Sunday, May 26, 2013

MAGPIE...Prompt #170

                                                             PONYTAIL/ Last Exit

THANK YOU, Magpie Tales...


Before your face took shape
I saw a flow of will erupt,
nodded yes my baby,
I feel your heart alongside mine.

That vortex on the silver screen
is the spot where a blue eye will cry
if love doesn't pour over you,
run down each step of your being.

When your raven hair unravels,
I'll place a ribbon, invisible,
in a loop
that ties you close to me,

see to it that all love
decants like wine,
flows your way...
nine months to go.

Copyright/ All rights reserved/ 2013

Tuesday, May 21, 2013

MAGPIE...Prompt #169

                                    LIGHTHOUSE DANDELIONS/ Jamie Wyeth

THANK YOU, Tess..for Magpie Tales.....


Dung beetle feasts on
gold dust, becomes a scarab,
jewel for King Tut.

Copyright/ All rights reserved/ 2013

Monday, May 13, 2013

MAGPIE...Prompt #168

                                                                 PHOTO/ Togan Gokhakar

THANK YOU,Tess at Magpie Tales...


My Grandpa Jake fancied he looked like Bela Lugosi.  My Grandma Rebecca, who favored hats under all circumstances, learned a long time ago not to tell him to smile for a photograph.  Because he would likely have slipped some Times Square souvenir fangs into his mouth.  He enjoyed being inappropriate.

Rebecca, the gorgeous redhead in the family, wore a flower in her hair while giving birth to my mother.  It is said.

This particular day we went by ferry to the newly opened Wall of Names at Ellis Island.  Then a quick photo before they searched for their names.  Which I had submitted to be placed on the wall as a tribute to their discovering America.

A guard came by and told Grandpa to please put his cigarette out.  Grandma never had any success with this.  Truth be told, sometimes she puffed away on a Camel's.  And in the Russian way, while enjoying a glass of tea, some raspberry jam stirred into it.

Grandpa always rolled his own.  He had a small leather pouch for the tobacco.  And papers.  I thought he was a cowboy.  At 72nd Street and Broadway.  Years later his style of rolling remained with me.

I brought some note paper and lead pencils with me so that they could make a copy of their names from the wall.  On the trip back from Ellis Island they compared rubbings.  Grandma's hat was swept off her head by an extreme gust of wind.  Grandpa dropped his cigarette.  By then he was buying packs.  He grabbed at the brim, slightly crushing it.  He put it on Rebecca's head, backwards.  On purpose, of course.

He was a tailor, an entrepreneur, and a poet.  She baked bread and told scary fortunes.

Copyright/ All rights reserved/ 2013

Sunday, May 5, 2013

MAGPIE...Prompt #167

                               YOUNG WOMAN PICKING the  FRUIT of KNOWLEDGE/ 1892/
                                                                               Mary Cassatt

Thank you, Tess, at Magpie Tales....


Don't want to set the table for heroes,
paint china for your cup of tea.

Dare I clip my tresses to the bone,
live my life as the son?

I will taste the chaos in the flower,
climb a tree, pick the limbs
clean of desire.

Not permit myself
to be stifled by blame.

Cry with joy
to accept the last apple,
never give up
the celebrated bite.

Copyright/ All rights reserved/ 2013


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