Message...

BETTER LATE than never...good cliche'.  This one's for ONE STOP POETRY  /  One Shot Wednesday...WHERE DO THE DAYS GO?  I meant to get an earlier start..I recommend that you read all the splendid poems entered on that site..onward and upward with the arts!!

MESSAGE

Today I saw a message

reappear in the sand.

I thought a wave

had taken it forever.

Didn't know

that I could catch

time reverse.

Me dreaming?

Maybe not.

It said, say thank you

for your life.

Be grateful

for all effects,

chew the gristle,

die in a dungeon

dance in the red shoes

that bled me.

And I did.

I called my life wonderful.

I scraped the ache off my heart,

like mud off a tattered shoe.

Soul is what stays.

Always say thank you

for the speck that starts a life,

else you would never be here.

c copyright/all rights reserved/ 2010

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

http://twitter.com/lynxny

Just Lust...

                                                               forum.nationstates.com



BON BON

It's dangerous
to carry on a lifelong affair
with chocolate.

Chocolate has taught me infidelity.
A cheap piece
from a penny machine,
a Godiva truffle,
a Dove ice cream,
descending
into my mouth.

God help me.
I can go from one
to the other,
and never look back.

The last one was good,
but the next
will be best.
It will be the real thing,

the outstanding bon bon,
and it's just around the corner.

c copyright/all rights reserved/2010

You don't have to be a sinner, just a bit of an observer.  I urge you to join me "in sin" with your creativity at Poetry Potluck.  Fun all around!!

This poem is adapted from my book of poetry, Two Ghosts. 

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

Leave it to Barbara...

                        
                                             BARBARA BILLINGSLEY

                             December 22, 1915- October 16, 2010


I tried to make my mother, and then myself into June Cleaver, an ideal I nurtured before reality separated itself from TV.   She was the always calm, always sweet natured, stay-at-home Mother, to the Beav, Wally and husband Ward on " Leave It to Beaver", from1957 to 1963, and in re-runs forever.  

And she did it in pearls and high heels.  Of all the mothers on TV, to me she personified a standard that I knew was too good to be true, but loved anyway.  To have that character and perfect intuition existed in a time when Mother knew best, before Father knew best, and now is just nostalgia.  Because we live in a time when it seems, no one knows best. 

So thank you June Cleaver for the standard.  And thank you Barbara Billingsley, for being the personification of one great Mom, and pretty good in all your other roles.

RIP

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

MAGPIE/ #36

                                       photo/ willow/ magpie tales


PORTAL

Some fly at night.
I like to fly in the morning.
Some mistake me for a moth
just because I linger at the flame.

But as soon as the door
swings open, I'm seen,
a nymph, to amuse or alarm.

A beam of light,
from the open portal,
shines through my wings,
today the color of peridot,
green as a neon bud,
lucent and shedding
angel dust.

I've lingered long enough
without identity,
first a ghost of hopeless prospects,
then a minor Satyress,
sitting on the edge of beds,
urging lover's arms
to enfold the air in which I float,
before they choose the damsel.

A rosary of names
hangs round my neck
and the wind will whisper
the one I am.
Someone will choose
to call out to me
when they pray
to Heaven for help.


c copyright/all rights reserved/ 2010


What a terrific Prompt this week from Willow.   Please read all the other's who've written their excellent posts!

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

Building A Beach...

THE  CHOICE FOR THIS MONDAY'S POETRY POTLUCK, OFFERED BY JINGLE, at Jingle Poetry, is to write a poem about BEACHES or MOUNTAINS.  The stuff of dreams...


BUILDING A BEACH

I'm building a beach on top of my bed,
pouring a pail of blistering sand,
composing a dune
with sea grass swaying,

tilting my face to take in the sun,
hearing the pulse of the ocean
absorb the beat of my heart.

I kick some shells
as if that was sport,
brush a flutter
buzzing next to my ear,
an emissary from actuality

trying to convince me
that I'm just dreaming of August.

