Being Grumpy

In a phone call this morning, I was attempting to pass on some useful information, but the lady at the end of the line was not in the mood for listening.
So I wrote a Double Dactyl to get me beyond the experience - and polish off Day #30 at Writer's Island at the same time!

Sneakily skittering
moaning and wittering
never helped anyone
make life a joy.
Uncontrolled, spiraling,
irascibility?
Lacking humility's
bound to annoy!

By the way, there is a wonderful photograph By James Rainsford of somebody being grumpy over here, at
http://www.irascibleinsights.blogspot.com/

Hidden

Behind the looped veil
another universe calls
for recognition.


Written and produced for Day #29 at Writer's Island.

And talking of other universes, here's another kind entirely- the fantasy world of a Friday 55 coupled with a prompt from the Thursday Think Tank at Poet's United, who suggested Monsters!



Monsters can be scary,

or monsters can be fun.

I know which sort I'd rather have -

a friendly, little one!

It’s when I least expect them

they haunt me in the night,

so usually I run away –

would you stay and fight?

If you would, that’d be good.
You can have my bed tonight!

Homewell

Artwork by Jinksy

Ripple-blurred motion
of wavering water sprites.
Sunlight on surface.

A natural spring bubbles
in perpetual motion.

Written on Day #28 for Writer's Island.
Also linked to Poetry Pantry.

Tapestry Tanka

 Created from an original photo by Tammie Lee

Colours coalesce.
Mind recognises beauty
worth contemplating,
as picture provides focus 
for quiet meditation.


A tanka for Day #27 at Writer's Island

My sincerest thanks go to Tammie Lee for graciously allowing me to use her glorious photograph as inspiration for my Tapestry Tanka... You can see Tammie's Etsy Shop HERE.

Vernal Vision

With Spring as artist,
a kaleidoscope is born;
gemstone treasure chest. 




With thanks to Tess at Magpie Tales for her picture prompt this week, and to Writers's Island for their Day#26 of poetic extravaganza.

Treasure Trove

Majestic Thoughts Of A Mercenary Kind.

Would
this could
give pleasure...
All gold treasure
buried in the ground,
once it gets to be found,
belongs by right to the Queen.
Does She think this is rather mean?
"We must have coffers full of the stuff.
But being Queen is undoubtedly tough.
Guess We deserve an occasional perk,
also the chance to let Our face smirk.
All too soon We must pay the bill
as pretty young Kate and Will
both get wed and party."
"But nothing tarty!
Lah-di-dah day,
Ma'm, okay?"
"Ta-dah!
Yah!" 

A double etheree in rhyming couplets, of sorts, an offering for Day #25 at Writer's Island. I've linked this to Poetry Pot Luck, too - I believe in making the most of things!

All Too Much...

Excess? No, X.S!
Text-speak jargon for the young.
Mobile mania.


For Day #23 at Writer's Island and  Poetry Bus for the 23rd - snap?!

Tension

A
dancer
stretches out,
clasping fingers
around aching foot,
pleading with tense muscles
to delve for more energy,
willing them to obey her wish,
that the dance may continue to flow
in an unbroken river of movement.

For Writer's Island  Day #23 I have chosen to write an etheree.  Beginning with one, the lines increase by one syllable each time, to reach a total of ten in the tenth line.

Late Edition Extra! Now it's afternoon, and more words needed to be written, so here's a Haiku for Saturday.

Image from redbubble.com

The day holds love-light,
residue of the morning.
A perfect pleasure.

Seed Of An Idea

Negative
grows from positive;
sweep brush head's
created
as an artist embraces
dandelion dreams.

This has been produced for Day #22 at Writer's Island.

Gift

The locket
lent a glow of love
to her world.
Every time
she fastened its golden clasp
her lips smiled "Thank you!"

Another Shadorma for Writer's Island on Day #21.

Blue Nude

Original drawing by Jinksy

Night's velvet

envelopes woman  

in a cloak
of darkness,
but the beauty of her form
creates its own light.

A Shadorma (3/5/3/3/7/5 syllable count) for Day #20 at Writer's lsland , also linked to One Shot Wednesday.

