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.

Up Above

A satellite bleeps out its sound
but there is nobody around
to heed its warning.

As the planet spins below -
see? - Shining silver forests grow!
The day is dawning.

But the people are now gone.
Because of all that they had done,
plant life is mourning.

This was sparked by the Themed Thursday  subject -'Space'-  I used the space betwen my ears to come up with an offering! LOL
The same inner space produced the following sonnet, which, if you visit  Hilary at The Smitten Image,  has the perfect photo to accompany it.

Together At Day's End

Everything stills as dusk approaches. Light
takes on a sullen hue and clouds gather
forces, ready to battle with the night.
Standing on shore, we two wonder whether
darkness will come between us, draw a veil
over our present joy, shroud it in mist
before morning, once the sky blushes pale
and the shy face of heaven makes a tryst
with daylight. But at this day's end, we find
perfection and peace. One beside the other
in silence we gaze, as though a greater mind
had suddenly taught us how we might discover
duality within a single being, an entity
newly birthed, but already linked with eternity.

Tale Of A Tail

The painting dominated the whole wall. To Tom's young eyes it spoke of dolphins and whales, splashing in waves, playing exactly the way he did with his friends in the swimming pool. He studied it carefully, admiring the graceful curves and colours on the canvas.
Then he noticed a strange sensation creeping through his body -  his arms and legs were turning into flippers and a tail! Suddenly, he was cavorting in the ocean too, a marine creature just like one of them. He raced through the water, leaped high in the air then dived down, down, down into the blue green deeps...
"Tom, Tom! Wake up, son. Breakfast is ready! "

Once again, thanks to Willow and her photoprompt, I had fun with Magpie Tales!

Look, A Book!

With your head in a book
as you take a look
at pictures and words
(serious or absurd)
you'll find ideas grow,
spread out in a row
like tendrils. Pale green
ones I mean!
See how they've grown
from seeds that were sown!
(As you take a look,
with your head in a book!)

With World Book Day barely off the shelf, how appropriate for Monday's Child to use Lissa's illustration this week! Who doesn't like reading in bed?

Poetry Bus For 7th March

The Stammering Poet, Peter Goulding  is going to be in the driving seat on Monday, and for my ticket I've attempted to write a kind of Rondeau though I'm not too sure if the metre is supposed to be as flexible as mine is! Anyhow, the rhyme scheme is as it should be - what more do you want - blood?!

Shrove Tuesday Cometh

Pancake day is fun! You must agree
whether they're for breakfast lunch or tea
both old and young enjoy a feast
of one or two at very least -
or maybe even three!

Imagine you can see
a hungry family -
an empty tummied beast...
Pancake day is fun!

I'm glad I learned to cook at mother's knee
this tried and trusted favourite recipe.
It doesn't include any yeast
or fragrant spices from the East,
only plenty love, for you from me!
Pancake day is fun!

And on the same subject, here's a Sunday 160 for Monkey Man!

The table top is bare, but for plates sticky with lemon slices (squeezed) and sugar grains (scattered). Their flavours enrapture our senses every pancake day.

More Microfiction #74

Never did like using conventional money boxes to save my pennies in...

The Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe needed my Fairy Dust-Puffer to make this one habitable. Its last occupant had athlete's foot.

Two versions of the same thing for Susan's MFM today, because I like fairies...

And because Susan's Mr Linky List didn't seem to like the first time I put my name in, there's a third Napple Notes MFM today too - over HERE!

Short One For Sunday

At sunset, trees settle down for the night,
silhouettes darkened against the light
of a fireball brazier there in the sky
which overspills gold, for you and I.



  
Completed in 160 characters as Monkey Man requests!

Monkey Business

Illustration by Jessie Wilcox Smith 1941

What is Monkey Business?
It's not usual, you see,
to think a pretty lady
would ask a chimp to tea!

No, we mostly form an idea
of kids up to no good,
instead of little people
behaving as they should.

So when a child at table
begins to act the fool,
we tell them they're a monkey!
Perhaps that's rather cruel?
But on this day, as you can see,
that threat has surely come to be!


Thanks to Monday's Child for this prompt #34.

Magpie Tales # 54

Relentless power
of water engulfs humans.
Floods pay them no heed.

Their lungs cannot breathe
oxygenated bubbles
formed by the maelstrom.

Instead, these droplets
create thunder in our ears,
as their sounds combine.

Souls of water sprites
are drawn into the torrent
but remain silent.


