A mixed bag of poems and other writings.
Trinity of suns. Morning, afternoon and eve. Each cast their light Fanning their own shades of brightness Spanning our hours, our fathers' hours, Our children's hours. There is comfort here, now, in the solid stone, The unadorned simplicity. And , if we pause a while, We realise that Time is our only constant. Linking to Sunday Muse Blogspot. Thank you Carrie - your images continue to inspire. http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/
She only came third
Even though she had heard
Her ideas were one in a million.
So what was the deal,
No reward for her zeal –
Her head-dress was pure vaudevillian.
Its an asp, not a hen,
She complained to the men,
Who had said they were looking for class.
But I’m queen of the nile,
Egyptian desire,
I should have come first, damn and blast.
Perhaps if you’d tried
An attempt at a smile
You would have been in with a shot.
But wearing a pout
Ain’t what it’s about
And impresses us diddly squat.
http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/
Linking this silly nonsense to The Sunday Blogspot. (See link above). Thank you Carrie for another deck of great images.
I saw a whistling ghost at dusk.
A small whirl of leaves sucked up behind him.
A ladder slung over his shoulder,
A lamp in his hand
And the glow of light after light
Hung in his wake.
I pressed my face against the pane at dawn.
But all I saw were the lights
Go out, one by one.
Linking this to The Sunday Muse Blogspot. (http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/)
She sings her tale as lyrically as any opera.
From the mountains, where breath is ice and air is thin,
she skips an elaborate path,
a trilling coloratura over rocks as worn as time.
Distracted on her way by willowed inlets
and the bel canto of romantic wallows
where love is lost and found
and lost again.
Until the grand finale –
that final leap into clouded oblivion –
as her aria lifts higher than a falcon
before she succumbs,
her fate written,
falling to a clash of cymbals
and the crash of rapturous applause.
Linking this to The Sunday Muse Blog spot (http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/) where Carrie supplied this fabulous image and Sammi’s Weekend Word Prompts (https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2022/08/27/weekend-writing-prompt-274-opera/) where we are invited to write 95 words exactly and include the word ‘opera’.
(NB: A Falcon soprano has a deeper register than a Coloratura soprano).
Above, an infinity of blue –
deep and still and featureless.
Until,
a distant tchacking heralds a tide of jackdaws,
spiralling in a whirlpool of flight,
a helix of black morse code,
dots and dashes revealing
the invisible,
like dust brushed onto fingerprints,
nature’s imagers.
Linking this to The Sunday Muse Blogspot, where Carrie is focussing on all things feathered this week. http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/. After seeing the prompt, I sat outside in the shade with my coffee and saw a swathe of hundreds of jackdaws overhead. They caught a thermal and twirled higher and higher. It was wonderful to watch.
The piano rolled the sun behind the hills,
Coaxed the stars out,
Pulled the moon above my head
And wrapped me in the night.
It knew my soul and sang,
Sang of its hopes and pains,
As I soared into the glinting sky
And reached some kind of heaven.
Linking this to The Sunday Muse Blogspot, where this week Carrie is inviting us to find our muse in music.
Abandonment reeks with story.
Seeping through the rips and rust,
the shattered glass and cracks,
more defined than mere craquelure,
the what once was remains.
Do we mind it?
Take time to read it, hear it?
We should.
All tales are worth an ear.
Linking this to Carrie’s Sunday Muse Blogspot. Carrie has provided some wonderfully evocative images of abandonment for this week’s inspiration. Go to http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/ to see more images, and read all the creative responses.
I say ‘dine al fresco’,
but you say ‘fuori’.
I order a latte,
but taste milk on my lips.
I ask ‘coulda my pizza
hava mora pepperoni’,
you spread my hot meat feast
with sweet pepper strips.
You talk about shooting,
so I think you’re sporty,
and talk about golf,
or the little I know.
Then you get out your camera,
a Nikon a-forty,
and ask me to take off my sweater,
real slow.
It turns out that waving
my hands while I’m speaking,
or shouting,
or adding an a to each word,
won’t work on a date
when it’s romance I’m seeking,
its ridiculosa
and simply absurd.
Linking this piece of nonsense to The Sunday Muse http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/
NB: Il golf in Italian means jumper or sweater, lo shooting means photoshoot.
The Almanac Brothers
Looking for love:
If you have experience in
Linking this to The Sunday Muse, and Carrie’s Father’s Day inspired images!http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/
Lustred jewels and promises draw our eye,
Halt us in our tracks. Spellstopt by words
we foolishly took for wisdom.
They’re no more than paste baubles.
A cheap trick. Yank on the
fraying string and watch
them skittering
down the path
one by
one.
Linking this to The Sunday Muse Blogspot http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/ with Carrie’s smoking selection of images and also to d’Verse Poets https://dversepoets.com/2022/06/13/quadrille-154-casting-a-poetic-spell/ where Sanaa is serving tonight’s quadrille challenge to write a poem of exactly 44 words using the word (or form thereof) ‘Spell’.
Writing Whatnots 