MAGPIE/ Prompt #52

                                                       photo/ willow/ magpie tales


BIRDS NEST SOUP

There is a house
that Magpies built
made up of strands
of poems and prose,

bits of hilarity,
shreds of tragedy,
pasted together
with spit and wit.

Runaway villanelles
to string us along,
sonnets to bend us
towards Shakespeare.

The walls of this circle
stretch with truth
or dare,

and Tess
collects all
to feather
her nest.

copyright/allrights reserved/ 2011


Congratulations to Tess and Magpies galore for 1 year of very fine blogging!!!  Bring on the Prompts!

http://www.minblu.blogspot.com/
http://twitter.com/lynxny

MAGPIE/ Prompt # 37

                                                 photo/ willow/magpie tales


TESS KINCAID

Has anybody seen little Tess Kincaid,
just a moment ago
napping in down?

Floating on a feather,
awake or asleep,
dreaming with a cadence
to start her jig.

Did she arise yet
from her cradle of exploration?

She nimbly floated
through the branches
of a willow tree,
which beckoned her to notice
what lies beyond,

arranged its leaves
in a flirtatious halo,
placed a crown of hope
around her virtuous brow.

Running down a fork in the road,
she carries a gold frame
hoping to someday fill it

as a movie star
on the cover of Modern Screen,

a cherub floating through autumn heaven,
or a hostess with the mostess
at Sleeping Beauty's ball,

always falling in love
with Edward Scissorhands,
stirring his cup of tea.

Here comes the Pied Piper,
enticing poets far and near,
children of all ages,
following her refrain.

Come out, come out
wherever you are!
You may hide,
we will seek.
Where is little Tess Kincaid?


c copyright/all rights reserved/ 2010


Glad to be a follower of all the magpie prompts...makes me think..thanks Willow!!

Poem in My Pocket..

WHAT A WHIRLWIND OF A MONTH IT'S BEEN.  THE PARADES FOR NatPoMo are winding down, and here we are at the end of a joyous celebration!  Poems have been gathered in bouquets, and everyone became a poet for the month!  Alas, here it is, Poem in My Pocket Day.  I hope you all have one to tuck away, carry with you if you run into a poetry drought.  I have mine, right here, just in case I have to administer a poetry transfusion.

POEM IN MY POCKET

I'll have a word,
that one there,
the one floating through the air.

Disregarding obvious rhymes,
I refuse to pander
to poetic banter.

Offering a place to land
I try to gather a word
that seems as soft as feathers.

I cup my hands and catch,
not a word
but a hummingbird.

I fit it into my pocket
feeding it a nourishing whisper
and hope it bears within,
a poem.
I let it fly away and circle me,
its wings tick-tocking
some doggerel.

It's absolute bliss,
walking through another day
as a poet,
with one new idea
that's landed in my pocket.


c copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2010

http://www.minblu.blogspot.com/
http://twitter.com/lynxny

Embedded

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Ceramic Artist- Ryszard Stryjec
x
x
XXXXXXXSAND IN THE SHELL
X
It's a speck of sand that's crept into my shell,
that I'm trying to spit out
to cough up.
What places this dust in me?
Am I to be torn,
to be hurt by a floating dot?
x
I heard a rumor that this is the launch
of a life inside
that pulls and scratches and embeds
till here it is,
this phantom from my previous days,
before redemption or good deeds could save me.
x
Eat me up, let's see who will survive this wound
where a tiny pearl yet to swell
whispers I am the return,
just as you are the carrier.
x
This life in a bubble,
shielded from the plague,
later believes it's a feather,
x
floats away
from bonds
that tie a knot,
that stops the blood.
x
x
x
c copyright/ all rights reserved