Once I saw Willow's picture turned into the negative, it inspired  me to write this set of multiple haiku. For more pieces of the jigsaw. visit others at Magpie Tales.

#71 MFM

One door closes, and another one opens.
Doesn't it depend on which side of the door you're standing? 
Thoughts like this can drive one crazy!






For more Microfition Monday  gems of wisdom in 140 characters, go and visit Susan and her happy band of followers at Stony River!

Sorry about my Mr Linky links not working! If you've made it this far, I thank you for your patience!

Nature's Time Capsule

Amber buries time.
Warm-touch fire shadows flame
in eternal light.

No spider could ever weave
a tomb to endure so long.

120 Socks, driver of the Poetry Bus for 21st February, suggested the word 'Amber' for aspiring Ticket Holders, and I wrote this Tanka - a  poetic form using 5-7-5-7-7 syllables in its five short lines.

The last line started life as "a web which would last so long."  Then I changed it to 'a web of such brilliance', as it was the eternal light-flames that I had in my mind. 
But my dear mentor suggested the above amendment, 'a tomb to endure so long',  as it re-inforces the 'tomb' aspect of amber for the spider, as well as web for a fly! I can see his point, and thank him for the idea and the words with which he expressed it. If we change our collective mind again, there will be further edits! 

What The Eye Sees

He must be hallucinating. The chill had seeped through his clothing, as though the fabric was blotting paper, soaking up liquid cold.
The abandon chair had seemed like a refuge, when he first noticed it across the field. Surely, there would be habitation, human company and help nearby, or how would the chair have come to be there?
He struggled through deep drifts, squinting into the sun as he tried to make out signs of a settlement or buildings. No such luck. The chair was plumb in the middle of nowhere. But as he grew closer, he saw a vague outine of a body - surely a judge in robes and wig? The tapestry figure became more solid until his feverish mind saw it in 3D Technicolor, and he heard it speak! "How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?"

A very late ticket for the 14th February Poetry Bus, with apologies to Dana Bug for nearly missing the bus.

And if you still can't see my 'Judge' - here he is, in silhouette for you!

First Encounter

The alien creature gazed at me through slanting eyes, black beady almond shaped things, with a blank and menacing stare that added nothing to its charm. It was impossible to tell whether the crinkled surface of its face was its own skin, or that of some breathing-apparatus-cum-hood, designed to keep it alive in our polluted atmosphere.
Its features reminded me of an owl, for the outer tips of its eye sockets resembled the ears of one of those majestic birds, and the white triangle of its forehead ended in a rounded snout, or possibly, beak, although it gave no sign of incorporating a mouth.
Atop its head, a short, cylindrical dome might have been either headgear, or part of its strange anatomy, and from time to time, laser beams spiralled upwards from the small openings in the domed apex. The lower part of its body disappeared into the blackness which surrounded it...
I stood still and waited for it to make the first move.

Thus goes my offering for this week's Magpie Tales, thanks to Willow.

In The Pink?

As he sat alone, he realised that looking at the world through rose tinted glasses was not enough to make him feel one of the crowd.

Thanks to Susan at Stony River for this MFM #70 prompt!

Tall Tale For Tuesday

 

Winter Warning

When the moon hides in the heavens, and witches walk abroad,
the silent silver branches' ghostly glim can't be ignored.

For outside, in the gardens, all is not quite what it seems,
though inside foursquare houses, sleepy people dream their dreams,

Jack Frost flies with chill abandon, his colours stark and bright,
as he adds his touch of magic throughout the livelong night.

Shadows stretch and spread their cloaks before his dancing feet,
then loom and roll towards him as he passes down the street.

The witches zoom in circles, partners in his crazy dance,
but he quells their manic laughter with a single, frosty glance.

Be sure you heed the warning, should you hear your Elders shout -
'Look out, look out, my children when Jack Frost is about!'


Thanks to Magpie Tales for the picture that gave rise to this flight of fancy!

Less Than Sixty...

Characters! Never mind the minutes! With a mere Fifty Seven I have collect my daily dose of wisdom for Microfiction Monday's prompt-in-a-picture...

Let time fly out the window. Instead, just start to live!




Thank you, Stony River Susan.

Thursday Think Tank #34

*Poet's United Thursday Think Tank Prompt 3 February

A Pauper's Bequest

I leave you the laughs I haven't yet had
plus the love that I keep in my heart.

Thus will laughter increase!

(And my love will not cease
because I have fallen apart!)

*Click on the title below the picture to follow the link to more offerings!

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.