Waterworld

Ocean stares unblinking from beneath green eyelids, watching, watching... standing guard above Neptune’s Kingdom, where mermen and mermaids live in their bubble-filled, coral palaces among sea groves of waving kelp fronds.

Is he searching for a Mortal who would be able to dry his unshed tears, those he may one day cry for all humanity?


Tess gave us a fascinating picture by Robin Gosnall for this week's Mag, and I couldn't resist playing! And as luck would have it, there are 55 words for G-man, come Friday!

Heatwave

For today's Mag, Tess has given us a photo by TheFoxAndTheRaven, which I have interpreted in my own way, with thanks to the original artists.

Drawers is Drawers - or Pantaloons?

Poor Venus had no underwear
which might make people stand and stare
if 't'weren't for classic chiseled drapes,
so no one's mouth need fall agape.
But what did Dali do forsooth?
He was a most impetuous youth
who made her chest a 'chest of drawers'
with furry knobs ne'er seen before...

What if he'd chiseled pantaloons?
Would history have dubbed him goon,
or would the folks do naught but snicker
at the sight of Venus wearing knickers?

To see the origins of this flight of fancy, pop across to The Mag 157 to visit Tess and Mr Dali in person! But now, here's another version - take your pick!

The Artist Jacek Yerka...

With an introduction in his own words here!

Today's Magpie sparked my curiosity, not my muse, and if you follow the link above you will maybe gain further insight into what kind of a mind produced the Wind of History which Tess featured today.

Perhaps later my muse might be stirred to action - perhaps not. Time will tell...

And after a couple of hours, either my brain or my muse has kicked in. The words that follow are entirely as a result of the 'feel' of  the painting "Wind of History", and nothing at all to do with the artist even though I looked at information about him! So, here's my offering, such as it is:-

The Malcontent

No ordinary dreamer have I been,
for kaleidoscopic thoughts drove me on
to follow my own paths. No formal gates
opened to lead me to a welcome light;
my tracks journeyed back and forth, back and forth.

So I travelled on, failed to rest content.
Now, like an abandoned car I must stop -
I have lost all power to move forward.
Clouds fog the horizon, but a beacon
shines through the mist, calling to me "Come, come!"

And finally, a rethink of the image, specially for SueAnn Lommler!

Everything Sounds Better In French!

A Brit might live life "In the Pink"
and give a knowing little wink
at a boy and girl locked in a clinch
at a cafe table; but it's a cinch -
I guess that everybody knows -
in France, one lives "La Vie en rose!"

Thanks to Tess and Joseph Lorusso 
at The Mag 155

Sci Fi Etheree

His
blue lips
loose a scream;
his exhaled breath
fogs the atmosphere,
precious drops of liquid
condensing on clear plastic
which separates this specimen
from  mankind, while aliens’ secrets
continue to elude all scientists…

Another flight of fancy for Tess with her prompt at The Mag

In The Groove

An excerpt variation on "Charlotte Gainsbourg, AnOther"

Round and round the records spin
to fill the room with sound
and vinyl voices take the air
as pop song verses pound.

The needle tiptoes in its groove,
a dancer all on point
a-balancing upon one leg
with an electronic joint

connected to the magic box;
a "Dansette" it was called
and in those early plastic days
it kept the youth enthralled.

Before the days of DVDs
or CD's silver faces,
black record-ridges were the norm,
no need for airs or graces!


Written for Tess at The Mag

Handfast

His right hand outstretched,
rigid, palm up, unbending,
offering its strength.

Her left hand, pliant,
curves to accommodate it;
vulnerable trust.

Partnership begins;
how long such a link will last
is never certain.


Written for The Mag, with thanks to Tess and the unknown photographer.

Knit Wit?

Feet are neat -
though maybe not sweet?
But a body sock leaves
toes exposed. Please,
enthusiastic knitter,
don't be a quitter.
Clack you needles again
and make some socks, plain
or patterned will do!
I ask you,
how else will I keep
the warmth in my feet?

Thanks to Tess at The Mag for the intriguing example of one knitter's wit! LOL :)

I noticed another couple of interesting excerpts too...so here they are.

Monkey god with supplicant?

Still life monotone

 

Caution!

Indrawn smoke
turns ashen lungs black,
like widow's weeds...








Even stale cigarette butts can be turned to good use - go here to see more attempts, thanks to Tess and R A D Stainforth.

Greetings!

To Blogpals far and near who happen upon this card -

I made it to share, so feel free to help  yourselves! 

