ Prose Poetry.   Looking forward to jumping in!!  Will try to link up later...fingers crossed!!


          Take your hands away, don't grasp me, grasp my meaning, not my flesh.
          Was warm beneath the covers till you pushed the tale away.  You scuttled through a slit in time, squaring the black hole, bouncing and giggling, with echoes that run back to my heart.

          I become visible, again I see a lush garden.  Not again, not again.  The ground trembles with your rushing strides.  To me?  Away?

          Again attracted by the way I weave, you are always the tear.  I'm the thread.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

Monday, November 14, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #91

A MYSTERIOUS PHOTO points me in the direction of a Pantoum...thanks to Tess Kincaid at Magpie Tales.

Follow me,
take any chair you wish,
you're the first to arrive.
But why so early?

Take any chair you wish,
I can feel your bated breath,
but why so early?
Your heart's beating a tattoo.

I can feel your bated breath,
a damp anticipation.
Your heart's beating a tattoo.

A damp anticipation,
here's what you came for.
Crowd's already rushing.

Here's what you came for,
footsteps in the sand,
crowd's already rushing,
darting here and there.

Footsteps in the sand,
you're the first to arrive,
darting here and there.
Follow me.

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Friday, November 11, 2011

11 / 11 / 11


No war here,
no blood here,
but tears shed yesterday,
spilled for warriors,
over there.

I remember a song
that they marched to,
up the steps, just cargo,
to sail the waves
to go to war.

Not here,
but there,
no blood in the street here,

bread instead
sliced to order.
Where is the war,
is it here?
It's over there.

The body in torn shreds,
under the lid,
arrives here, home,
no open coffin.

Whose boy is this,
maybe mine,
maybe not.
Bones look like
the last war,

not here,
over there.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

Wednesday, November 9, 2011



Winter comes pushing
up against the glass,
ice sliding like a guillotine,
ready to slice into a scream.

I wipe my breath
from the windowpane.
I could be rain.

No matter,
dying is blind and deaf,
exhausts my eye for beauty.

My soul begins to glow,
a bastion against what's dead.
My voice draws a new breath,
tells the tale anew.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

Sunday, November 6, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #90

                                                        Photo/ Tess Kincaid

FOR THIS WEEK'S Magpie Tales, Tess has presented us with this image...


I sleep a lot
in this limbo,
rise in ectoplasmic splendor,
at this place
of crowded gravestones.

I restrain myself
from frightening
a grieving mourner,
who weeps over
newly turned soil.

But mischief pulls me
to drape myself as smoke
across a granite memorial,
to form a cloudy
question mark.

With memory and yearning gone,
other wraiths, by habit,
rise with the moon,
to float on winter's air.

I stir, as if from a dream,
to wonder
what I'm doing here.

copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011

Monday, October 31, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #89

                                                                photo/ Tess Kincaid

LOOKING FOR THE GHOST in the machine..found it!  This PANTOUM is a thank you to Tess at Magpie Tales.


You'll find the trick,
how he weaves himself
into the cracks,
the ruptures, the stigmata.

How he weaves himself.
I see the stain move.
The ruptures, the stigmata,
look away, look back.

I see the stain move
out of the corner of my eye.
Look away, look back,
turn inside out.

Out of the corner of my eye,
I see the color bleed away,
turn inside out,
changes my words.

I see the color bleed away.
He natters a lie into my ear,
changes my words,
fakes my pleasure.

He natters a lie into my ear,
into the cracks,
fakes my pleasure.
You'll find the trick.

A Pantoum is a poetic form, first appeared in the 15th century in Malaysia.  The modern version is a poem of indefinite length and repetition. 

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011


Sunday, October 23, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #88

                                          Lee Friedlander/ from America by Car

THANKS TO TESS at Magpie Tales for this exciting inspirational!!


Look up,
look down,
look out!
There comes a bicycle courier
in my mirror,
dropped his duffel,
screeching taxi hits the curb,
splashes glop onto the window!
Don't open the door,
you'll hit the ice cream man!
We'll stop later...
Pull over,
I'll take a chocolate,
Mr Softee.

Ring your bell,
play that tune,
I'm a Broadway Gypsy now,
watch me kick and tap.
Is this the crossroads of the universe?
Here comes another shooting star...
a Rockette twirls into view,
grabs my breath,
heads for the top.
Her looks can kill.
Lights on, lights out,
I'm in the dark,
stagehand pushes me,
hey sweetie, take a bow.

I'm here,
Times Square!
Tomorrow's another day.
Look out!

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

Sunday, October 16, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #87

                                                       photo/ Tess Kincaid

WHAT AN much to be inspired by...thank you, Tess, at Magpie Tales.  Always tempting!
Haven't been as attentive to blogging since early July, when I entered into the stream of medical complications.  And tomorrow pops up with another "procedure".  They'll do it till they get it right!  Fingers crossed, please. 

Eat here, or take out?
Special today, just for you...
Duck soup, Mr. Marx?

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

Sunday, October 9, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #86

                                                The Little King/ Michael Sowa

AN INTRIGUING PAINTING...for Magpie Tales.  Thank you Tess, once more! 


He pinches my waist,
a frivolous lover.
I give him sanctuary
till midnight.

Time flutters by.
Soon arriving,
the sunlight hours,
warmth I can't embrace.

Like pan quotidian,
he's fresh at first,
but stale
no matter the prayer.

Will we speak,
get the paper off the threshold,
turn pages?
Scrub ink from our finger tips?
Stir sweetness into
pitch black coffee?

Seems to be
another paper mache' king,

tips over,
rolls to the edge,
dives into longing.
Same as me.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

Sunday, October 2, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #85

photo/ courtesy of Tess Kincaid

SOMETHING ABOUT this prompt for Magpie Tales , is irresistible.....thank you, Tess!!