As I roll over to let the radiance
burnish my legs,
a floorboard creaks,
cat ready to pounce,
summoning me to awaken
and tend to my day...

Monday, go away.


c copyright/all rights reserved/2010

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

MAGPIE/ Prompt #35

                                               photo/ willow/ magpie tales


JACK AND ME

Jack fell down.
I slipped and started to roll.
Over and over I went,
gravity showing no mercy,
nothing in my way to stop me.

I felt the crunch of October's leaves,
wintry reds and gray yellows
glossy with dew,
not softening my path,
but affixing themselves
like postage stamps,
poking my battered front and rear.

I gained thrust like a mythical goddess,
then felt a sharp pain
as I rolled over that broken crown
tumbling before me,

as if some wizard
had animated it
to mock me,
and win a race
to the bottom of the hill.

Pay attention
to what I say,
never go looking for water
at the top of a mountain
with a drunken monarch.



c copyright/all rights reserved/2010


This poem is in response to yet another terrific Prompt by Willow at Magpie Tales..who can resist..not many, for sure!!


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

Hawk....

HAIKU

My soul a feather
of the white hawk that defends
a full, drumming heart.


This is my first submission to One Shot Wednesday.  Anything that gets me to write more poetry is OK in my book.  So thanks to those who clued me in. Will try to make you proud.  And bloggers, this site's for you!!  Go to the One Shot site for details, please...


c copyright/all rights reserved/ 2010

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

Fire/ Aries...

ARIES

Coated by winter's demise,
three inches of snow
can't halt the impertinence of daffodils
pushing to stand on earth
made virgin again.

Renaissance in the garden
is a holiday for Aries.
A promise carried on the air,
a trace of green to sniff as hope,
to live anew
no matter what the year collected.

Aries discards history
with a snap so sharp
that the past is not only over and done,
but resting in winter's crypt.

At the vernal turn,
trust without end,
a blade of grass,
a childlike laugh,

once more to cross
the threshold into spring.


Inspired to join Jingle Poetry, Monday Poetry Potluck, with this week's theme...Fire, Water, Earth, Air...I chose Fire..pretty easy for an Aries.  This poem was originally published in my book of poetry, Two Ghosts, seemed to be just what I was looking for.  Hope you enjoy this and the many other poems that have been presented because of Jingle's blog.  Well done, one and all!

c copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2008

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

Brave New Day...

BRAVE NEW DAY

It's the morning, darkness still reigns.
I slide out of bed,
tuning in to creaking knees,
a puppet getting aligned,
standing for the first run of the day.
To the bathroom.
Ahhh.

Why go back to bed?
To fake finding that last dream?
I don't think so.
Better to feel a purpose
running red within my veins.

Heroic tasks may arise
after the first dust devil appears
next to the cat.
Brush in hand,
I find importance in a sweep.
Kitty gives me his back.
Little surprises await.
Better look down.

I am peering through the window
to welcome a day
that will be important.
As it seems every day at sun up.
Life itself is palpable.

It's only midday that signals a truth
that tickles my ear,
and a whisper says,
you can take a nap now.

I succumb,

to gather energy
for the amazing night yet to be.
And then to bed.


      An optimist's lament?  Except optimists don't lament!


c copyright/all rightsreserved/ 2010


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

MAGPIE/ Prompt #34

 photo/willow/magpie tales

MAGIC LAMP

There is a core inside the lamp
that spins when the spirit dances.
He has the face
of the man in the moon,
hides in a recess looking out,

stares at me as I press closer,
my hands in prayer,
my mind craving entry,

wishing to be able to take a whirl
within a fabled orb,
to dance with my dream lover.

I'm ready to shed reality
for a glow of the light within.

What if instead
the magic tipped over
and spilled,

the oil bubbled,
and spread a flame
to burn all reveries?

What if possibility died in the fire,
and only a charred confession remained?

What if I'm the only one left
and then I find
the man in the moon?


Please check out all the terrific entries to Willow's prompts.


c copyright/all rights reserved/2010

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