EGGsplosion?

Mythical firebird
in a sunspot spectacle;
a phoenix rising.

Tess at Magpie Tales has chosen to serve us eggs ready for Easter, it would seem, but like a cuckoo in the nest, they hatched into another kind of idea inside my head, once I'd whirled the picture and changed the colours...
As luck would have it, this weeks Poetry Bus Driver suggested the word 'Exploding', and I beg to be let off writing yet another ticket, after creating this one a little in advance!

#18

Raindrop universe
fills a cupped flower petal.
A Butterfly drinks.

For Day #18 at Writer's Island, and The Poetry Pantry

#17

Spring tides strike terror;
unguarded shorelines cower.
Wave-mallets sculpt land.

For Day #17 at Writer's Island and linked to Poetry Pantry

#16

Invisible in country dark, the birds
had pegged the notes of songs among the leaves,
like flower garlands hung on high to dry. 
In crescendo, sprouting buds full bloomed
then died as petal echoes touched my ears,
enchanting them with musical perfume.
The darkling mystery of night revealed
its secrets, as shifting moon and stars revolved,
and lit arpeggios with silver mists.

For Day #16 at Writer's Island  and linked to Poetry Pantry #45

#14

 

Silk ribbon river;
moon-boat sails with star cargo,
highlights spring blossom.

For today's Freewrite at Writer's Island, as well as One Shot Wednesday.

A Passing Thought On Things Past

The Dodo was an ugly bird.

I'm pretty sure you will have heard

that he is totally extinct,

no matter how much we may thinct

he shouldn't be.

According to the notes I found with this illustration, it shows an almost complete skeleton of a Dodo, put together from bones collected by Mr George Clark  which he found in a marshy pool in Mauritius. In front is seen a dried foot of a specimen which was brought alive to Europe at some time in the sixteen hundreds. Both foot and skeleton are in the National History Museum.

Apologies to One Shot Poetry Wednesday for this light hearted snippet on a dull day, which is day #13 at Writer's Island.

Windsong

Summer breeze
blusters the daisies,
tosses trees,
chases clouds,
and echoes children's laughter
while it tugs their hair.


This is written in the form of a Spanish Shadorma, poetry which has six lines lines of  3/5/3/3/7/5 syllables.
It's for bkm's Monday's Child prompt in which she gave us this picture by Florence Edith Storer.

Vision

With palette and brush
the artist creates his dream.
A butterfly lives.

Thank you to Tess for another Magpie prompt that proved irresitable to me!

Zig-Zag

I am a crooked line.
I slalom throughout time,
till I stop at vantage points
of each remembered 'now'.
I salvage scorched images
as their embers flame
and burn each new reality
into the time-line of my life.

A Bug's Eye View has us following a strange route today to buy our tickets for the Poetry Bus! Let's hope she knows how to drive in a straight line, though! LOL
I'm having second thoughts on this one , so have decided to add the first draft of my idea, and then ask readers for their thoughts... This is what I wrote originally:-

“I am a crooked line. I swerve through time like a slalom, till my mind stops at a vantage point for the NOW I choose to remember. An ember flames and burns a new reality into the time line of my life. It scorches images which can be realigned, in straight or crooked lines.”

Then my Poetry Guru suggested using slalom as a verb, which I agree made more sense, as did his dispensing with 'my mind' by simply saying 'I', for who is 'my mind, if not 'I' ? Once more I thank him for his clear sighted thinking!

And I've tucked this into The Poetry Pantry, as well...

Moonstruck

Once in a blue moon is not always right,
for the moon was bright red on the still summer night
when for the first time I found there was you.
Red and not blue.

A happy thought written in 160 characters for Monkey Man and now added to The Poetry Pantry as well.

In Your Face

Thanks to learnersdictionary.com

Let's face it, life is funny.
On your face a nose that's runny
can be nasty, it is true.
and all that you can do
is blow it.

But if your face is sunny,
giving smiles instead of money,
don't keep it to yourself
stuck indoors upon a shelf,
go show it.

