Moonstruck

Once in a blue moon is not always right,
for the moon was bright red on the still summer night
when for the first time I found there was you.
Red and not blue.

A happy thought written in 160 characters for Monkey Man and now added to The Poetry Pantry as well.

In Your Face

Thanks to learnersdictionary.com

Let's face it, life is funny.
On your face a nose that's runny
can be nasty, it is true.
and all that you can do
is blow it.

But if your face is sunny,
giving smiles instead of money,
don't keep it to yourself
stuck indoors upon a shelf,
go show it.

Turn into a happy bunny
and, like buzzy bees make honey,
life will suddenly be sweeter
for such a meet-and-greeter!
I know it.

Theme Thursday has cosen the word FACE today, so I hope this puts a smile on yours!

From Dark To Light

Illustration by stainedglass-artists.co.uk

When night creeps in my bedroom
and the moving shadows prance
across the wall and round my bed,
then I look at them askance
and tell them not to bother me
with their eerie, waving dance.

I'd rather watch the moonbeams
as they slant in silver swathes
and light up dreamland's ocean,
full of gentle rippling waves
that glint under the moonlight
in which the whole world bathes.

Into this magic world of light
which moon and stars keep forming,
come colourful, contented dreams
for company, till morning,
when cheery sunbeams tell me
that another day is dawning.

This has been written for One Shot  Poetry Wednesday over at One Stop Poetry- Where Poets, Writers & Artists Meet.
This is really a companion poem to the Ocean Dreamland one I wrote on Monday, and I've linked both to Poetry Pantry.

Ocean Dreamland

I steer through seas by moonlight
from the top deck of my bed.
Across the Ocean Dreamland
the stars and moon both shed
their silver beams before me,
while the breezes cool my head.

I sometimes see a mermaid,
seaweed twined into her hair,
and tiny pearls for earrings...
I know it's rude to stare,
but she is Oh! -  so pretty -
it's like magic, I declare!

She sings of sandy seashells,
secret caves below the sea.
where scuttling crabs and starfish
play, and never think of me
as my vessel cuts the water
and makes the dolphins flee.

But when the moon is waning
and the sun is getting near,
my ship sails back to harbour,
drops its anchor, so that we're
ready for the next day's end,
my ship and I, right here!



Thanks to bkm at Monday's Child who used this 1900's  picture by Ethel Mars and Maud Hunt Squire for her prompt this week. I've also linked this to Poetry Pantry.

What The Eyes See...

Rain on glass and drops on skin -
or outside a shower looking in?
Imagination could make this rude
if it decided to see a nude
torso captured in this shot.
Is it a body, or is it not?
Maybe its no more than fingers
behind a pane where rain still lingers...

Of course, it could be a shower of meteorites heading towards a dusty planet, but I leave that option to the star gazers amongst you, to interpret within their Magpie poem for Tess this week!

The Eyes Have It

The eye of the camera sees only those things chosen by the photographer. Its iris opens and closes on demand with predetermined speed and aperture, to capture upside down shapes on its retina. The human eyes and brain behind the lens use imagination to produce the completed picture; they have final control of the image.

These 55 words were written for One Stop Poetry who have today featured the work of photographer India Hobson.

Bushbaby - Or A Baby Bush?

Titus The Dog is in charge of the next Poetry Bus, and chose a list of animal subjects for us to write our tickets for Monday. One of them was 'Bushbaby' which shot the Jinksy mind into warp mode, hence a double helping of Lear Lunacy - the real kind, and my copycat variety.

It's a well known fact that a bird in the hand 

is always worth two in a bush.
But a Bush Baby? Man! That's a toughie you see- 

exactly how small need a Baby Bird be
to fit in a Bush that's a mere Baby Tree? 

The answer is unclear to me!

And as an extra, here are a few additional Animal Limericks, for fun.

A zebra with stripes on his back,
to face paint had not learned the knack,
he tried a disguise
but it was no surprise
when he popped his head into a sack.

A penguin who answered to 'Billy',
was laughed at for looking quite silly
when on tail, feet and hands
he wore bright, knitted bands
to save them from getting too chilly.

A camel was trying to jump,
but was blessed with a very large hump
which hampered his spring -
and (here's the sad thing)
he fell back to earth with a bump

Sidney Snake was afraid of the dark,
so we frightened him just for a lark.
We made such a din
that he jumped from his skin,
to rush naked around a car park.

A monkey who felt rather frail
thought  it time that he learned to abseil
but when faced with the ropes
he relinquished his hopes
and continued to swing by his tail.

Percy Pig loved to hide in a wallow
with more mud than a hippo could swallow,
for he knew he'd be free
from both you and from me,
for none but the bravest would follow.

Say Cheese!

As he tried to compose a sonnet for his lady love, the overwhelming smell from the ripe cheese stopped him with pen raised. How could he think romantic thoughts when his supper invaded his nostrils? It was meant to invade his stomach, along with a crusty baguette and a glass or two of red wine!

