Two Ghosts

MAGPIE...Prompt #103

2012-02-05T15:25:00.000-05:00

A Grave at the Novodevichy Cemetery, Moscow

THIS PHOTO, AT Magpie Tales, something to think about. Thanks, Tess!

GOTHIC ROMANCE

The ashen one is beckoning,
pushing his heart out,
buying my soul again,

he draws my heart in,
burgundy ice,
never melts.

At midnight a mirage of petals
lift,
crumple,
call,
summon,
blow a kiss,

lay bare a voluptuous pink,
pucker red like a clown's smile.
Fool me once more.

Rain recedes below the basin of earth.
Without light,
a worm tucks in.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2012

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MAGPIE... Prompt #102

2012-01-29T15:00:00.000-05:00

                                                        Red Spot II/ Wassily Kandinsky

THIS IS A GIFT TO ME...a couple of years ago I posted a blog about Kandinsky..here it is again! Thank you Tess, at Magpie Tales. Lazy me....

Entering

When I die and rush along the tunnel of white lights, being neither here nor there yet, I know that I will enter into a Kandinsky landscape. I'm the last person to advance mathematical theory, but I see before me, clear as day, Einstein's very large number, c2, the very square of the speed of light. You remember, E=mc2.

For Kandinsky, art and music gave rise to each other. Color is art's pitch and volume, and a low note on a cello is deep blue. Relativity will make sense when I enter that space between. After my life, before my heaven, I christen that waiting place, "the space between".

Kandinsky left me a road map. I saw it this morning as I paid a very early visit to the Guggenheim Museum. Having the place almost to myself allowed me to observe the portals of eternity. Great big eyes, circles of vibrancy, but also hues befitting Morpheus. I awakened to the possibilities, as Kandinsky must have, after seeing his influence, Monet's "Haystacks".   Imagine that at age thirty he began artistic studies! If it hadn't been for Monet, would it have happened?

Kandinsky believed his passion to create would awaken the same desire in the viewer, because the artist and observer were equal. If the artist's creativity was pure enough, that would bring out a similar response in the viewer. Therefore I took up his invitation this morning. I peered through portals and found some enticing, some prohibiting. A big eye, stared into, seemed to bring me closer to heaven. And a tiny clock stood still. When I really get to "the space between", I will have to piece it all together, next job after Earth. But not yet. Right now I'm just emerging from a museum.

But I do think this: Creating Art is the same as starting a universe.

It's always a pleasure for me see a Kandinsky and am not really surprised at how much they resemble each other. Here's the painting I originally posted with the above...

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MAGPIE...Prompt #101

2012-01-23T14:02:00.000-05:00

from Boris Hoppek's Tokyo exhibit..."Ever"

INSPIRATION. Mystery? Thanks to Tess at Magpie Tales.

BETTER THAN REAL

Pull the strap that binds
and up jumps
glamorous Anime Annie,
the exotic Animatronic Geisha.

Lotus scented little dream girl
from Proctor and Gamble
and Disney,

she'll dance on your back
with her loufa feet,
scamper up and down your spine,
splash bubbles through your hair
for a scintillating shampoo.

And when you're finished,
she's easily disposed of!

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2012

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Sunshine Dreams...

2012-01-21T18:15:00.000-05:00

Photo/ Dori Hartley/ Florida surf/ Jan 19, 2012

RETURN TO REALITY, back from a holiday, back to the snows of today...will have this photo to look back on a really splendid day, a reminder of why the ocean, the beach are so precious....

Thinking of leaving New York permanently for a warm breeze in January, a sand castle at the edge of the sea. Really serious about moving, but the larger reason is to be with my daughter, Dori, my granddaughter, Alex. That's what my visit was about. And to catch a few rays.

In the end, there's no landscape or environment that tops NY for me. Born and bred in the shadow of Yankee Stadium, toddling around the Metropolitan Museum when the Egyptian Wing was a mere twinkle, I have had a very strong arm restraining me from leaving.

But not so much anymore. Now my bones are cold quicker, and even though every store in the world is just across the street, I'm sort of willing to say good-bye to all that. For the opportunity to be very near my guys, (not the one in LA, I can't have everything), I seem to be on the verge of moving to that famous sunshine state. I had this urge six years ago. But kissed the New York ground when I returned from a visit. Will that happen again?

Now if I won the lottery, I could straddle both paradises!

Will keep you posted!!

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MAGPIE... Prompt #100

2012-01-15T19:42:00.000-05:00

Scupture/ Jason de Caires Taylor

THANKS to Tess at Magpie Tales for this haunting image....

SOMETHING'S FISHY

OK, girls...those of you auditioning for Amphitrite, line up next to King Poseidon. Remember, you'll be entering with the hippocampoi. Poseidon, sweetheart, could you not lean on your trident? And Meryl, baby, please, chuck the bubble gum. Now from the top, Sirens, one and a two..."Hello, sailor, how's about a little swim?...."

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2012

Friends, I'm off to warmer climes, just to see how the 1% live. Can't afford to stay long....be back soon.

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MAGPIE.. Prompt #99

2012-01-09T00:25:00.001-05:00

Image/ Lee Friedlander

WHAT AN IMAGE! Thanks to Tess at Magpie Tales.

A HEAD

On the silver screen
or other settings,
Yul Brynner,
you shaved your head
when other heroes
flowing curls
swept across
enraptured breasts.

Wish I could rub
some balm
corner to corner
on your burnished dome.

Even when you tipped
your Stetson
as the number one
Magnificent Seven,

no mane presented itself
to blow in the wind.
A head of your time.

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Resolution...

2012-01-06T08:17:00.000-05:00

RESOLUTION

She looks at me out of kindergarten eyes.
Five years old, not smiling,
knees a bony touch against the chair,
and all the other classmates leaning in,
smiling with toothless hope.
I am she, the one with baby soft eyes,
and my pigtails align as if they'll swing
when I finally stand to leave.
Did the photographer say smile?
She sits there with hopeful expectations.

