IGWRT's Friday challenge , which I've now got round to reading, asked for a poem written in less than 5 minutes, and including the word 'ecstacy'... How could I resist another joke?
Ecstacy
is you and me
together
by the Xmas tree,
where X stands for a little kiss
without the need for mis-
tletoe!
Do you wear a watch? Does it rule your days and haunt your dreams? Tick, tock…the rule of clock surrounds you, turns the screw. Once you’ve learned to tell the time, that face, with hands that sweep the hours away, becomes a threat to freedom, while it keeps you moving on towards the future…
The detail is from a image by Lee Friedlander, 1966. Linked to Magpie Tales today, and on Friday, it will serve for Flash 55!
This detail from the Magpie Tales #95 illustration by Mostafa Habibi set my mind in motion...And I've also linked it to Imaginary Garden for their Open Link Monday.
Neptune's Kingdom curved around the globe;
waves whispered lyrics mermaids sang in coral caves, when everywhere was water. Their soft soprano salt-sprayed notes danced above the deep wave’s roar as ocean currents orchestrated music in melodic symphonies, whose sounds form a background to our lives today. Without their ancient lays, where would we be?
Theme Thursday gave us an interesting graphic today, and I decided 160 characters would wrap it up nicely!
A forest fire hides him in wreaths of smoke. Flames leap ever higher and devour trees like a hungry dragon, as this modern day St George battles for supremacy.
They sat opposite each other, with eyes downcast. Unappetizing sandwiches and lukewarm tea added nothing to ease the situation. Divorce was on both their minds.
In the tradition of MonkeyMan, I've used a mere 160 characters to capture the mood of this snippet from the Magpie Tales illustration - 'Lunch' by George Tooker, 1964, Columbus Museum of Art - which Tess has used today.
But I couldn't resist honing in on other parts of this intriguing painting, so full of stories...
Morning light
filtered through the glass,
but coffee
was needed
before his eyes could focus
on its brilliance.
But HOW did the G-Man get in on the act? Look carefully! Hehehe!
Time's palette turns, perception alters around a basic structure. Dreams evolve in technicolour tapestries which meld for a moment, to decorate our world.
An orchard's harvest falls, and feeds the soil with richness gifted to the generations as yet unborn. This urge to propagate is inherent in every living cell of man, of beast, of plant. Since worlds began this inner plan has played its predetermined part. We can't deny, nor start to understand its complexity, merely stand in awe..
Teeth engaged, cogs circle in disdain.
Not in smooth running, round-wheeled ways
but spasmodic clicks, with tricks to trip
the shape-shifting focus in a mind
searching for the calm centre of Now.
Binding past and future, pendulum thoughts
swing in Time's cradle, but do not
be lulled by their rhythm. Life's jagged edges
await to jolt the complacent dreamer
and catapult them into the present tense.
Fairies, fragile winged, fast-flying,
brilliantly outshine the lights
reflected by the sparkling dew-drops
left on blossoms overnight.
Pollen-laden stamens glisten,
surrounded by the glowing gems
of velvet flowers' scented mantles
swirling crenelated hems.
Gladly, bees collect this treasure,
toiling morning until night;
but fairies, far too busy playing,
gambol to their heart’s delight.
If you listen, still and silent,
you may hear their tinkling tones,
see the showers of golden sun-motes
as fairies frolic while bees drone.
Chelsea Bednar's design, which I used for In Tandem, immediately made me think of this poem I wrote for my great niece, when she was much younger than she is now!Thanks, Chelsea!
Imaginary Garden for real toads had a musical prompt for Friday, but as soon as I read the words "Sometimes, I write about how experiencing live music feels", I knew I would have to use this piece for my post. I saw this group, back in the eighties, play live at Chichester Festival Theatre. For those who don't know, its modern architecture is closer to the original form of 'theatre in the round', and the accoustics were incredible when Incantation played this music.