These are my 55 words for Thursday Tales, thanks to their prompt of this picture by Daniel Hayman at Deviant Art. 
And of course, 55 is the magic number for Mr Knowitall's Friday Fifty Five - what luck!

All Behind On Monday

But better late than never, a 140 character offering for Grandma's Goulash.

Have you noticed that, in a room with a view, sometimes the call of a comfortable armchair wins hands down, leaving the view for the birds?

Woven Image

A famous painting
transforms to a tapestry; 
rearranged colour.


Tess chose such a famous picture for her Magpie #59 that even its colours shout its name!

What Can I Say?

I search to find which words to say
to cloak ideas that I have found
and wish to share without delay,
for in my mind the dreams abound.

They fill my head and whirl around,
they laugh at me, and come what may,
I search to find which words to say
to cloak ideas that I have found.

And so I struggle every day
until my temples start to pound
as thoughts entrap me with their sound
and tantalise in every way...
I search to find which words to say
to cloak ideas that I have found.

One Stop Poetry is ecouraging us to explore the Rondel poetic form, so here is my somewhat lighthearted offering!
And Rondel is the topic here as well, at Inside My Poem Book! 
I've also linked to The Poetry Pantry - sort of buy two get one free?
 

Blowing Bubbles

This is my home made ticket for The Poetry Bus, as requested by Muse Swings. And now I've linked to The Poetry Pantry too - cheeky me!

Oo, Nasty!

Shrieks of maniacal laughter frightened her awake. A shadow waved in the patch of moonlight on her wall - an enormous hand, with fingers stretching ever closer!



Thanks, MonkeyMan, for supplying the photo for this Sunday 160.

New York, New York!

I live far from New York, I agree,
but what those two words mean to me
is standing on risers,
singing for prize(r)s
that we hoped to win with our song.
New York was a medley, and long...

For my part, I sang Baritone,
but then, I was never alone.
Leads, Tenors and Basses
with smiles on their faces
would see who could get to the end
without any need to pretend
they'd remembered the words
and sung sweet as the birds...
no wrong notes... heaven forefend!
That'd upset our Babershop Blend!

Brian Miller, from One Stop Poetry, brought the words 'New York' to the forefront of my mind when he asked for poems to be written about that very city.  I immediately had a flash back to my Babershopping days, when a medley of songs with multiple key changes challenged the chorus to keep in pitch from beginning to end. 

Friday 55

March Hares danced and leapt and boxed.

The reason why? Well, it had me foxed.

Spring Fever could be what's to blame -

unless they do it for a game. 

A spirited, abandoned bunny

is such a sight - it's really funny-

for sparring without boxing gloves

is the way he woos his lady loves! 

Once again, I join the ranks of G-man's  fifty-fivers!

Thursday Tale #52

by Ruxi at DeviantArt.

The sight of her dying bouquet was too much to contemplate. After the debacle at the church, she’d rushed home, wallowing in a bout of self pity, sadness, but eventually anger. Now, emotion spent, she longed for cool. Still wearing her wedding dress, she joined the spider’s webs that swung gently in the morning mist.

If you read the rules of Thursday Tales, you can submit stories of 55 to 777 words, then visit others who have joined in the fun!

Warring Factions?

In days of old when men were bold they carried swords and shields.
They marched and pillaged and plundered across both plains and fields.

But alongside male machismo, they never tried to hide
(though you may not believe it) their softer, feminine side.

For they lavished decorations on all their tools of war,
used curlicues and tassels like you'd never seen before.

With shiny metal studs and caps that twinkled in the sun,
they hoped to dazzle enemies until the war was won!

Tess came out fighting this week with her Magpie Tales Picture Prompt. To the victor the spoils! LOL. There's a second, serious attempt over on Napple Notes, by way of a change...

In The Beginning

I am enclosed in a bubble of clear water.

My being is transparent, but draws to itself
the living colours of Spring. Light and life
reflect within my soul their pastel beauty.
Edges soften, colours merge together.
I am replete; their nourishment feeds
each particle of my liquid form. I exist.

The Poetry Bus Driver, Uiscebot, this week asked us to go to a new place, and write  a non-rhyming poem from there. I went into a drop of water!

Green, But Not Cabbage Looking

Luck of the Irish?
A four-leaf clover will say
"Here's to Saint Patrick!"

Theme Thursday will be full of Irish Blarney this week!

Angel Dreams

Adrift in dreams, imagination whirls
and lilac angels' wings fly close at hand.
The flower scented air begins to swirl
and lulls us further. We can understand

concepts which, in daytime, make no sense.
For nigh time looses bonds of black or white,
sends technicolour shades in recompense
and melds the boundaries of wrong and right.

When waters of emotion lap the shores
of self expression, artists utilise the wave
of creativity, the swell of power. It draws
new sensibilities  from places they've

visited in Dream Time. Therefore
let us agree to sally forth. Explore!


More violets may be seen at Magpie Tales, thanks to Willow's pretty photo, and I've also linked this to The Poetry Pantry.