Turn into a happy bunny
and, like buzzy bees make honey,
life will suddenly be sweeter
for such a meet-and-greeter!
I know it.

Theme Thursday has cosen the word FACE today, so I hope this puts a smile on yours!

From Dark To Light

Illustration by stainedglass-artists.co.uk

When night creeps in my bedroom
and the moving shadows prance
across the wall and round my bed,
then I look at them askance
and tell them not to bother me
with their eerie, waving dance.

I'd rather watch the moonbeams
as they slant in silver swathes
and light up dreamland's ocean,
full of gentle rippling waves
that glint under the moonlight
in which the whole world bathes.

Into this magic world of light
which moon and stars keep forming,
come colourful, contented dreams
for company, till morning,
when cheery sunbeams tell me
that another day is dawning.

This has been written for One Shot  Poetry Wednesday over at One Stop Poetry- Where Poets, Writers & Artists Meet.
This is really a companion poem to the Ocean Dreamland one I wrote on Monday, and I've linked both to Poetry Pantry.

Ocean Dreamland

I steer through seas by moonlight
from the top deck of my bed.
Across the Ocean Dreamland
the stars and moon both shed
their silver beams before me,
while the breezes cool my head.

I sometimes see a mermaid,
seaweed twined into her hair,
and tiny pearls for earrings...
I know it's rude to stare,
but she is Oh! -  so pretty -
it's like magic, I declare!

She sings of sandy seashells,
secret caves below the sea.
where scuttling crabs and starfish
play, and never think of me
as my vessel cuts the water
and makes the dolphins flee.

But when the moon is waning
and the sun is getting near,
my ship sails back to harbour,
drops its anchor, so that we're
ready for the next day's end,
my ship and I, right here!



Thanks to bkm at Monday's Child who used this 1900's  picture by Ethel Mars and Maud Hunt Squire for her prompt this week. I've also linked this to Poetry Pantry.

What The Eyes See...

Rain on glass and drops on skin -
or outside a shower looking in?
Imagination could make this rude
if it decided to see a nude
torso captured in this shot.
Is it a body, or is it not?
Maybe its no more than fingers
behind a pane where rain still lingers...

Of course, it could be a shower of meteorites heading towards a dusty planet, but I leave that option to the star gazers amongst you, to interpret within their Magpie poem for Tess this week!

The Eyes Have It

The eye of the camera sees only those things chosen by the photographer. Its iris opens and closes on demand with predetermined speed and aperture, to capture upside down shapes on its retina. The human eyes and brain behind the lens use imagination to produce the completed picture; they have final control of the image.

These 55 words were written for One Stop Poetry who have today featured the work of photographer India Hobson.

Bushbaby - Or A Baby Bush?

Titus The Dog is in charge of the next Poetry Bus, and chose a list of animal subjects for us to write our tickets for Monday. One of them was 'Bushbaby' which shot the Jinksy mind into warp mode, hence a double helping of Lear Lunacy - the real kind, and my copycat variety.

It's a well known fact that a bird in the hand 

is always worth two in a bush.
But a Bush Baby? Man! That's a toughie you see- 

exactly how small need a Baby Bird be
to fit in a Bush that's a mere Baby Tree? 

The answer is unclear to me!

And as an extra, here are a few additional Animal Limericks, for fun.

A zebra with stripes on his back,
to face paint had not learned the knack,
he tried a disguise
but it was no surprise
when he popped his head into a sack.

A penguin who answered to 'Billy',
was laughed at for looking quite silly
when on tail, feet and hands
he wore bright, knitted bands
to save them from getting too chilly.

A camel was trying to jump,
but was blessed with a very large hump
which hampered his spring -
and (here's the sad thing)
he fell back to earth with a bump

Sidney Snake was afraid of the dark,
so we frightened him just for a lark.
We made such a din
that he jumped from his skin,
to rush naked around a car park.

A monkey who felt rather frail
thought  it time that he learned to abseil
but when faced with the ropes
he relinquished his hopes
and continued to swing by his tail.

Percy Pig loved to hide in a wallow
with more mud than a hippo could swallow,
for he knew he'd be free
from both you and from me,
for none but the bravest would follow.