Every day I pass the dusty shelf
where the tattered photo
lolls against old best sellers,
sometimes scamper a finger across the grain,
ashamed of letting my baby self
down once more.

Last year I made a promise
based on her eyes, as she measured my days.
All my life lies in that suspended glance,
her hope not yet set in motion.
I mean to finally cloak myself in courage.
Yet each day I awaken clad in my habit,
like an old nun dressing in the dark.

I look into her black and white Kodak eyes.
I love her, still waiting to begin.
Dare I hope she loves me,
the self who wove and hammered,
who spun the whole cloth?

In the end I promise to give her
a celebration of ourselves,
and the wish that there be time
to change the want into wings.

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #98

2012-01-02T21:25:00.000-05:00

River/ Marina Moevs/ 2005

WHAT AN IMAGE from Tess, for Magpie Tales. Inspirational...

REFLECTION

The morning fog casts a haze
as thick as cataracts.
I try to place the new day
on yesterday's shoulders.

Better to stand on my head
because I don't know
top from bottom,
reverie from certainty.

The lake reflects
a pretense of clarity,
an optical illusion
that a skipping stone
deconstructs.

Is rising above it
the same as escaping?

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HAPPY 2012...

2011-12-31T08:47:00.000-05:00

Fawlty Towers

START WITH FRIENDS, be with friends. Full speed ahead to 2012! Wishing you clarity...may you bend to a gentle wind.

HAPPY NEW YEAR to all the incredible talent out there!! Thanks for a wonderful ride....

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #97

2011-12-27T09:28:00.000-05:00

Photo/ Bert Stern

TODAY WE CAN SALUTE MARILYN.....an invitation from Tess at Magpie Tales.

BUTTERFLY

Hey Joe, it's what I do,
I turn the infra-red on
across the universe.
Even interstellar dust
can't obscure my game.

Did you want me
to round the bases with you,
when restless hands
keep reaching for
my effervescence of desire?

What book did you have to open
to find me?
I don't live in words,
but in the space
between your eyes and mine,
a cocoon on my way
to metamorphosis.

See me flying by,
a chrysalis,
exuvium crumbling,
A Monarch butterfly.

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Season's Greetings

2011-12-22T21:24:00.000-05:00

LET IT SNOW, let it snow, let it snow.....then drop in for some chestnuts roasting ...how nice it would be if we were all next door!


         Let me have a child's Christmas,
         one more time.
         Let me see
         the star that shines
         a blessing on this world.

         Most of all,
         let the circle of loving faces
         smile at me again.

         My wish is the same as yesterday's.
         Peace and hope for all.

  Merry Christmas..Happy Holidays!

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MAGPIE/ Prompt # 96

2011-12-19T10:19:00.000-05:00

Image/ Lee Friedlander/ 1966

A NICE LITTLE MYSTERY this week from Magpie Tales, thank you, Tess...

IDENTITY CRISIS

You think you're incognito,
but I'd know you anywhere.
Not fooled at all
by that Lugosi cloak,

and midnight greige
does not become you,
but better button it anyway,
to heat up the morning chill.

I like you more in green,
eyes matching sea glass
washed ashore,
not shielded by dark specs,
like some ersatz celebrity.

You still favor
that fringe of Medusa hair,
and as always flash
a gargoyle smile
for the paparazzi rush.

Let's not forget the shadow
that follows wherever you go,
of the Buddha,
humming a celestial Ohm.

I'd know you anywhere.

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #95

2011-12-11T16:02:00.001-05:00

Image/ Mostafa Habibi

THIS WEEK'S Magpie Tales....thanks, Tess Kincaid.

QUICKSAND

Forever and a day you were right,
yet there you stand in quicksand
believing that the sucking sound
will lift you up to the second floor.

I hold the lifesaver,
a sweet candy
on the tip of my tongue,
bright red, a sugared cherry

the color of a heady summer's bloom.

I recall when you were
my redeemer,
knew the answers,

but you painted everything grey.

The years are an ocean,
lapping against the shore,
rising to flood your intentions.

It took so long for me
to gather my fragments
and shape them into a fortress.

You are
the medicine years,
a drug ground down
to swallow with water.
Now you sink
as a grain of sand,
part of the fate of hermit crabs.

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #94

2011-12-04T20:28:00.001-05:00

Lunch/ George Tooker/ 1964

AN INSPIRATION for this week's Magpie Tales from Tess Kincaid.

SAY SOMETHING

Looking for a cuppa Joe,
I came across a resistant morning.
The gush of the weather
drove me indoors.

Neon flashed: EATS.

I made myself diaphanous,
the better to pick and choose
floating wisdom.
My sixth sense tingled
from sundry communiques.
Under my breath I commanded,

chew that last crumb,
brush a bitten lip,
wonder about tonight's
Blue Plate Special.

Are you lonely today?
Say something to me.
The coffee's cold,
no time for a refill.

The weather has changed,
look out the window.
You don't even know.

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #93

2011-11-27T15:42:00.000-05:00

Photo/ Christine Donnier-Valentin

THIS PHOTO is presented to us by Tess Kincaid at Magpie Tales, for Prompt #93....Let's see what we can make of it!

MINIMALISM

Looking for the new,

perhaps I could acquaint myself

with a blue sun,

a different law of karma,

isolate myself from the path,

float above the road,

lead a minimalist life.

There is a futility to wandering.

I blink at the impermanence

of an unmarked room,

the couch holding a lonely ghost

from the night before.

I dream of the silkiness

of an easy awakening,

no longer running from the cold,

going back to Alpha,

waiting for the morning breeze.

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #92

2011-11-21T07:42:00.011-05:00

Photo of Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward/ Courtesy Tess Kincaid

LOOKS LIKE FUN TO ME...A good idea from Tess at Magpie Tales !

TWISTER!

