The Green Man

In realms of myth and fantasy the Green Man has survived.
From far away as pagan times I think he's lived and thrived
within the minds of country folk, through good times, or through bad,
and this kind of longevity is anything but sad.
Fruitful gifts of mother earth have morphed into a man
in this, my painted image - ignore him if you can!

Thanks to Tess at Mag 120 and Klaus Enrique Gerdes, whose image below sparked all of the above!

Light V. Dark

A blind, half pulled down, curtains, 
half drawn, maintain privacy
but let outsiders see the light
which, by night, stems lunacy.

For darkness encourages
many stages of madness;
wild imaginings which seem
to tinge dreams with their sadness

as daylight fades from the sky
and we humans shy away
from phantoms and other shades
which we may ignore by day.

Detail from a painting by Edward Hopper, which featured in Mag 119 thanks to Tess. I've tried to follow a rhyme scheme used in Welsh poetry, which was first brought to my notice on Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.

Allez-oop!

Their nerves have been conquered, the battle is won;
two barefoot artistes are finally done.
Now, these high-wire acrobats bow to the crowd
who clap and applaud them. The music sings loud
from brassy gold instruments glinting in lights
of the circus Big Tent, this Saturday night.

Children and parents on ranged tiers of seats
anticipate multiple breathtaking feats
thanks to animal trainers, to jugglers, to clowns,
to spangle-clothed ladies who jump up, then down
from galloping horses which race round and round
while the ringmaster's whip cracks its pistol shot sound.

The colour and movement both serve to enhance
the skill of performers who thrill and entrance
every new audience, day after day,
till it's time for the circus to be on its way.
Then the tents and the caravans all disappear -
and folks are heard shouting "Come back next year!"



Words and picture inspired by Mag #118, thanks to Tess and Marc Chagall.

Fire! Fire!

In 1079, William the Conqueror designated the New Forest, in Hampshire, as a royal forest and hunting ground., and you can read more about its history if you click HERE.

I found many photos on the web, including this free one... But idyllic as it seems, there is a darker side to this well known beauty spot, where life sometimes hangs in the balance, and this is what prompted me to write a series of shadormas for Poetry Jam today.

For any who have yet to encounter one of these, let me explain. It is a six line, unrhymed 'verse'  whose syllable count follows this pattern: 3/5/3/3/7/5.

And the second photo tells its own story...

Ponies graze;
the forest is theirs
and freedom
to wander
has been an unquestioned right
for centuries past.

Dry summer
is an enemy;
potential
to kill lurks
among fronds of dead bracken's 
natural tinder.

Unwary,
unthinking humans
cause chaos,
their litter
ready to spark disaster,
and let loose fire...

It's A Hard Life

Like steam
from the soup bowl,
their anticipation
had risen at the approach of
meal time.

But they
were left hungry;
one bowl between many
only served to tantalise them
further.

Empty
days and stomachs
were all they could expect
poverty and deprivation
to bring.

Words and picture inspired  by Mag #117, with its image of an original  painting by Paul Gaugin.

Blind Spot

I have a blind spot.
It's not
the usual kind
that you might find
anywhere..
But there,
where my seeing fails,
wind taken from my sails,
I've lost sight of love.
Has push come to shove?
Has the cost
of loving lost
allure?
I'm not sure...
But still I must
trust
love exists.
It would be missed
by more than I,
if it should die.. 

Poetry Jam asked us to consider the word  'blind' - and this is my interpretation.

At The Going Down Of The Sun

Molten gold
burnishes tree tops,
old day dies.


Inspired by Mag #116, where Tess chose an original image by 
R. A. D. Stainforth.

And this morning, Wednesday, I've written and created a different offering for this prompt, over on In Tandem.

Bottled Up

I'm the Cookie Monster.
I lived inside a jar,
till someone took the lid off -
and well, now, there you are!
Or rather,  that's where I am -
all free and on the loose.
But freedom, I've discovered,
is not a lot of use
when you haven't got a body,
let alone a pair of feet,
and now the jar is empty,
I've nothing left to eat!

