MAGPIE...Prompt #144

                            
                                                     SQUALL/ 1986/ Andrew Wyeth


THANK You, Tess...for Magpie Tales.


TEMPEST

Flung open the door,
grabbed my binoculars,
fine-tuned to the prospect
of bird watching.

No need for
a yellow slicker today,
still wet from yesterday's tempest.

Sun, like weak tea,
paints itself into a corner,
spreading over the crazed wall.

No ships at sea now.
A blameless horizon
backing away,
heading for a smooth current,

leaving the shore
piled high with splinters.
Once had names.


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Will Barnet

                                                          WOMAN READING/ 1970/ Will Barnet

                                                                      5/25/11- 11/13/12

My muse, a print of this hangs over my desk.  I see it dozens of times a day.  It is always dynamic, pure, full of zest, and life.  This is a portrait of the artist's daughter, reading a book, with the seemingly coziest cat ever.

Will Barnet, known for beautifully stylized portraits, died on Tuesday, November 13, 2012, at his home in Manhattan.   He was 101 years old.

                                                              RIP

                                                                Photo/ Anthony Brown

Will Barnet, National Medal Of Arts recipient... painter, printmaker, receives Medal from Pres. Obama at East Room ceremony at the White House.  On Feb.13, 2012.


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MAGPIE...Prompt #143

                                                  Verdun, 1917/  Felix Vallotton


THANK YOU, Tess for Magpie Tales...


ELEVEN  ELEVEN

What color dust
have you become?
Did you drink in red
as you were sliced?

Is it soul or skin
that drifts upwards
to add a stain
to the eternal cloth?

I'm the shade of hell,
the mud trench we died in.
You sink into me.

A raven calls the time,
eleven, eleven.
On my back
dead eyes
stare at the azure sky.

Part of forever now,
I'm the blue in the rainbow,
don't search
beyond that
for me.

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MAGPIE...Prompt #142

                                 CHARIS/ Lake Ediza, CA./ 1937/ Edward Weston


THANK YOU, Tess, at Magpie Tales.


CHARIS

Weston's Charis shows her face,
and my eyes are pulled
to that pretty gaze,
boys boots, girls tease.
I wonder which,
but then I spot the access,
the exit,
between her legs.

I was born from that canal.
I see the slit,
covered with layers of modesty.

Beneath the rough cloth,
folds of fine silk,
softest porn.

Great artists do more
than one thing at a time.
Manet's Olympia
looks my way,
seduces,
then dresses to serve
with motherly grace.


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MAGPIE...Prompt #141

THANK YOU,Tess at Magpie Tales...


HURRICANE SANDY

Amphitrite,
Thetis,
Galatea,
nymphs and mermaids all,
able to unlock the ocean
into a Red Sea.

Rolling pebbles
from the foot of the deep,
a thousand years
for a handful of sand.

We'll name a new Nereid,
let her roil and churn,
a spinning tempest,
windblown,
a debutante sprite,
with a dragon's tongue,

dipping fire,
drinking deeply,
a tango,
a surge.

The traveler,
wrapped in a hurricane,
knows his refuge is the sea.

Fifth Annual Willow Manor Ball

OH, TESS, I just love what you've done to Willow Manor.  You were right, as usual, didn't need more than a dash of whitewashing!  And the moat at night!  Now everyone will want one!  Fabulous, of course!!

 

OH, this old thing?  So glad you put me in touch with your little dressmaker!  I intend to wear it more than once, something I never do...it's just so cute...I mean FABULOUS!  My date, my charge, my next husband, well who knows?  I try my best but the sweet old thing still keeps confusing me with a chair...see what I mean?

 

 

 

 

Yes, I do still call him Mr. Eastwood, don't like to overstep my bounds!  He generally calls me, (or the chair) punk, as in "Do you feel lucky, Punk"?   At this point he generally pulls out the chair and in very clipped tones, tells it, "Go ahead, make my day".  Sometimes he says that to me.  At times I have accommodated.  After all, a legend is a legend!  But for the most part, he is a fabulous companion.

 

 

 

 

How adorable of you and Radical Rad to be giving dance lessons on the terrace!  And no, it's never too late to learn the two-step.  Touch dancing is so fabulous!

 

 

 

 

Chocolate martinis..if anything will get me to look less like a chair...this could be it!  Cheers, and I'll  let you know about the fabulous results later.  Oh, Mr. Eastwood, I'm right here, next to the chair!!

 

 

 

 

Some thing's working!  Now Mr.Eastwood is talking to a green girl...."Go ahead, make my day"!  Does he mean me, the green girl, or the chair?   Anyway, we've had a fabulous time.  Tess, no one can throw a ball the way you do!!  See you  next year!!

 

 

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MAGPIE...Prompt #140

THANK YOU, Tess, at Magpie Tales...

PASS THE BUCK

According to Wikipedia, "Novus Ordo Seclorum", words lettered on each dollar bill in Latin, translates into "New Order of the Ages".  Every day this legal tender slips through our hands, through our notice, with poetry.

From the fourth Eclogue of Virgil, (IV:5)


Now comes the final era of the Sibyl's song;
The great order of the ages is born afresh.
And now justice returns, honored rules return;
Now a new lineage is sent down from high heaven.

What you get for a dollar....still possible?

Copyright/all rights reserved/ 2012

A lovely Lady Magpie, dedicated to Tess Kincaid, sent to me because of my affinity for the Prompts, by Dori Hartley, a blogger for Huffington Post.  Who happens to be my daughter.  Thanks, Dori...


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MAGPIE...Prompt #139

 

                                     MIDNIGHT SNACK/ 1984/ Curtis Wilson Cost


THANK YOU, Tess at Magpie Tales...


MIDNIGHT SNACK

Last night it hummed in the attic,
an idle Nosferatu
who's found a recurring song.

Biting my nails,
spitting fret,
writing a plea
to God or man,
that daybreak will rescue me.

Each and every light
switched on,
enfolds me like armor,
saves me
for tomorrow.

Then I'll invite somebody
to listen with me
to the screech,
whistling from that dim corner.

I desire a moment of embrace,
tendrils of morning fog
hold me close.

An advent of specters
dance around me.

I grasp a hand
cold as one that tosses earth
on an open grave.
I find the returning melody.


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SHAPE OF ZEROES

SHAPE OF ZEROES

Sucking up bathtub spirits,
spitting them out,

mixed bag of stew,
too much hot sauce
disguises the content,
makes it seem, dream,
that my life
has real zest.

Still doesn't turn
into a four star restaurant.

Standing up straight
like a buttoned down shirt,
only my tongue
flaps in the breeze.

Leaves fly by,
shape of zeroes,
same color all year long,
icy blue,
don't change tint
with the seasons.

No color show,
this chance gone.

Wait till next May,
think of a new dance
around the pole.


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MAGPIE...Prompt #138

                                                    SICK WOMAN/ Jan Steen/ 1665


THANKS TO Tess at Magpie Tales...


A HUMOUR

What's turned her humour
to black bile?
Warped her cold and dry,
bound to earth,
forever in melancholy?

Tulips at the door
from the shy one
with the downward glance.
The wind sighs with her voice.

He begs for courage
to fetch some magic.

Perhaps a unicorn's horn
filled with tears of the stag
who trampled her ardor.

He longs to spill
the Satyr's blood
and wash away the tether.

The bonesetter
who heals fractured maidens
arrives, fills the kettle,
pours a flow into a lucent cup.

Melancholy sits,
she sips white tea,
stirring cinnamon, lemongrass,
a sliver of cardamom from India,
knobby ginger,
and a stain of beetroot
to brush her lips with sunrise.


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