Just in time for Xmas giving...Do what glamorous Paul and Joanne do!! Start with a kiss under the mistletoe, flirty fun to sweep you away!
( Make sure the kiddies are snuggled in bed!!)

Then put your right hip here, slide your left hip there...watch where you lay that knee!

Pucker up your luscious lips, place your hands behind your back, and turn yourself around...

That's how you do the Kama Sutra Twist!!

Early orders receive life-like mistletoe to get the game started!! Instructions included!

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POETRY JAM/ Picnic

2011-11-20T08:21:00.000-05:00

PHOTOGRAPH OF FLORENCE THOMPSON with three of her children by Dorthea Lange, 1936. Reproduced from The Commons on Flickr with use restricted to personal, educational or research purposes. Linked to Poetry Jam.

PICNIC

We'll picnic on the barren ground.
I have some bread, but
no sweet tonic
for your parched throat.

Angel at my side,
put the empty basket down,
here's the babe,

set her within.
Hello God,
here's another sacrifice.

Clouds of sand,
a sting to the eyes.

Let's find a tree
to guard us
from the regal sun.

The air dry as a bone,
twigs to play with,
nibbled clean by crunching ants.

Destiny runs its course,
surely means to bring fairness,
goodness to this day.

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A Child of Winter

2011-11-19T11:16:00.001-05:00

                                        Jamie Pierre

                               MATTHEW JAMISON PIERRE

                               February 22, 1973- November 13, 2011

BEYOND BRAVE, beyond daring, Jamie Pierre was a professional free-skier. In 2006 he skied off a 255 foot cliff at Grand Targhee, Wyo. , plummeted head first, without a helmet, into the deep powder. He skied away with a cut lip from being struck by a shovel as his partners dug him out of the 12 foot hole.

On Sunday, November 13, 2011, on a more routine trip to Snowbird in Utah, an avalanche carried him over 800 feet over rocky terrain. He was partly buried and died of trauma.  Jamie Pierre was 38 years old.

Chris Figenshau

Go to YouTube to view the World Record Ski Jump. He also made appearances in Warren Miller films: Playground, and Children of Winter. Also, on the Ski Channel, "The Story of Jamie Pierre".

He had many concussions over the years but refused to wear a helmet. "If somethings so dangerous it requires a helmet", he said, "then maybe I shouldn't be doing it".

Fearless one....RIP.

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KERRY'S WEDNESDAY CHALLENGE/ Prose Poetry

2011-11-17T09:38:00.018-05:00

                                                  Falling Woman/ Picasso

WHAT A LUCKY MORNING, to have found Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads. This is Kerry's Wednesday Challenge/ Prose Poetry.   Looking forward to jumping in!! Will try to link up later...fingers crossed!!

LET THE GROUND TREMBLE

          Take your hands away, don't grasp me, grasp my meaning, not my flesh.
          Was warm beneath the covers till you pushed the tale away. You scuttled through a slit in time, squaring the black hole, bouncing and giggling, with echoes that run back to my heart.

          I become visible, again I see a lush garden. Not again, not again. The ground trembles with your rushing strides. To me? Away?

          Again attracted by the way I weave, you are always the tear. I'm the thread.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #91

2011-11-14T09:21:00.002-05:00

A MYSTERIOUS PHOTO points me in the direction of a Pantoum...thanks to Tess Kincaid at Magpie Tales.

FOLLOW ME
Follow me,
take any chair you wish,
you're the first to arrive.
But why so early?

Take any chair you wish,
I can feel your bated breath,
but why so early?
Your heart's beating a tattoo.

I can feel your bated breath,
a damp anticipation.
Your heart's beating a tattoo.
Stay.

A damp anticipation,
here's what you came for.
Stay.
Crowd's already rushing.

Here's what you came for,
footsteps in the sand,
crowd's already rushing,
darting here and there.

Footsteps in the sand,
you're the first to arrive,
darting here and there.
Follow me.

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11 / 11 / 11

2011-11-11T06:59:00.001-05:00

OVER THERE

No war here,
no blood here,
but tears shed yesterday,
spilled for warriors,
over there.

I remember a song
that they marched to,
up the steps, just cargo,
to sail the waves
to go to war.

Not here,
but there,
no blood in the street here,

bread instead
sliced to order.
Where is the war,
is it here?
It's over there.

The body in torn shreds,
under the lid,
arrives here, home,
no open coffin.

Whose boy is this,
maybe mine,
maybe not.
Bones look like
the last war,

not here,
over there.

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THE TALE ANEW...

2011-11-09T08:20:00.000-05:00

THE TALE ANEW

Winter comes pushing
up against the glass,
ice sliding like a guillotine,
ready to slice into a scream.

I wipe my breath
from the windowpane.
I could be rain.

No matter,
dying is blind and deaf,
exhausts my eye for beauty.

My soul begins to glow,
a bastion against what's dead.
My voice draws a new breath,
tells the tale anew.

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #90

2011-11-06T16:35:00.002-05:00

Photo/ Tess Kincaid

FOR THIS WEEK'S Magpie Tales, Tess has presented us with this image...

THIS PLACE

I sleep a lot
in this limbo,
rise in ectoplasmic splendor,
at this place
of crowded gravestones.

I restrain myself
from frightening
a grieving mourner,
who weeps over
newly turned soil.

But mischief pulls me
to drape myself as smoke
across a granite memorial,
to form a cloudy
question mark.

With memory and yearning gone,
other wraiths, by habit,
rise with the moon,
to float on winter's air.

I stir, as if from a dream,
to wonder
what I'm doing here.

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #89

2011-10-31T09:35:00.000-04:00

photo/ Tess Kincaid

LOOKING FOR THE GHOST in the machine..found it! This PANTOUM is a thank you to Tess at Magpie Tales.

DEVIL IN THE DETAILS

You'll find the trick,
how he weaves himself
into the cracks,
the ruptures, the stigmata.