Original image by Manu Pombrol used by Tess for Mag #115

The Question Is...

Today,
will the sun shine?
Will rain showers prevail,
or will capricious weather gods
send hail?

The sky 
remains unsure,
with blue and grey patches
fighting for supremacy,
today.

April
enjoys playing
with these variations,
becoming a true turncoat,
taunting!

And it's a good time for me to play with the Cinquain form...

'Dung' Bust It?

My long time Blogpal and verbal fencing partner, Doctor FTSE, has seen fit to write 55 words about **the pros and cons of horses as house pets ! Yes folks!  But remember, his blog name  'Stop!...This is getting very SILLY' does give you fair warning... And Jinksy, or even Jinksie, can rise to that Footsie humorous challenge, like so...

Thanks to indecipherable photographer!

In the question of horses for courses
dear Doc Footsie has plenty to learn.
His idea for changing a light bulb
is one I would certainly spurn.
I ask you, a horse in the house? Man!
Imagine the mess that might cause?
For dirty great dollops of horse dung
are most certainly best left outdoors.

And thanks to G-Man for whom I have penned a Friday ditty in 55 words.

** Click on these words to read all about it.

Late Night Extra : Or now, click on these, to see how Caddoc Trellis has horned in on the act!

Labour Of Love

For this week's Mag #113 prompt Tess gave us a picture by  Marc Chagall, called 'Red Roofs'.
I have taken a detail and adapted it to fit my tale, told in four shadormas - syllabic verses which follow a pattern of 3/5/3/3/7/5, in six lines.

Weary man
wipes perspiration
on his sleeve.
Fixing tiles
is not an occupation
which he can enjoy.

Heat reflects
upwards from the roof.
Summer sun
on his back
burns through the material
of a cotton shirt.

Only fear
of coming winter's
wind and rain
motivates
him to continue labour
with no thought of rest.

But when storms
rage round his homestead,
he'll rejoice
and recall
this day's work with gratitude,
all pain forgotten.

A Collective 2012

For an explanation of the following lines, and why they have been written, you will need to visit Imaginary Garden With Real Toads 

Some claim April rain
brings the blossoms of May,                           Grace O'Malley
but trees here are hasty           

like youth, ardor unrestrained       
eager for spring's first sweet kiss                    Art Happens 365

Sakura blossoms                          
In the arms of old man tree                             Skylover
Drops of moonlit milk

showgirls will perform a dance           
inspired by Moon light’s embrace                  Ella

her graceful waves in                         
a risqué spring ballet, legs                             Laurie Kolp
kick the darkened sky,

stars wink at rainbow feathers            
that tease with each fluttering.                       Susie Clevenger

My full heart flutters,                         
I become dancer and dance                           Other Mary
under April’s moon

and a blossoming cherry
in the sweet, full warmth of May.                 Kay, Alberta, Canada        

And we, resting far                                  
north where snow still flies and melts          Sunflower Shan
await midnight sun.

Polar day will not circle         
on cosmic calliope.                                          Jinksy

Pegasus gallops
to the music of the spheres,                             Caddoc Trellis
while star clusters spin.

The earth spins on its axis,                            
hums its music in B flat.                                  Margo Roby 

Spring pirouettes ice
spun sugar and crystal shards                        Misky
across the cosmos

silver vessel half moon
empties dawn into morning                          Jules

The night bids farewell.
Leaving a trail of stardust                              The Happy Amateur
it flies on its way.

Restored to herself, the earth                        (ditto)
Resumes her orderly spin
  

( Saturday, 8 a.m.. I've been updating to include later entries so far, but it's become too confusing to keep up! The best place to see them will be HERE)

And now, in May , the finished renga may be enjoyed in full, HERE, thanks to the organisational skills of Grace , over at IGWRT.

A New Day

The hatchling
danced in the dawn light.
Prying eyes
of the world
could not see her boundless joy
in new found freedom.