Reflected Light

Remember how this winter day gave light
to country fields where frost and snowflakes lay?
It held at bay the terrors of the night.

When phantoms lurk and prowl our inner sight
and blackest thoughts intrude and bar our way,
remember how this winter day gave light.

Its hoarfrost beauty kept the landscape bright,
attempting evening darkness to delay...
It held at bay the terrors of the night.

To those who'd choose to flee to calm their fright
there's scant advice to give, except to say
"Remember how this winter day gave light."

Then their unease must give way to delight;
although the sun had seemed to hide away,              
it held at bay the terrors of the night.

And should your future self meet such a plight,
in each reflective moment, do, I pray,
remember how this winter day gave light;
it held at bay the terrors of the night.

Thanks to Tess and Andy Magee at The Mag #148 for their inspiration. I have also linked this to Poets United, and IGWRT too.

Heavy

Broad shoulders
may bear many weights.
Ask Atlas.

For other ways of looking at the world, take a trip to see more at The Mag 147, thanks to Tess and the photo source here.

Left On The Shelf

Two abandoned rings
underline your absence,
leave a vapour trail of emotion
across a sky where stars, this day,
are hidden.
Love has been eclipsed
by a black moon,
and the chill of outer space
invades my universe.



Written for the Mag 146, thanks to Tess and  Man Ray's Object to be Destroyed.

IGWRT Monday

End Of Autumn

The white-disc moon of daylight hours
hides briefly behind clouds whose showers
sprinkle drops of silver rain that glint
as sunshine slants again
across the land.

Through spiders' webs of crystal laces
peep holly’s bright red, berry faces.
Their glossy leaves sharp-pointed splinters
prod days of autumn into winter’s
frosty hand.

An old poem presented for Toads' Open Link Monday, as I thought it needed an airing!

Sisters

Sepia Saturday featured an old photo of two little girls, so I played with this modern one of my two sweetie pie granddaughters, and aged it accordingly.Guess they should have been wearing frilly white cotton frocks, don't you think? :) But I began thinking of 'the sister I never had,' and the following lines wrote themselves!

I never had a sister,
so I guess I missed a
lot of fun.
I may have done...
but who knows?
We may have come to blows!
Although I think not.
I had a brother and we swapped
mostly laughs and jokes
and learned to poke
fun at ourselves, too.
That was a good thing to do,
for a little mirth
is worth
a mountain of tears,
in later years!

Golly Gosh! Friday 55 Looms!

Last week, I noticed Doctor FTSE, in his explanation of a triangular number, had given us all the chance to follow his fool proof method for producing 55 words, almost at the drop of a hat. So I've had a week to do a bit of counting and fiddling with vocabulary to produce my offering for G-Man .

We
have seen
the power of
words, when they are
allowed to become the focus
of a writer’s attempt to explain
an idea on a page. Immediately, our
eyeballs as well as brains begin to display
a need for some sense of order, and suddenly
the poet departs, leaving in his place a mere writer!

Okay, so it's only Thursday, but I will be able to link this ready made post first thing on Friday!

Three Riddles

A bit of fun for Friday - I wonder who will be the first to email me with three correct answers? Please  email me direct, if you think you know what they are, then it won't stop later visitors from having to use their grey cells too!

Number 1

The metal blade is sharp and thin
its point is ready to plunge in-
but not to flesh, simply to paper
an ideal, paper sculpture maker.

Number 2

Our grate was covered with black lead,
but mine remains inside my head
and body, too; throughout it's length
my wooden bones will give it strength.

Number 3

I'm drowning from the inside out,
and steam clouds billow from my spout.
When my hot spots start to bubble,
stand well clear for T means Trouble!

Casualty of War

Verdun, 1917 by Felix Vallotton

Her token
lavender and lace
disguised
a life lived
in quiet contemplation
of a secret admirer.

His bouquets
once used the language
of flowers
to declare,
by their bashful eloquence,
his love and admiration.

But the war
stole his life from him
and left her
with nothing
but memories, as fragile
and elusive as perfume...

Written for The Mag 143, with thanks to Tess.

Icon for 2012

Like a study for a stained glass window
she sits in passive stillness, watching him
take her photograph, this prying artist
who unthinkingly captures her spirit.

She lacks energy to protest. Instead,
she has withdrawn into a time and a place
where she can ignore his reality.

We are left to wonder what she might say
if her image could come to life and speak.

Once again, Thanks to Tess for her Mag 142, which sets our creative juices flowing.