How he weaves himself.
I see the stain move.
The ruptures, the stigmata,
look away, look back.

I see the stain move
out of the corner of my eye.
Look away, look back,
turn inside out.

Out of the corner of my eye,
I see the color bleed away,
turn inside out,
changes my words.

I see the color bleed away.
He natters a lie into my ear,
changes my words,
fakes my pleasure.

He natters a lie into my ear,
into the cracks,
fakes my pleasure.
You'll find the trick.

A Pantoum is a poetic form, first appeared in the 15th century in Malaysia. The modern version is a poem of indefinite length and repetition.

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HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

MAGPIE/ Prompt #88

2011-10-23T14:30:00.000-04:00

Lee Friedlander/ from America by Car

THANKS TO TESS at Magpie Tales for this exciting photo...so inspirational!!

LOOK OUT!

Look up,
look down,
look out!
There comes a bicycle courier
in my mirror,
dropped his duffel,
screeching taxi hits the curb,
splashes glop onto the window!
Don't open the door,
you'll hit the ice cream man!
We'll stop later...
Now?
Pull over,
I'll take a chocolate,
Mr Softee.

Ring your bell,
play that tune,
I'm a Broadway Gypsy now,
watch me kick and tap.
Is this the crossroads of the universe?
Here comes another shooting star...
a Rockette twirls into view,
grabs my breath,
heads for the top.
Her looks can kill.
Lights on, lights out,
I'm in the dark,
stagehand pushes me,
hey sweetie, take a bow.

I'm here,
Times Square!
Tomorrow's another day.
Look out!

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #87

2011-10-16T20:16:00.000-04:00

photo/ Tess Kincaid

WHAT AN image...so much to be inspired by...thank you, Tess, at Magpie Tales. Always tempting!
Haven't been as attentive to blogging since early July, when I entered into the stream of medical complications. And tomorrow pops up with another "procedure". They'll do it till they get it right! Fingers crossed, please.

WEBBED FEET
Eat here, or take out?
Special today, just for you...
Duck soup, Mr. Marx?

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #86

2011-10-09T18:48:00.000-04:00

The Little King/ Michael Sowa

AN INTRIGUING PAINTING...for Magpie Tales. Thank you Tess, once more!

HERE AND GONE

He pinches my waist,
a frivolous lover.
I give him sanctuary
till midnight.

Time flutters by.
Soon arriving,
the sunlight hours,
warmth I can't embrace.

Like pan quotidian,
he's fresh at first,
but stale
no matter the prayer.

Will we speak,
get the paper off the threshold,
turn pages?
Scrub ink from our finger tips?
Stir sweetness into
pitch black coffee?

Seems to be
another paper mache' king,

tips over,
rolls to the edge,
dives into longing.
Same as me.

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #85

2011-10-02T21:27:00.005-04:00

photo/ courtesy of Tess Kincaid

SOMETHING ABOUT this prompt for Magpie Tales , is irresistible.....thank you, Tess!!

DELIVERANCE

Need a miracle?

Call the Flying Ganeshas.

Quick Delivery!

HAIKU to you!!

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #84

2011-09-25T20:25:00.000-04:00

photo/ Mag 84

ENTICING....that's Magpie Tales for this week...thanks, Tess...

PATTERN

Here hovers the Rain God
pinning his will
like a bespoke garment,
to my silhouette.

Hallowed mist
slicks my skin,
my spirit goes bang
on the downbeat.

I want to surprise
with wisdom and grace,but

Brother Raven and I,
the usual act,
take wing for sightseers.

Why does the fated
weary me so?

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #83

2011-09-19T08:03:00.000-04:00

THE SNAKE CHARMER/ Henri Rousseau. 1907

WHAT A CHARMING Painting...Magpie/ Prompt #83, thanks for the inspiration, Tess!

THE EDEN CHRONICLES

No shadow under you,

no mirror image of your outline,

red eyes Morse code a warning

that seems an enticement,

an enticement that seems a warning.

Prickles on my neck

as you slither by

to the purr of the clarion.

Belly scraping rock bottom,

barnacles, scum,

a piquant soup.

The sinister hand stirs, beckons,

a whisper hisses in passing...

"She's to blame,

herewith in mud forever"...

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #82

2011-09-12T07:23:00.002-04:00

Andrew Wyeth/ The Revenant

Thank you,Tess, for Magpie/ Prompt #82 , the Revenant of 9/11 is forever with us.

WAITING

A room
not yet found by the living,
explodes.
Is that you, essence of my love?

What are years to the vanished?
I know what they are to the waiting.

Where are you?
Gather yourself in my memory,
open a door,
pull me in,
so we can relive existence
before the azure sky shattered.

Return with your lost face.
Are you looking for me?

Your dust still tells stories
on a shelf
where books and angels
cleave to each other.

Not all of you, today,
revenant.
Let your hand return
for a touch,
let your face brush mine
with a kiss.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #81

2011-09-05T08:24:00.001-04:00

Photo/ Tess Kincaid

SO HAPPY TO BE ABLE TO REJOIN Magpie/ Prompt #81 Hope to stay a while...thank you Tess, for the inspiration!

FOR WHOM?

To what purpose

are the crushed left to be observed,

for whom is this lesson?

I prefer that all archaic,

useless geometry,

be blown away.

Why stop to examine the broken,

as if we can see the heart

in each stone?

Sooner to dust

rather than later,

a flow of breath can free me

from watching decay

go on.

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ADAM and EVE and ALIENS/ Poetry Picnic Week #1

2011-08-21T22:51:00.002-04:00

FIRST I GOT SHUT OUT of Jingle, poem already done...what to do? Then I got an invite to join the new Gooseberrygoespoetic Blog. This is good, because poem seemed about to languish. Thanks one and all (Jingle, of course!).
Will not be able to comment for next couple of days because of necessary surgery...shhhh...but will try to catch up. And, fingers crossed, please!