Inspired by Tess at Mag #112 and  her original image by djajakarta

Strictly For The Birds

First came the nest.
Then all the rest,
in season.
No further reason
needed for a pair
of birds, except where...
and how many eggs to lay.
One day,
a Mummy duck laid one.
"Way-hey! here I come!"
her duckling peeped
as the water seeped
around him.
"It's grim. I must swim!"
I'm not like that man.
He can
take off his shoes
and choose
to stay nest-bound,
on the ground.
I shall head for the high seas
if it please
me. My brain's not addled."
And off he paddled...

This is the Mag #111 picture by ParkeHarrison, which sent me dashing for my computer wizardry. This happened to give me the gift of duck 'shape', eventually. It set me versifying. April Fool's Day seemed an opportune date for such an offering....

Celebrity Dreams

Tess chose for this week's Mag #110 an image by Duane Michals, and here is my interpretation of a detail from it, together with a shadorma - a poetry form which has six lines of  3/5/3/3/7/5 syllables.

A rock star
shines until burnout
overtakes
the glitter
of footlights; skies cloud over
with disappointment.

 I thought I'd let you see the intermediate stage of the image from which I chose the detail I finally used...

See The Connection?

The one between life and laughter, I mean - though cooking and recipes connect well, too! Poetry Jam is responsible for this mixture.

Cooking is a gentle art –
until one day it falls apart
and best laid plans of recipes
come unstuck, for all to see!
A cake that’s soggy in the middle
will maybe give the cook a giggle,
when he sees the state it’s in,
before he lobs it in the bin!

But one ingredient never mentioned,
even by the well intentioned,
is a special sense of humour.
It’s a fact, not just a rumour,
that laughing at the trials of life
will add a very special spice
to every dish,  both sweet and savoury
and it won’t add a single calorie!

A Happy 55

The saying goes
‘Laugh and grow fat’. 
This jolly fellow
has done just that.
But his belly won’t wobble,
his laugh won’t be heard
He’s a sound proofed  Buddha!
How absurd!
He’ll never utter a single word
for he's made of wood –
though he does look good
with his big grin –
wish I were him!

Go see the G-Man for more 55's.

Save The Muffin Man

Four and twenty blackbirds
got baked inside a pie...
but I'm inside this muffin.
Can you hear me cry?
The steam is rising from the top
and I am nothing if not hot
and wondering just how I got
into the mix.
I'm in a fix.
Help!

Posted for The Mag 108

Surprise

For today's Mag 107, Tess used an image created by Sarolta Bán.  However,  I couldn't resist adding a Jinksy twist to better suit the two limericks I wrote...Apologies all round!

Here's the first:-

There was a young film buff from Towcester**
who fell for the girl on the poster.
"I'm her number one fan.
If I were leading man,
I'd choose her at once for my co-star!"

And here's the second:-

A photographer chap from Kildare
filmed a model who tended to stare,
and her face on his wall
made him feel oh, so small
as her silent eyes shouted "Beware!"

**For my American Blogpals, here's a guide link to pronunciation of this place name!

Where Lies Inspiration?

Start with an image. Choose a portion to zoom and crop, then stop. Contemplate and rotate.

Was this a mistake, or does the image now seem fake? Shelves become partitions in this position. Lines of rolling tins become rolling stock on a conveyor belt of rail or road designed to withstand a heavy load...
It leads the mind in a new direction until it arrives at an interconnection of ideas.
After years of visual surprises, eyes have learned unusual ways of interpreting every day sights. Never mind what the subject might have been at the outset. Once imagination is let loose,  there's no use curbing thought. It does what it aught, and gives us the gift of a poem...

 And this is my gift of a shadorma, for the Mag this week. With thanks to Tess - and Andy Warhol!

Change colour,
create graphic bulge.
A blurred, traffic filled highway
emerges,
its flowing
river-rush of vehicles
morphed from those red tins.