The Twilight Zone...

I LIKE TO CHECK MY HOROSCOPE in the morning.  Usually I don't get a big laugh out loud moment.  Today is different.

On this date, April 29, 2011, I, an Aries, am warned that I may not realize that I've slipped into the Twilight Zone.  That the various nooks and crannies of my so called life are bent slightly out of shape. 

ahem...I've noticed.  As if I can't tell that I've settled into a parallel world, ever distant at times from the so-called "real world". 

I'm advised by this stunning horoscope to perhaps call on my friends to help me distinguish between my illusions (mostly harmless posturing) and the nitty gritty world that I obviously should get closer to. 

I'm not sure if I'm on the outside looking in, or comfortably reclining on my Lazy Boy, happily looking out.  I hope that tomorrow will, horoscopically speaking, signal to me that it's safe out there, and that I can bid farewell to The Twilight Zone.

Friends, I know that your down to earth qualities will come to my aid when you see me tottering too close to this edge or that. When you see that I need help, please...Help!

MAGPIE/ Prompt #63

                                     photo/ magpie tales/ tess kincaid


WHAT A GREAT BURST of color!  Leave it to Tess to come up with this original prompt..always something special waiting for us!!


QUANTUM TREE

I thought it would be sinister
on the other side
of the black hole. Surprise!

All my yesterdays
and tomorrows,
a vibrating quantum tree
of relativity,
blossoms of light
leapfrogging unbound,
doing the two-step
with the Wu Li Masters,

expanding as far
as the third eye can see.

In this seamless universe
each colorful soul
overlaps into the other,
no hard edges,
one ball of God.


copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011


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WRITING POETRY/ Poetry Potluck #32

THIS WEEK'S POETRY POTLUCK #32, is offering the wonderful challenge of ART, MUSIC, and POETRY.  What a great choice!! 


WRITING POETRY

My words are floaters,
little suicides
bobbing to the surface,
assembling into a sonnet.

My own wit lies concealed,
waiting to be dissected
by sages of doggerel.

Some find another Ode
on a Grecian Urn,
identify an element of beauty,
others hoot at a cliche'.

I count off a haiku
on my fingers,
kick a tanka into shape,
run with a necklace of triolets,
and fall head over heals
for a pantoum.

No matter what the price,
this is where
I enter paradise.


copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011



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I LOVE MADELYN

                               MADELYN PUGH DAVIS

                       March 15, 1921- April 20, 2011

With her partners, MADELYN PUGH DAVIS, who has passed away at the age of 90, wrote the classic "I Love Lucy", including the memorable stomping of a vat of grapes, the oversized bread swelling from the oven, and perhaps the most famous of all, "VITAMEATAVEGAMIN", a commercial for a health tonic.

The premise that Ms. Davis and her partners came up with was to have far-fetched physical predicaments for the show's star, Lucille Ball, and to get Lucy Ricardo into ever-lasting conflict with Ricky Ricardo, played by her real life husband, Desi Arnaz.

The Paley Center for Media honored Ms.Davis in 2006, and said of her: She "not only made her mark as a writer, but also opened the door for other women to follow in her footsteps."

Starting in 1951, for four of its six seasons, "I Love Lucy", was the most popular show on television.  All 179 episodes remain in reruns.  Probably forever.

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #62

                              photo/ magpie tales/ tess kincaid


THERE ARE TWO DIFFERENT kinds of folk in the yolk  world....a subject that comes to mind because of this week's Mag...thanks Tess, and pass the salt, please...


OVER, NOT EASY

Take it back.
Please.
I don't like leaky yellow
seeping into white goo.

When I say "over"
I mean flip it,
till the edges crunch,
and the yolk looks
as if it can bounce.

Please.
Tease that egg.

Don't serve me
sunny side up,
or runny side down.

A hockey puck
on toast will do.


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SUMMER DREAM/ Poetry Potluck #31

"THESE ARE A FEW of my favorite things..."  Can't get that song out of my head...although I sure will try so that I can get to POETRY POTLUCK #31.  And one of my favorites is....


SUMMER DREAM

Hum a tune to me, July,
brush a peach
a plum
a cherry
against my waiting lips.
I will share the taste
with the eager hummingbird.