ADAM and EVE and ALIENS

This orb of trees
and blue seas
will be planted
with miracles
from this day forward.

A book will tell the legend.
Pull Eve from his rib now,
let her kiss the bleed
as if she could ever
heal the pain of Adam's desire.

All will bear the scar.
The secrecy of a bitten apple,
will create a yawning wound
as snakes contrive
illusions of fulfillment.

So like the other worlds
where androids reign.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #78

2011-08-15T09:29:00.000-04:00

Photo/ Tess Kincaid

GREAT PHOTO for Magpie Prompt #78... thanks Tess!!

FOR ART'S SAKE...

Hey Pollock, paint's here!
What do you mean by dribble?
I just don't get it.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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LAST BREATH/ Poetry Potluck #48

2011-08-14T21:43:00.000-04:00

Bouguereau/ Psyche

FOR Poetry Potluck #48, we are given the topic of "Passionate Nights of Love"...

LAST BREATH

Frangipani under the bed,
wafting promise.
Tendrils of weeping willow
at my window,
when the embrace goes cold.

Dust finally defines my body,
remembering the past nights
when our touches
were made of dew,
as if Scheherazade
lived under my skin.

Am I dead still,
looking for a life,
or born all over again
to find your caress.

Banish tears from my pillow,
let your mouth taste my words.

If only last breaths
could summon up
the craze of passion
instead of fear.

copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #77

2011-08-08T12:10:00.000-04:00

Edward Hopper/ Summer Evening

EVERYTHING'S BUILT IN with an Edward Hopper. Thanks to Tess for this presentation for Magpie Tales #77.

DREAM GIRL
So you're taking a road
that's less fractured,
no weeds,
just sweet blossoms
from Aphrodite's garden
blowing cheap perfume
into your dreams.

How far will I fall,
without dawn in your grip?
Can I find a link
to another hero
who's learned to sweat
at five in the morning?

Pull down your canvas sack,
don't forget the honeyed words.
Grind them under your heel
with the half smoked illusions.
Pack them up.

Then embrace the smolder
till a new genie takes form,
and gargoyles at the window
giggle at your good fortune.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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SINISTER/ Poetry Potluck #47

2011-08-07T21:22:00.001-04:00

Toulouse-Lautrec/ Yvette Guilbert

THIS WEEK, for Poetry Potluck #47, we have the topic..."HISTORY and STORIES"...

SINISTER

Straight down the middle

is the line on which my history

plays hop-scotch.

This side blurs,

that side seeps

into the witch's cave,

all stalactites, hooked.

Sinister me,

a muddle of dim light,

yin and yang

slept in my mother's womb.

I want to play in heavy metal,

to tip the notes so far

that only an exorcism

can extract me back

into my true blue identity.

All the mystics decree,

even God on the Mount,

and angels flag me

to walk into the good light.

Maybe the bad seeds of my nature

can be ground into a fine residue,

swept away like a holy mandala,

the dust and fog of my karma.

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #76

2011-08-01T11:47:00.000-04:00

photo/ tess kincaid

REALLY INTRIGUED by Magpie Tales #76 Thanks again Tess, for the challenge.

TIN GOD

Little Tin God,
you fooled at first
with bravura whirring,
grinning enigmatically,
pretending to be
a knight in shining armor.

Your fool's gold is chipping, warped,
rusty at heart,
makeup slipping,
parts assembled from cheap tricks.

Lost in the archeology
of the five and dime.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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TILL THE END/ Poetry Potluck #46

2011-07-31T21:34:00.001-04:00

"LOVE...and it's not being there"...The topic for this week's POETRY POTLUCK #46.

TILL THE END

I remember when silk was creamy white,
pulled in at my waist
and a train followed me down the aisle.

I stepped on petals crimson and pink,
my posies fluttered
with nerves of their own,
leaves shaking,

a forecast of a roving storm,
as I walked within a promise
before I swore to love till the end.

The end slid into view
around the corner,
sun dropping below the horizon,
voices shrill, exploding within walls.
Put a lid on!

I slipped down the steps
of my dream house,
out the door,
past honor and obey.

Locked it up,
tossed the key over my shoulder
like a bridal bouquet.
Catch it if you will.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #75

2011-07-25T20:27:00.001-04:00

photo/ tess kincaid

THANKS TO TESS, for Magpie Tales #75, intriguing as always...

TOUR de FRANCE

Passing lines of wheels,
the cycler wants nothing more
than the moon
that eclipses the world.

To win, then seduce some beauty
in the faun's afternoon.

Flying past epic landscapes,
companions in full array,
he rides over valley and copse,
to the wind up.

A vaporous procession on horseback
turns to look at whirling dust.
A phantom brandishes a sword.
Time slides.

Sweet rococo nymph
blows kisses
at the finish line.

An enchantress from a Fragonard,
she grasps a distant star
to crown the conquerer's fate.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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LIFE AGAIN/ Poetry Potluck #45

2011-07-24T22:32:00.000-04:00

THE THEME this week at Poetry Potluck #45 is NATURE and LIFE. Here's a Haiku and a Pantoum.

SLICE

A slice of life please.
Pile everything atop it,
I'll take it to go...

LIFE AGAIN

I catch a sliver of light
as birth receives me.
It looks just as bright
as the light of Nirvana.

As birth receives me,
shapes and forms wave me on,
as the light of Nirvana
seems the same as life.

Shapes and forms wave me on.
I'm hoping to enter paradise,
seems the same as life.
Maybe I'm wide of the mark.

I'm hoping to enter paradise,
it looks just as bright.
Maybe I'm wide of the mark.
I catch a sliver of light.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #74

2011-07-18T14:12:00.000-04:00

photo/ tess kincaid

THANKS TESS, for Magpie Tales #74, I sort of like this enigmatic guy! Haiku forever!!

CHEERS

Hi, my name is Tim,

I'll be your server tonight.

