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


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

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


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

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.


copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011


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

MAGPIE/ Prompt #50

photo/ willow/ magpie tales

DOWNHILL/ This Way

My trail is empty again.

I take it and dream my way down,

skiing new powder,

going past a few tracks

that cut the hill

on the traverse.

I whisper a caution

now and then

to shadows rushing past me.

I fall and slide against a tree.

The snow goes up my nose

like a line of cocaine.

I sit there and sneeze

little ice balls,

fearing the crack I hear

to be my bones.

But a twig suffers the break.

I rise once more,

lean into the wind,

pretend my increasing speed

is what I wish,

and not the pull of gravity.

I appeal to good fortune;

please, don't send me to oblivion.

                                                  

@copyright/all rights reserved/2011

Thanks to Tess Kincaid for giving me the opportunity to resurrect a poem I had published in 2008.  It's just a bit revised, something I should do more often...and hope for the best!

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!!