Let honey drip
its coy sweetness
onto my finger tips.

Redbreasts and bees
alight on my hand,

as flowers come into bud
for summer's birth.


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MAGPIE/ Prompt #61

                                         photo/ magpie tales/ tess kincaid


This enigmatic photo posed a bit of a challenge ...I'm so late this week to feel the spark!!  No one ever said Mag would be easy.  Thanks, Tess....


DREGS

A candle's beam
illuminates the goblet,
as I swirl a plea into the wine.

I hear a moth's whisper,
watch it fly into its fate.

Tiny wings float,
mix with vintage tears,
cheap wine.

Tastes like the Red Sea
before the parting.


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SURVIVAL/ Poetry Potluck #30

THIS WEEK'S Poetry Potluck #30, brings us the challenge of Evolution, Environment, and Survival.  I insist on surviving.  That's it!


SURVIVAL

I learned to paint my heart with camouflage,
walk on the ceiling when the floor swayed.
Sometimes I slipped into a crack,
next to the vermin.

Became skilled at being a wall.
Found the chalk and lead within,
not poison to me at all.

I am from ashes come,
hiding as a quantum speck
in the cosmic funhouse,
before heaven claims me.

Let God just wait for my intent.
I mean to write a full opera
in any key I want.


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POINT of VIEW

HERE'S A POEM unprompted..decided to get off my big fat dependency on other's prompts and stand on my own two stilettos.  And finally admit that this is the first true thing I've ever written...up till now just been in the grip of the dullest life..shamefully overcompensated by telling little white lies.  Will be trying "the truth", from now on.  Maybe.

POINT OF VIEW

My eyes were looking for dawn
as sleep tugged them to stay shut,
but push I must to awaken
to such an itch in my left eye.

No, more like a scratch,
so what could have jumped into this orb
during a dream, to cause a discomfort like this?

But force I did the debut of the day,
still full of black ink streaking the sky
and that fierce discomfort becoming
the fullest part of the morning
as I slog to get to the bathroom.

And here's my day staring with a focus unasked for,
the mirror presents a blur with no common sense solutions,
so that plans of finally accomplishing greatness,
a creative mind triumphant,
my footprint planted on the "Walk of Stars",
will not be solved today.

All actually obliterated, taken to the back
of my prehistoric mind and dropped there,
so that I may focus on the physical complaint
of an itch which overtakes all previous intentions.

I look for a cool splash of water
to sail away whatever speck has lodged
in a deep pocket of this sphere,
which spent the night in sweet repose.

My day is shaped by action unplanned
to give a name to a newborn pest
that's come to rest in my point of view.


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MONDAY'S CHILD #40

                       Illustration/ Ethel Mars- Maud Hunt Squire/ 1900's
                               From a Children's Garden of Verses


ANOTHER WONDERFUL ILLUSTRATION to prompt us to write a verse for children...from Monday's Child.

DREAM BOAT

I'm looking at the rolling waves,
ready to dive into a sea of dreams.
Other children are rocking their beds,
turning them into boats of the night.

Shiny fish jump very high,
trying to catch a bite of the stars.
If I catch one, I'll throw him back,
so he can dream with me another night.


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MAGPIE/ Prompt #60

                                     photo/ magpie tales/ tess kincaid


Can it be 60 Mags?  Back for more...thanks Tess!!


INFINITE RAIN

Each drop holds a soul.
There I am, infinite rain,
looking just like you.


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THE FAIRGROUND/ Poetry Potluck #29

                             Fairground/ Dora Carrington/ 1921


THIS WEEK'S prompt for Poetry Potluck #29 asks us to feature Photographs, Memories, and Nostalgia.  Seems to overlap for me...


THE FAIRGROUND

The barker's pitch
hums across the fairground,
pulls me in.
Just stand there he says, pose
right there in front of the paper tree.

You won't feel the August heat.
Smile for me.

A field of wheat wraps around the park
like flaxen hair,
a painted bunch of pears and peaches
on a backdrop
fools a bee buzzing.

Don't worry
about the children running by.
Smile pretty now.

As I look at the early moonrise
I take an apple from my pocket.
The barker snaps that shot,
gives it to me.

I decided to go on without you.
So long ago, still I remember
a spider underfoot
and I let it run free.


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