Cocktails all around?

http://www.minblu.blogspot.com

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TRACING PICASSO/ Poetry Potluck #44

2011-07-17T22:59:00.003-04:00

Pablo Picasso

THIS IS ART WEEK...at Poetry Potluck #44, Painting Whispers....

TRACING PICASSO
I don't want his psyche to slip away
as I grasp for the quintessence.
I place translucent paper
on top of the Picasso,
fit the edges to meet and cling.

I mean to let his genius
float through the lucid instant,
as artistic salvation
transfuses his brilliance
into my hand.

I trace the dissonant face
with my slender crayon,
eyes in profile like isosceles triangles.

A trick of the light,
round orbs,
a nose thrust aside,
seeming akin to a beached flounder.

A cheerless outcome for a paramour,
unexpectedly looking like a fish.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #73

2011-07-11T18:48:00.001-04:00

People of Chilmark/ Thomas Hart Benton/1920

VERY INSPIRATIONAL, thanks to Tess, for Magpie Tales #73.

ABDUCTION

In Chilmark, every game is a trick of time.

Moments spill over boundaries

of seconds and hours.

Sometimes we live

in a painting by Benton

of strapping young men,

rivaling for glances

from flirtatious sweet things.

My brother, Fox Mulder,

one day on The X-Files,

mentioned that it was

in Chilmark,

where we were raised,

that on November 27, 1973

I was kidnapped by aliens.

The last thing I heard

as the crowd called out,

was Samantha, Samanth....

as the spaceship was sealed.

I was returned on a summer's eve,

like a Frisbee come back,

between a pond named Menemsha

and the one called Squibnocket,

ten years later when boys were now men,

and girls with tired eyes

cuddled babes in their arms.

The night hung heavy

with years passing slowly,

but for me it was just a minute before.

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INFINITE POWERS/ Poetry Potluck #43

2011-07-10T22:56:00.000-04:00

THIS IS FREE VERSE WEEK, free choice! For Poetry Potluck #43.

INFINITE POWERS

Sometimes I want a particular God,
like the one outlined
on that wrap in Turin,

A tall tale they say,
no matter how many angels
peer in
through a stained glass window,
singing hallelujah.

Some other days
I'm patient enough,
dressed in my saffron robe,
to sit in a pose,
prayer flags
fluttering beside me,

to clear my mind
of earthly woes
and fit alongside Buddha,
where tears are just
an ego trip,
and life is an illusion.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #72

2011-07-04T10:55:00.000-04:00

Wheat Field with Rising Sun/ Vincent Van Gogh/ 1889

THANKS FOR THIS TREAT, Tess, for Magpie Tales #72
And a HAPPY 4th to all!!

RUNNING MAN

Vincent, rise from Eve's sin,
the blistering dawn baptizes you.

Sprint across the field
until your breath spits blood,
lie down with seedlings
in the purple furrows.

The yellow stain is a blazing sun
that tears up skin,
peels and spins your mind.

Black night,
starry night,
surpassing heaven,

a canvas tucked into
the maker's hand,

blessing the folly
of the running man.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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INSTANT FRIENDSHIP/ Poetry Potluck #42

2011-07-03T21:54:00.000-04:00

THE TOPIC FOR THIS WEEK'S Poetry Potluck #42, is Siblings, Cousins and Friends. The form I chose for my poem, is the PANTOUM, a set of repetition of lines.

INSTANT FRIENDSHIP

A social butterfly alights
high on my cheek
and whispers a message of craving,
enticing as a gift.

High on my cheek
A Monarch seeks to persuade me,
enticing as a gift,
memories that have gone before.

A Monarch seeks to persuade me,
I need a friend indeed.
Memories that have gone before
bring out the lure of closeness.

I need a friend indeed,
he tells me all aflutter.
Bring out the lure of closeness,
now merely shadows and specters.

He tells me all aflutter
and whispers a message of craving.
Now merely shadows and specters,
a social butterfly alights.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #71

2011-06-27T10:13:00.001-04:00

ENDEAVOR/ Lino Tagliapietra

THANK YOU, Tess, for this lively presentation for Magpie Tales #71

EVOLUTION

Just one more wave, my friends,

swim with me over the spray.

We'll drop our scales,

grow legs to walk on land.

Call ourselves evolved.

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SWEET TOOTH/ Poetry Prompt #41

2011-06-26T22:30:00.001-04:00

A VERY INTERESTING prompt this week, for Poetry Potluck #41. The subject is SAINTS, MONKS, and MEDITATION.

SWEET TOOTH

A tiny winged thing flew
onto the chocolate icing.
It was a mite,
or maybe a minuscule saint
with a sweet tooth.

Who said
a sanctified creature of God
has to be as tall as me
and clad in Titian robes?

It either burrowed
into the sugary darkness
to sleep in saccharine slumber,

or made its way aloft,
tucked into a mouthful
on my silvery fork,

its fate sealed
for a trip to heaven,
because I ate either a fly
or maybe a saint.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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SAILING/ Short Story Slam 4

2011-06-23T09:34:00.000-04:00

photo/ Penny K. Sherman

SAILING

He put me off the boat. He said he would do it, and he did it. I was both fuming and relieved. Bye-bye, Ace, bye-bye.

Every Saturday, during the summertime, Ace sailed in the regatta off Fire Island. He was a mild mannered doctor in his real life, even tempered, with the ability to nod his head in agreement in a professorial way that honored your opinion. But when he set foot on anything that sailed, the Queen Mary, or a raft, his transformation was as rapid and complete as if he was Lon Chaney, Jr. turning into the Wolfman. Or Captain Bligh, till the race was won.

The first rule of our engagement was, sailing first. Food, clothing and shelter later. I adjusted. It was still the old days, when I was sort of the little wifey. Sure, Ace, you can sail today. I'll just shop. After all a river isn't running through Saks Fifth Avenue. Water, nay, terra firma, yay.

