Exploring

No, I've not been absent from Blogland because I've been exploring in far away lands! But this morning, I have been exploring to see how Blogger and Google have attempted to help  (or hinder?) each other, in the matter of creating New Posts on my various blogs.
A whole heap of 'Post Setting Options' on a drop down list, have proved most entertaining...I've discovered I have a 'Pocket'... Not sure yet where exactly it lives, nor what it might hold.

Any pockets about my person,in real life, may not always stand a close scrutiny, though you can be sure one of them will contain a handkerchief - in a relatively clean state, may I add.  The phrase 'Do you have a clean hanky?' is one that all good parents have issued as one of their offspring steps out of the house - at least, it was back in the days when I was small fry.

Nowadays, paper tissues have replaced many a cotton hanky, and they don't fare as well in a pocket, especially after any garment whose pocket harbours a stray one, has been in a washing machine! I've spent many a happy hour removing little balls of disintegrated tissue from any dark clothing which had been washed with a pocketed tissue in situ..

But such pondering is not what Alias Jinksy blog was made for, thus I will include a poetic offering as well. :-)

Hot Fingers

Mister Sun creeps in here, mid afternoon.
At first, he is timid and merely peeps
around the curtain, stretching hot fingers
a little further each day, flexing them
experimentally.
                    Now, mid April,
beams from those fingertips reach the far wall.
As I sit here and type, I soon notice
them announcing their presence on my skin,
mapping their journey.
            Even through my clothes,
they make sure I can’t ignore them. They are
self-satisfied, once they see I must move,
for it proves their hold is growing stronger…

N.B. I've just linked this (a bit late) to Poetry Pantry

Crafty Spider?

A thread twines around
dancing hook and fingertips.
Human spider spins…

Inhalation

Last breath of summer
expands autumn's golden lungs; 
winter can whistle.



  
Written for my adaptation of the Jackson Pollock chosen by Tess today, for her Mag 290

The Pact

Among the clouds an angel flies

in swift retreat from stormy skies.

The heaven’s sun-gold glow of light

spreads its path; to our delight

this promises that, after rain,

its beams will bless the land again.

So it has been since time began,

this pact between both god and man 

and natural law’s perfected plan.

With thanks to the prompt this week from Tess at MagpieTales.  I took a tiny snippet from the photo, then kept this down to a mere 55 words, in memory of G-Man.

It's all about the viewpoint...

That's true of many different scenarios, as I'm sure you'd agree. But this time, I'm using it somewhat literally.
There is a small group of writers who meet at my house once a month, to share their latest works and to give each other ideas to spark the imagination. For the July meeting, each person picked a card from a Tarot pack, and this was mine:-

Sorry for the wonky photo I took, but my scanner was temporarily out of commission! But as soon as I saw the illustration, my attention was focussed on the little camel - not, as you might have imagined, the mysterious Blue Lady Behind The Veil!

No matter how often I looked at the card,  the camel took center stage each time.

Camels

The Dromedary has one hump,
the Baktrian has two.
Sometimes a human ‘gets the hump’
but surely, that’s not true
of you nor I, I fondly hope ?
Our brains can think of cunning ways
to help us both to cope
with minor disappointments
as we travel on life’s path –
for we can seek the funny side
and simply have a laugh!

Telephonic Tall Tales?

And all at the tail end of this week, after belatedly seeing the Magpie prompt picture which made me hunt out and edit, yet again, a poem which started life many years ago.
It's had several incarnations, but seems to get reborn in a slightly different guise each time, but at appropriate moments, of which I feel this is one...The Wimbledon season is fast approaching...

Love Match?

We serve and volley our thoughts
like the tennis players at Wimbledon,
bouncing them from mind to mind
across the net of distance
stretched taught between us.

I sometimes feel you are waiting
to demolish me with an ace to end all aces...

And the score board will declare
"Game set and match to the telephone."

The Cavern Of My Thoughts

That was the title of IGWRT's post on Wednesday, which showed a black and white image taken from another site, which you can visit HERE.  As I always think in colour, I hope nobody will object to my having a little play with the image, to produce the following:-

Mind Cavern

Memory is a world inside my head.
Bypassing time, it weaves new connections
to link places, people, emotions,
with sights, sounds and aromas,
until a sensory bouquet is created
in the way florists gather blooms into posies.

Colours and textures meld in each arrangement
and I save thought-snapshots of them in an album
through which I may wander at will.
Any time I choose, its images,
replaying on the Big Screen of my mind,
are only an eyelid's blink away...

Left Leg, Matterhorn Pose

Some streets sport water features
and some continue bare,
except for straggly grass, or weeds
that flourish unaware.
But here a paradox we see
for what looks like a fountain
is nothing but a metal plinth
for an Old Man of The Mountain
sporting naked chest and cap!
I dare you, gentlefolks, top that!

A bit of nonsense for Tess at The Mag,who provided us with the illustration today, and for which I've written a ditty as a late offering for IGWRT's Flash 55, as well.

Two for the price of one has to be good?

Grasping at Shadows?

Late yesterday I noticed last Sunday's challenge on IGWRT's , and this afternoon was tempted to let my imagination play along. What came from my finger-tapping was as much a surprise to my keyboard, no doubt, as it may be to any readers who happen by. Hahaha!


