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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Marilyn

MARILYN MONROE/ JUNE 1, 1926- AUGUST 5, 1962
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Can Marilyn ever have imagined herself to be 83 years old? Can we? But Marilyn had the destiny of a legend. And movieland fate seems to dictate a youthful demise for some beauties. I still can stare at that face and fall into it. Not always the acting, not the talent. Her voice made her into a comedienne. Her best effort for me was Sugar in "Some Like It Hot".
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Pinpoints of her soul showed up in her eyes. That left me breathless. I am glad that she will be a peerless beauty forever. Which sounds as if I'm glad that she died young. There's an odd dichotomy there that I'm aware of. Of course I'd love to see her yet, as a stalwart octogenarian, and not a mystery never to be solved.
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Marilyn, are you there? Are you listening? What would you have wanted?
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REST IN PEACE