Then Ace, beyond all reason, invited me to join him for a little jaunt around Great South Bay. Despite the tears that were beginning to form in the corners of my eyes in fear and loathing, Ace insisted that this was a safe day, that even I, landlubber that I was, would really enjoy and finally share in his love of salt water. If I began to love salt water, it would most likely take the form of a mouth wash and a gargle.

Cajoled by a suddenly emerging sweet talker, I tossed all cliches to the wind, agreed that, "what could possibly go wrong on such a gorgeous day"?

Having coasted along all my life as a complacent and compliant person, I managed to keep hidden even from myself my magical powers to control weather. No sooner had we sailed into drowning depth, than a tinge of grey appeared overhead. A cloud? On a day such as this? And from where comes this unremitting breeze? I accused Ace of a nefarious plot. A tale befitting Alfred Hitchcock was brewing!

He called me an albatross, and upon reflection, as I tightened my water wings, I sort of remembered a couple of other times when I had the power of Circe. Don't mess with a myth.

Ace sailed toward shore into wading depth, and raised his voice above the roar of the oncoming tempest. He made me walk the plank, soak the edge of my hip-huggers. I waved my espadrilles above my head to signal help. The wind drowned out my cries of accusation. No one came to the rescue.

This is a true story. Only the names have been changed to protect the guilty. Thanks to Short Story Slam 4 for the inspiration!

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #70

2011-06-20T20:00:00.002-04:00

photo/ Tess Kincaid/ Magpie Tales

Thanks, Tess, for this enigmatic photo..for MAG #70...

GRADUATION

I know why you're buying this.
I know it's not for my virginal looks,
a purity left on the snapshot,
tempered by innocence,
enforced by whispers.

But the photo will go,
soon to be slipped
from under the glass,
removed, and I know
you'll toss it into the trash
and it will land face down
next to the orange peel,
that the cat will sniff
and maybe paw.

I know the treasure
is the fine beadwork
that I stretched around the edge,
red to match my hair.

My day of delight,
youth and splendor
was even then slipping away.

I know,
but $1.99 is still $1.99.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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ECHOES/ Poetry Potluck #40

2011-06-19T22:39:00.000-04:00

THIS WEEK'S Poetry Potluck #40 presents the theme of Void, Loneliness and Sorrow...something to plunge into...

ECHOES

In a hollow of echoes

I fling my voice into the the world,

first as a soft lilt,

cup my ear for the comeback,

like an old movie star

hoping to be revitalized.

I find the cadence

wasn't bracing enough

to bear return.

Next time, I emphasize the bass notes,

push them out into a parade.

Still not a sound comes back,

so I drive an octave higher.

Carrying my own torch,

dancing in its light,

I race to be in two places at once,

to impress,

look for someone to agree.

I listen for my name to bounce back,

returning like a shuttlecock

in the last championship game.

My own voice doesn't revisit.

Answer me, please,

I haven't ever

received a beckoning.

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GOING.../ Short Story Slam 3

2011-06-15T09:29:00.007-04:00

Photo/ Melissa R. Bickel/ Short Story Slam #3

GOING...

They think I won't leave. That the weather will keep me from leaving. That I have fear. That they will prevail.

I'm standing at the window, and not a drop of rain has fallen yet. The sky has the message. I will encompass you. The heavens always have a message. Sometimes to comfort. Today, no ray of hope.

A bolt from the mouth of creation says, I will put on a show of force that you haven't yet dreamed of. Well, I come from a place where a lack of sunlight enters with the day, and dusk is just the time to stoke the coals.

I'll have some soup before I leave, the pot sitting daily at the back of the stove. I'll add something that was hanging in the cold-room, after I take a bowl, so that they will not suspect a departure.

I'm going. Not with shoes. Not with skins for warmth. When I cut the cord I will go into the world like a babe. Let them just try to follow. Let them just try to stop me.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #69

2011-06-13T11:29:00.001-04:00

photo/ tess kincaid/ Magpie Tales

WHAT A SEDUCTIVE SEA SHELL, I fell into its spell immediately..words just appeared!! Thanks, Tess, for Mag #69!!

SIREN SONG

Bobbing on a wave,

sand grits my teeth

as I climb to the apex of the crest

and fall into a moving odyssey.

Carried ashore by Homer's fate,

one cupping hand

will set me at his ear,

listen to my siren song,

and when my message

is cold and spent,

place me gently

on a grain of sand

for time to rub my skin to dust.

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WARNING/ Poetry Potluck #39

2011-06-12T21:29:00.001-04:00

painting/ Don Punchatz

THIS WEEK, we are asked to produce a poem for Poetry Potluck #39, around the theme of Dictatorship, Autocracy, and Despotism. Serious stuff...

WARNING

Don't move your eyes,
look straight ahead!
Follow the art of tyrants
who paint bogus landscapes.

Then, when your inner light dies,
carry a lantern without radiance
down a despot's path.

Look straight ahead!
Face a wall.
You have no one to fault
but yourself.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #68

2011-06-06T19:40:00.000-04:00

photo/ Tess Kincaid/ Magpie Tales

THANK YOU, TESS, for this enigmatic prompt!

NAPOLEON'S EYE

The dealer of odds and ends
clasps the eyepiece
in the soft of his palm.
A film of grey stares
through the blue pigment.
An edge of ochre and white
rims the periphery
like a necklace.

The weight is heavy enough
to hold down a letter
of love or loss.

He tells me the legend
of an eye drawing breath.
He tells me this is Napoleon's eye.

A rise and fall does seem to flow
in the shifting light.
I'll take it.

A real work of art he says.
Napoleon's eye.
He places the orb
in a round satin coffer.
Tie it with a ribbon?

copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011

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SINGIN' and DANCIN'/ Poetry Potluck #38

2011-06-05T21:35:00.000-04:00

FOR THIS WEEK, Poetry Potluck #38, we are asked to be, "Inspired by a song'. How nice!

