MAGPIE/ Prompt #95

                                                      Image/ Mostafa Habibi

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



QUICKSAND

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.


copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #94

                                                Lunch/ George Tooker/ 1964


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


SAY SOMETHING

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


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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!

 

MINIMALISM

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.

 

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

 

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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 !


TWISTER!

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 there...watch 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

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http://twister.com/lynxny

POETRY JAM/ Picnic

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.


PICNIC

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.


copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011


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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

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KERRY'S WEDNESDAY CHALLENGE/ Prose Poetry

                                 
                                                  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!!

LET THE GROUND TREMBLE

          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

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #91

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


FOLLOW ME
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.
Stay.

A damp anticipation,
here's what you came for.
Stay.
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.


copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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11 / 11 / 11

OVER THERE

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.


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

THE TALE ANEW...

THE TALE ANEW

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

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