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

Poetry On Wednesday

From Rallentanda in Australia comes another POW prompt for us to write about, and I have penned a somewhat tongue in cheek haiku for her, in view of recent happenings in that far off land!

I wish all the best to the many people whose lives have been affected by their country's flood disasters. May they find the help they need to rebuild their lives as quickly as possible.

Ice Maidens

On a night when the snow whispers at the windows and the wind wanders in the wildwood, we huddle round our fires, and listen to the Story Teller. This is one of his tales...
"Many years ago, people were used to travelling long distances on foot, no matter how bad the weather. So one wintry afternoon, when three young women from hereabouts set out to walk to the next village, nobody thought it strange.
By early evening, the wind gained in strength and the cold grew in intensity and a veritable blizzard blanketed the countryside. Everyone assumed the girls would stay with kinsfolk overnight, or until the storm had abated.
When peace descended on the land, and folk once more went about their daily business, half way between our settlement and the next, as if by magic, they found three fir trees had appeared, full-grown overnight. But of the three girls, nothing was ever heard again..."

  Thanks to Willow for her  Magpie Tales #49, which inspired this flight of fancy, as well as another one, over on Napple Notes!

Microfiction Monday #66

Threat of sunburn on his belly had him hiding behind a parasol which, luckily, served to keep his foe at arms length into the bargain!

Thanks go to Susan at Stony River for a delicate, grey image prompt that inspired me to play, yet again, to produce the above sunny variation!

Notable?

Music notes? Are they a dream?
"Mere dots on lines"  are what they seem
to unaccustomed eyes.
Some join with tails that fall or rise.
But some blobs sit, round and alone
in a space they call their own,
until we learn of the secret code's
F, A, C, E, music names. A toad,
hopping in between those lines
might search for reason or for rhyme,
but find none.
But one
who understands tonic sol-fa
soon finds there are
corresponding sounds, which,
to one with perfect pitch,
may be translated into song,
before very long.
"Do re mi
fa so la ti
do"
gives us an octave, don't you know?
Once a composer writes a score,
it's there to share for ever more,
thanks to musicians who translate
what he first heard inside his pate!

Magpie Tales #48 photo prompt supplied by Willow, as seen through the eyes of Jinksy!



Thanks to a comment from Catifsh Tales, I discovered today this delightful piece of music played on an Erhu, which I share with you here..

Microfiction Monday # 65

Thanks go to Microfiction Monday, where a picture paints 140 characters, or even fewer.

"Oh, Metal Mickey! You're SO strong!

Trio

Tension

Blue black sheen
glints on curves seen
to represent arms and legs.
It then begs
the question why
three bodies would try
to hold such a pose.
Who knows?
But wait - can I see
four heads, not three?
Now I yearn
to be able to turn
the object ninety degrees.
Please?
My hands wish to explore
more
of its intertwined form,
so unlike the norm-
al shape bodies take. Such tension
in suspension
makes my muscles feel
this strain, as if it were real
and part of my being,
not simply my seeing
it caught in stone,
in ebony monotone.

For more takes on Willow's photo see  her Magpie Tales #47.

Starlight Express?

 Or Weaver's Poetry Bus for the week? For a ticket, passengers were asked to take the word 'STAR' for their inspiration. I'm cheating. Many years ago, I was walking home after a long drawn out, quartet singing session at a neighbour's house, and the following lines were the result, so my ticket is well thumbed already!


2 a.m.

Clear night sky;
frost filled moonlight
cutting cold across the land.

Sounds are honed
to a knife-sharp fineness
by the icy, silent air. Stars,
bright as polished steel,
blaze white hot
through light year distances,
linking Earth to Infinity.

The sudden, brilliant arc
of a falling meteorite
underlines their beauty
and marks a point of no return.

Magpie Tales # 45

Celebration

Evening dark enfolds the waiting city.
Children dream, perhaps of Santa Claus,
while juke-box music churns its tuneless ditties
into the streets where nobody gives pause
to think of Christmas.

The midnight hour solemnly approaches;
a small group congregates in vacant pews,
their measured footsteps rhythmically encroaching
upon a silence echoing with the news
of that first Christmas.

Around the crib the candlelight is flickering,
but muted organ notes cannot compete
with raucous sound of angry voices bickering
from drunken revellers outside in the street.
Can this be Christmas?

Expectant landscape waits for welcome silence,
as moon and stars continue on their way
around a world beset with wars and violence
which needs the gift of Peace as much today
as that first Christmas.

Wilow's prompt for Magpie Tales this week reminded me of these verses I wrote way back. I have posted them before on Napple Notes, but they remain as pertinent as at their first appearance, and it will do no harm to give them another airing, as visiting commenters vary each year...

Heavens!

The Poetry Bus , being driven  by Titus, is now on the road. I've thumbed a lift after watching the very clever video which made me think I'd never be able to buy a legitimate ticket if I used the first set of words that filled my mind - they were too surreal! Instead, I've written the following ones on the thumb with which I hope to flag down the bus!

Cosmic

Your fingers caress the black and white keys;
rhythms of life cradled between your hands
fill the universe with stars. They light candles
in my mind as Earth and Sky and Sea
all merge within the music of your love.


Blue waters of awareness circle round
and oceans create life from out its depths.
The heavens spin with stars and melody
which nourishes the universal song,
until its spark ignites a wonder in us all.

Microfiction Moday # 61

A washboard, a tub and a girl (called Dolly?) washing doll's clothes?
What ever happened to Women's Lib and washing machines?



Thanks once more go to Stony River for prompting a typical Jinksy reply to this week's Microfiction Monday challenge of writing a little something in less than 150 characters. Feel free to count them if you must, but I assure you they're well within the guidelines!

One More For Big Kids

Ernest Aris 1947

Hopping Mad?

Six rabbits in search of a burrow
hopped all the way up to Harrow
but when they got there,
they cried out in despair -
the only one left was too narrow!

Thanks to BKM for this week's prompt over at Monday's Child. Okay, so it's Wednesday, but who's counting?

Seeing Is Believing?

In such a white out,
above snow covered country
the pilot was lost.

Another Ticket For The Poetry Bus

This week it is driven by Kat, who is expecting Pub related offerings, and here is my little tail ...er...tale of a tail, I mean...

The Red Lion

Some lion cubs frolicked 

and chased their own tails

but suddenly one of them 

loosed a great wail.

"Ouch!" I've been bitten! 

My tail has turned red!

And he ran in a circle, 

"Look how it has bled!"

The lion pride laughed 

and one smart arse cub

said "Cor! Now you're 

just like the name of the Pub!"

Microfiction Monday # 60

The latest fad for having matching 'His n' Hers' sets can be un peu de trop, when taken to extremes.



Thanks to Susan at Stony River for this gruesome but fun MFM!

"Weird"

How could I miss a chance like that? Write something weird is the request of Poets United Thursday Think Tank # 25. Hope this will do...

Spellcheck Nightmare

Writing flopsibitses
is what I do the best.
Ordnidapso poems
don't put you to the test,
but wofflynumblit dodits
of scrudabompy zest
will fill your squoozy moments
much better than the rest.
My keyboard lollyfrangles
and my brains get foglymessed
and my fingers danglycobble,
they really are a pest.
But underneath the splayjin
I'm absolutely sure
my no-pollipty nonsense
is no dafter than before.