Need a miracle?
Call the Flying Ganeshas.
Quick Delivery!

HAIKU to you!!

copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011

Sunday, September 25, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #84

                                                         photo/ Mag 84

ENTICING....that's Magpie Tales for this week...thanks, Tess...


Here hovers the Rain God
pinning his will
like a bespoke garment,
to my silhouette.

Hallowed mist
slicks my skin,
my spirit goes bang
on the downbeat.

I want to surprise
with wisdom and grace,but

Brother Raven and I,
the usual act,
take wing for sightseers.

Why does the fated
weary me so?

copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011

Monday, September 19, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #83

THE SNAKE CHARMER/  Henri Rousseau. 1907

WHAT A CHARMING Painting...Magpie/ Prompt #83, thanks for the inspiration, Tess!


No shadow under you,
no mirror image of your outline,
red eyes Morse code a warning
that seems an enticement,
an enticement that seems a warning.

Prickles on my neck
as you slither by
to the purr of the clarion.

Belly scraping rock bottom,
barnacles, scum,
a piquant soup.

The sinister hand stirs, beckons,
a whisper hisses in passing...
"She's to blame,
herewith in mud forever"...

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

Monday, September 12, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #82

                                                Andrew Wyeth/ The Revenant

Thank you,Tess, for Magpie/ Prompt #82 , the Revenant of 9/11 is forever with us.


A room
not yet found by the living,
Is that you, essence of my love? 

What are years to the vanished?
I know what they are to the waiting.

Where are you?
Gather yourself in my memory,
open a door,
pull me in,
so we can relive existence
before the azure sky shattered.

Return with your lost face.
Are you looking for me?

Your dust still tells stories
on a shelf
where books and angels
cleave to each other.

Not all of you, today,
Let your hand return
for a touch,
let your face brush mine
with a kiss.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

Monday, September 5, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #81

                                                       Photo/ Tess Kincaid

SO HAPPY TO BE ABLE TO REJOIN Magpie/ Prompt #81  Hope to stay a while...thank you Tess, for the inspiration!


To what purpose
are the crushed left to be observed,
for whom is this lesson?

I prefer that all archaic,
useless geometry,
be blown away.

Why stop to examine the broken,
as if we can see the heart
in each stone?

Sooner to dust
rather than later,

a flow of breath can free me
from watching decay
go on.

Copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011


Sunday, August 21, 2011

ADAM and EVE and ALIENS/ Poetry Picnic Week #1

FIRST I GOT SHUT OUT of Jingle, poem already done...what to do?  Then I got an invite to join the new Gooseberrygoespoetic Blog.  This is good, because poem seemed about to languish.  Thanks one and all (Jingle, of course!). 
Will not be able to comment for next couple of days because of necessary surgery...shhhh...but will try to catch up.  And, fingers crossed, please!


This orb of trees
and blue seas
will be planted
with miracles
from this day forward.

A book will tell the legend.
Pull Eve from his rib now,
let her kiss the bleed
as if she could ever
heal the pain of Adam's desire.

All will bear the scar.
The secrecy of a bitten apple,
will create a yawning wound
as snakes contrive
illusions of fulfillment.

So like the other worlds
where androids reign.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

Monday, August 15, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #78

                                                       Photo/ Tess Kincaid

GREAT PHOTO for Magpie Prompt #78... thanks Tess!!


Hey Pollock, paint's here! 
What do you mean by dribble?
I just don't get it.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

Sunday, August 14, 2011

LAST BREATH/ Poetry Potluck #48

                                                                 Bouguereau/ Psyche

FOR Poetry Potluck #48, we are given the topic of "Passionate Nights of Love"...


Frangipani under the bed,
wafting promise.
Tendrils of weeping willow
at my window,
when the embrace goes cold.

Dust finally defines my body,
remembering the past nights
when our touches
were made of dew,
as if Scheherazade
lived under my skin.

Am I dead still,
looking for a life,
or born all over again
to find your caress.

Banish tears from my pillow,
let your mouth taste my words.

If only last breaths
could summon up
the craze of passion
instead of fear.

copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011

Monday, August 8, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #77

                                                      Edward Hopper/ Summer Evening

EVERYTHING'S BUILT IN with an Edward Hopper.  Thanks to Tess for this presentation for Magpie Tales #77.

So you're taking a road
that's less fractured,
no weeds,
just sweet blossoms
from Aphrodite's garden
blowing cheap perfume
into your dreams.

How far will I fall,
without dawn in your grip?
Can I find a link
to another hero
who's learned to sweat
at five in the morning?

Pull down your canvas sack,
don't forget the honeyed words.
Grind them under your heel
with the half smoked illusions.
Pack them up.

Then embrace the smolder
till a new genie takes form,
and gargoyles at the window
giggle at your good fortune.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

Sunday, August 7, 2011

SINISTER/ Poetry Potluck #47

                                                      Toulouse-Lautrec/ Yvette Guilbert

THIS WEEK, for Poetry Potluck #47, we have the topic..."HISTORY and STORIES"...


Straight down the middle
is the line on which my history
plays hop-scotch.

This side blurs,
that side seeps
into the witch's cave,
all stalactites, hooked.

Sinister me,
a muddle of dim light,
yin and yang
slept in my mother's womb.

I want to play in heavy metal,
to tip the notes so far
that only an exorcism
can extract me back
into my true blue identity.

All the mystics decree,
even God on the Mount,
and angels flag me
to walk into the good light.

Maybe the bad seeds of my nature
can be ground into a fine residue,
swept away like a holy mandala,
the dust and fog of my karma.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011


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