Magpie Tales # 54

Relentless power
of water engulfs humans.
Floods pay them no heed.

Their lungs cannot breathe
oxygenated bubbles
formed by the maelstrom.

Instead, these droplets
create thunder in our ears,
as their sounds combine.

Souls of water sprites
are drawn into the torrent
but remain silent.


Once I saw Willow's picture turned into the negative, it inspired  me to write this set of multiple haiku. For more pieces of the jigsaw. visit others at Magpie Tales.

#71 MFM

One door closes, and another one opens.
Doesn't it depend on which side of the door you're standing? 
Thoughts like this can drive one crazy!






For more Microfition Monday  gems of wisdom in 140 characters, go and visit Susan and her happy band of followers at Stony River!

Sorry about my Mr Linky links not working! If you've made it this far, I thank you for your patience!

Nature's Time Capsule

Amber buries time.
Warm-touch fire shadows flame
in eternal light.

No spider could ever weave
a tomb to endure so long.

120 Socks, driver of the Poetry Bus for 21st February, suggested the word 'Amber' for aspiring Ticket Holders, and I wrote this Tanka - a  poetic form using 5-7-5-7-7 syllables in its five short lines.

The last line started life as "a web which would last so long."  Then I changed it to 'a web of such brilliance', as it was the eternal light-flames that I had in my mind. 
But my dear mentor suggested the above amendment, 'a tomb to endure so long',  as it re-inforces the 'tomb' aspect of amber for the spider, as well as web for a fly! I can see his point, and thank him for the idea and the words with which he expressed it. If we change our collective mind again, there will be further edits! 

What The Eye Sees

He must be hallucinating. The chill had seeped through his clothing, as though the fabric was blotting paper, soaking up liquid cold.
The abandon chair had seemed like a refuge, when he first noticed it across the field. Surely, there would be habitation, human company and help nearby, or how would the chair have come to be there?
He struggled through deep drifts, squinting into the sun as he tried to make out signs of a settlement or buildings. No such luck. The chair was plumb in the middle of nowhere. But as he grew closer, he saw a vague outine of a body - surely a judge in robes and wig? The tapestry figure became more solid until his feverish mind saw it in 3D Technicolor, and he heard it speak! "How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?"

A very late ticket for the 14th February Poetry Bus, with apologies to Dana Bug for nearly missing the bus.

And if you still can't see my 'Judge' - here he is, in silhouette for you!

First Encounter

The alien creature gazed at me through slanting eyes, black beady almond shaped things, with a blank and menacing stare that added nothing to its charm. It was impossible to tell whether the crinkled surface of its face was its own skin, or that of some breathing-apparatus-cum-hood, designed to keep it alive in our polluted atmosphere.
Its features reminded me of an owl, for the outer tips of its eye sockets resembled the ears of one of those majestic birds, and the white triangle of its forehead ended in a rounded snout, or possibly, beak, although it gave no sign of incorporating a mouth.
Atop its head, a short, cylindrical dome might have been either headgear, or part of its strange anatomy, and from time to time, laser beams spiralled upwards from the small openings in the domed apex. The lower part of its body disappeared into the blackness which surrounded it...
I stood still and waited for it to make the first move.

Thus goes my offering for this week's Magpie Tales, thanks to Willow.

In The Pink?

As he sat alone, he realised that looking at the world through rose tinted glasses was not enough to make him feel one of the crowd.

Thanks to Susan at Stony River for this MFM #70 prompt!

Tall Tale For Tuesday

 

Winter Warning

When the moon hides in the heavens, and witches walk abroad,
the silent silver branches' ghostly glim can't be ignored.

For outside, in the gardens, all is not quite what it seems,
though inside foursquare houses, sleepy people dream their dreams,

Jack Frost flies with chill abandon, his colours stark and bright,
as he adds his touch of magic throughout the livelong night.

Shadows stretch and spread their cloaks before his dancing feet,
then loom and roll towards him as he passes down the street.

The witches zoom in circles, partners in his crazy dance,
but he quells their manic laughter with a single, frosty glance.

Be sure you heed the warning, should you hear your Elders shout -
'Look out, look out, my children when Jack Frost is about!'


Thanks to Magpie Tales for the picture that gave rise to this flight of fancy!

Less Than Sixty...

Characters! Never mind the minutes! With a mere Fifty Seven I have collect my daily dose of wisdom for Microfiction Monday's prompt-in-a-picture...

Let time fly out the window. Instead, just start to live!




Thank you, Stony River Susan.

Thursday Think Tank #34

*Poet's United Thursday Think Tank Prompt 3 February

A Pauper's Bequest

I leave you the laughs I haven't yet had
plus the love that I keep in my heart.

Thus will laughter increase!

(And my love will not cease
because I have fallen apart!)

*Click on the title below the picture to follow the link to more offerings!

Poem On Wednesday

Remembrances Of Times Past 

Mind and memory intermingle. Some
scenes are sharply etched upon a screen
stored within the confines of our brain.
But when the camera rolled to capture shots,
as we, the actors, played our chosen parts,
it may have picked a random point of view
unlike own. And so, the action replay
which we look at to remember, may not
be exactly as we hoped. In retrospect,
the shifting scenes may give us pause for thought.
Remembrances could prove to be but lies,
if wishful thinking added overlays
of meaning. In colour pictures that our eyes
thought fact, fiction may have intervened.

This was written for Rallentanda's prompt POW #18  and is also linked to Poetry Pantry #27 - waste not, want not!

We're All In A Lather !

Bosun Bob and Barnacle Bill
though shipwrecked on a shore
knew they'd be, for good or ill,
squeaky clean for life, buoys - er - boys!

From Dover Publication's free sample newsletter, which was Stony River's prompt for her Microfiction Monday #68.

Magpie Tales #50

Focus Is Everything

An arrow points the mind in one direction,
but eyes will focus on their own choice of subject...
One portion of the larger whole, captures
my imagination. A giraffe spirit stands
poised between the winter tree trunks,
it's white and black form out of place
amongst the snow in an alien landscape.
Once interpreted this way, my brain refuses
to let it fade into the background, despite
logical intervention of thoughts roaming inside
my head. Perhaps the animal spirit needed
me, as writer, to birth it into eternal life...

Willow, your unusual picture this week lead me down a strange path, but isn't that what prompts are all about? Exploration! Many thanks to your all seeing eye that captured the original image...

Microfiction Monday #67

Bat Man and Robin were set to go; but what if their wet weather gear

hampered their flying skills? 

Perhaps they should pull a sickie?!

Susan at Stony River has to be thanked for this rainy day romp. May the sun shine on her and all other MFM participants this Monday. And now for the other half of the picture...for it's two for the price of one today,  folks!

 

A grey day is transformed to blue
when you find what a computer can do! 

Clarity

The mind reflects the stillness of calm water,
as it contemplates this mirrored image.
But this land is barren, and will give no quarter
to wildlife. Man made skylines will not damage

the artist's vision.  Forever it will remain
ideal, a proud example of an island state
rising like a mirage from some domain
which paints itself upon our screen. Fate

will deal with it kindly. It will never age,
captured as it is in pixels. Machine and man
have created a Nirvana of the Space Age
which exists in no-mans-land. It can

however, be a stepping stone between
our world and another, which waits unseen...

This is in response to The Writer's Island Prompt #4 for 2011