(Sorry this video no longer works, but try this link instead...
Below are two poems I wrote as a result, and I'm leaving them just as they hit the page all those years ago, when this music spoke to me for the first time.
Incantation 1
Tarka, Quena, Drum, make the ether thrum.
The theatre's high vaulted dome would be the sky,
if the pipes were home, in Bolivia.
Joyous, noisome sound echos far around
and struggles to unleash the ties
that hold it earthbound, under skies that beckon.
Incantation 2
Bright music swirls around. Pan pipes, drums and flutes
hurling notes into the air, that soar on high and hover there,
then dive down helter-skelter chutes,
to the depths of the bass drum notes .
The ancient rhythms pound, robbing mind of thought;
soul and body both repeat the ancient music's dancing beat
that all the instruments have caught
with their glorious, rainbow sound.
Thoughts blur one into the other, like vibrant inks on wet paper, enticing my imagination to drift aimlessly hither and yon, grasping at phantoms and I am at a loss as to how they may be captured in words. Undefined, these hover on the outskirts of my awareness, misty, mocking my underlying need to communicate. How do I prove to myself I am not the only inhabitant in this eerie world of Not-Quite-Here, on days like today, when my thoughts take on the jumbled aspect of coloured pieces in a kaleidoscope, but refuse to coalesce into coherent shapes, or patterns?
Don't look back
to a past that might have been,
when in quiet moments
you have chance to dream.
Feel no regret for words unspoken;
guard your memories, as a token
of a tender love
that's lasted through the years,
and love like that
shouldn't give you cause for tears.
Now the space between us lengthens
as I watch you turn,
and start to walk away...
I hope that my will strengthens,
for my being longs to call to you
"Please stay!"
while I watch you turn,
and start to walk away...
Don't look back,
now it's time for us to part,
for if you do,
you might see a broken heart...
Once again, Tess at Magpie Tales has got me going with her unusual choice of photograph, which eventually produced this rather odd result, for a Jinksy....
And of course, Open Link Monday ties in so well at Imaginary Garden...
In my parent's flat where I lived before I got married, Orion was framed by my bedroom window. It was always special to me, since the time when a science teacher at the Northern Grammar School had us girls meet up on a dark night, so she could point out all the constellations.
She also made sure we could repair fuses, replace an iron’s heating element and change a tap washer.
Thanks for the memory go to Dr FTSE and Imaginary Garden, Here’s my first Orion! LOL.
Belt of Orion beyond
bedroom window, lead my dreams,
made three diamond points of light
a focus in the darkness,
as my imagination
re-invented the Hunter,
strongbow ready, primed to shoot.
Three, balanced on each side
of one central pivot;
seven days in a week,
seven stars, seven souls,
or seven deadly sins
in a rainbow's colours,
on seven continents.
'The Pleiades', is an unusual poetic form. It's aptly named: the seven lines can be said to represent the seven sisters, and the six syllables represent the nearly invisible nature of one sister.It is the subject of the post on Imaginary Garden today.
But seven measures many things, which set me thinking... and made me totally miss the fact that each line should have started with the same letter - sorry, peoples!
We can't get away from numbers. On this sixth day of November here are 160 characters for Monkey Man which focus on the number five!
"Remember, remember the fifth of November, gunpowder, treason and plot. I see no reason why gunpowder and treason should ever be forgot" thanks to Guy Fawkes!
Over ond'Verse - PoetsPub, Form For All highlighted Japanese poetry. Do go and read what Lady Nyo has to say on the subject, in particular this:- "There are basically two forms of poetry in the Man’yoshu: choka (long poem, 5-7-5-7-5-7, etc. ending in 7-7) and tanka. (5-7-5-7-7)." I have copied these characters which translate as 'Solitude', so here's my tanka inspired by that word..
Using memory
to trace my lover's outline,
I am not alone
in forsaken arms of night
when my heart seeks his loving.