Aurora grasps at shadows. One gets caught
inside her net of mind. She studies him.
"My!  What arresting features this one's got.
See them slide from scintillating to dim
while his face flickers as if in the shade
of sorrow." Suddenly, his spectre goes
sprawling, falling down into a wood-glade
in which a curling stream of water flows,
snaking-fast. Heavily he lands, and lies
unmoving on a boulder-bed of stone.
She can but watch him. Painfully, he dies.
The water's song achieves a diff’rent tone,
as sympathetic notes console The Dawn.
Without this Shadow Lord she'll live alone…

Whatever the Weather

Today had me tapping away at the keys, after listening to IGWRT's recording of  Mr Cumberbatch reading 'Ode to a Nightingale', by Keats.  I can't compete, of course, but did feel intrigued enough to attempt to follow the rhyme scheme. We've had plenty of the 'sun versus rain' weather over the past few weeks, hence my choice of subject. 

When I have a few hours to spare, I may attempt to write more stanzas!

Capricious forces conjure sun and rain
into eternal conflict. Dark lords and bright
wage their wars as moon-tides wax and wane
throughout the universe's star drenched night,
until, by morning, rotund Earth's revolved
in deference to laws decreed long since.
Then sun-flame beams put shadow-clouds to flight,
their unshed tears like morning mists dissolved
as Helios, our hero, on his plinth
stands proud, the great defender of the light.

A Reflection on Reflections?

Take stand behind a mirror which reflects
others to themselves, and discover that
honesty is a gift few will accept.
The shadow being of self delusion
knows well how to hide within an image.

Beguiled by a mirage of misted Truth,
the silvered glass mocks one’s own perception.

Words and image inspired by Tess at Mag 266
and now linked to IGWRT's, too.

Sshhh!

Hot gossip is best shared undercover
of darkness, when dreamers keep their counsel
and sleep draws veils over the memory;
whispered confidences fly to Lady Moon
whose silence never betrays one's trust.
Her wisdom?  Learned through countless centuries
she listens, she forgets and she forgives.



Written for Tess and The Mag 258

Lady Paragon

Action Figures by Edith Vonnegut

This housework makes me far too hot
and so I shed my clothes -
That's perfectly acceptable,
as long as no one knows...

But really, couldn't you have knocked
and not come bursting in?
You nearly frightened me to death-
though nudity's no sin...

Please!  Sir!  Don't blow my cover,
just quell your urge to shout.
Don't give my nosey neighbours
any more to talk about.

My blameless reputation
is at stake here, don't you see?
A scandal would be hard to bear
for a paragon like me!

Written for Tess and her Mag 257

Butterfly Kisses?

Butterfly dreams flit behind her eyelids,
as she savours memories of their lips
touching, kissing - soft as velvet wing-tips.


Written for Mag 255, with thanks to Tess.

No chore, this...

Washing Up

The kitchen sink holds extra charm
as she's encircled by his arm
and melodies unheard enhance
their poorly timed, impromptu dance.

The peeling paint or grime streaked wall -
they don't matter then at all,
for romance cloaks a mundane task
with magic. What more could one ask?

Inspired by Tess at The Mag 254

Goodbye

A soldier and his dainty lass
were sad to say goodbye
when he was forced to go to war;
they parted with a sigh.

"Take care! No matter where you roam
I'll pray for you each day"
and bravely holding back the tears,
she waved him on his way.

The soldier in his scarlet coat
marched off with noble tread,
while fearing that the girl might guess
what thoughts lay in his head.

"How will I live without my love?
And should I not survive
how will she fare all on her own
instead of as my bride?"


Inspiration gave out at this point, but I may add to it later! The adapted picture is of this week's Magpie which Tess gave us. Its original version is 'Bond of Union, 1956, by M. C. Escher', but I needed to play! 

Time Travel?

Play me Tchaikovsky’s  Romeo and Juliet  theme, on a violin, and I’m back in a London street on a snowy winter’s afternoon, transported by coach for a day out , but transported by the music to another time, to that day spent in the company of my first boyfriend. We held hands and shared magic…

Fireblossom, in the Imaginary Garden for Real Toads, set a challenge last Saturday...Here are my 55 words which capture a moment in time.

Afloat

Bold seafarers dream
as wind-waves dance together.
Moonlight adds magic.

Interpretation of original photo by R D Stainforth, for The Mag 233

Dream Time

Angel wings? Or Batman's cloak?
Which of these your muse invoke?
Will you escape the fires of hell
as Sunday's Magpie rings your bell
and sets your mind to lateral thinking
when you really have no inkling
as to where its lines may lead?
Will you write a full blown screed,
or will you do verbal gymnastics
and pen a poem? How fantastic!
I wish you joy - and come what may -
have fun with Tess this august day
of August as you scratch your head
and think 'I wish I'd stayed in bed!
This artwork is a Dream Time tale
but clever words seem set to fail
for who can catch a waking dream
when all is not quite as it seems?!'

Thanks to Tess and the image by Keith Haring at The Mag, from which I used a detail to create my accompanying effort. :-)

Reversed Reality

People's living ghosts
admire a gleaming image
of Nefertiti,
legendary immortal -
thanks to ancient history.

Uncanny image thanks to Tess and her Mag 230