SINGIN' and DANCIN'

My umbrella unfurls,
as a raindrop
grows rapidly into a puddle.

I race to the edge,
plunge right in,
tapping to a Cinemascope melody
that rises to the top
in Technicolor bubbles.

That skip always plunks
Gene Kelly by my side.

My dream, his movie.
I've got the heel
and toe routine
in my heart.
I'm the shadow on his arm,

splish-splashing,
sharing startime,
singin' and dancin'

blissfully,
in the rain.

copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011

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Pesto Pasta

2011-06-03T15:06:00.000-04:00

WHOEVER INVENTED THIS, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Easy, delicious, perfect summertime dish. Pasta, thank you for existing!!

PESTO PASTA SALAD/ Asparagus

Pesto:

3 cups packed fresh basil
3 garlic cloves, chopped
1 tbls. lemon juice
1/2 tsp. salt
1/4 tsp. blk. pepper
1/3 cup pine nuts, toasted
1/2 cup olive oil
1/2 cup grated Parmesan

Salad:

1 lb. asparagus, cut into thirds
1 lb. spiral pasta, or any short pasta
2 pints cherry tomatoes, halved

Cook asparagus in salted, boiling water for about 4 minutes. Drain and put in ice/ very cold water to keep crisp and green.
Cook pasta until al dente, drain and run under cold water, put aside.

Make pesto:
In food processor puree basil, garlic, lemon juice, salt, pepper, and pine nuts till smooth. Add olive oil while motor is running, and process till a thick paste forms. Add Parmesan and pulse a couple of times.

Make salad:
In large bowl, combine pesto, cold pasta , tomatoes, and asparagus. Serve at room temerature, or refrigerate to chill. Serves 8

STAND-IN/ Short Story Slam 2

2011-05-31T10:05:00.001-04:00

Short Story Slam- Week 2

STAND-IN

The first time I met John Wayne was at a seance. Every Monday night my ex-husband's Aunt Tilda James and Uncle Brice James held a seance in the dim great room of their house in the Hollywood Hills. That house has since slid into oblivion. It happened many years ago, during one of the hugely violent mudslides that sealed the fate of most houses built on the precipice.

Uncle Brice was John Wayne's stand-in. The above photo of stalwart, heroic John Wayne, was the last seen of him in that particular take. He dismounted for a smoke, Uncle Brice rode off into the sunset, camera's on him. Then shot in the back. So it went. Most of the time it was Uncle Brice who took it on the chin.

Ex and I had just arrived in L.A. We checked into a motel, were young enough to to make plans for Disneyland. And visit Jake's assorted relatives in the movie business. A historical oddity, they were in Hollywood for ages, panning for the gold of stardom. The highest the men got was as pals to the star, or stand-ins. The women worked as receptionists. Only Aunt Tilda James was used for her resemblance to Barbara Stanwyck. It was those eyes.

They bought a haunted house on purpose. For its connections to the other world, and its view, no matter how precipitous. Aunt Tilda said she saw something very sensitive in me, and I would be an asset at a seance that night. My only familiarity with ghosts was Casper. I was quick in wanting out, already feeling creepy crawlies up my spine from the darkness in the afternoon and the creaking floors. And then Uncle Brice mentioned that John Wayne would be there, a big fan of the netherworld shenanigans that were bound to surface.

Still haven't washed that spot on my cheek(ha ha) where John Wayne kissed me. Anyway, after the initial summoning of spirits, I saw a shape shifter fly across the room, my Ex kept giggling and John Wayne fell asleep.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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STORM/ Poetry Potluck #37

2011-05-29T21:48:00.000-04:00

FOR THIS WEEK'S Poetry Potluck #37. ...Thunderstorms, Floods and Water Fury. All around us...nature runs amok. Heartfelt sympathy to those who've lost so much.

STORM

On the shelf of the world

sits a cup of tears,

an ark in an endless flood.

It overflows

with a never-ending stream.

Two by two

build a bridge of sighs,

crying out

from alpha to omega.

Across the sky

an electric flare quivers

in the hand of fury.

Shadowy thunder

echoes an agreement

in operatic blasts,

always the handmaiden

of lightning.

We still greet each dawn

with hope,

while falling from grace

since a minute after Eden.

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YELLOW/ Monday Photo Prompt

2011-05-28T09:05:00.001-04:00

photo/ Eric Alder/ BifocalUnivision Monday's Photo Prompt

YELLOW

Breath born seeds of time,
carrying the secrecy
of perfect yellow.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

Thank you, Eric Alder, for letting me know about Monday's Photo Prompt..so happy to jump in!!

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DRUMBEAT

2011-05-26T09:41:00.008-04:00

I LIKE THE PROMPTS put out by Poet's and Writer's Magazine. Today...browse through your collection of photos, choose an image and write a poem inspired by it. Being an Aries, to me that means, "NOW"! And finish it immediately. My DNA demands it. Why not try it?

DRUMBEAT

Remember when I was more
than a silhouette,
not yet a specter?
You'd call my name
and I'd come to you.

Suddenly there'd be heat in the room,
we knew where it was going.

The walls
accompanied our sighs
with a drumbeat,

a hit song once again, perfect.

From that wired dimension
I danced along the divides,

enclosed by trickery,
not suspicious
that I had started to sift,

so unaware that my home
had always been an hourglass.

copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #67

2011-05-23T19:58:00.001-04:00

Nicolas Tournier/ Magpie Tales

LUNCH BREAK/ Spoiler Alert!

National Enquirer has the first pics of the stars during a lunch break, on the set of the blockbuster Dreamworks 3D version of "Romeo and Juliet..and Dracula".

"No matter how hard they try...they will never die". Already the catch phrase of the year!

Lady Gaga, a pale and virginal Juliet, passes the publicity shots to Russell Crowe,(a hefty Friar Laurence), who checks them, gets gravy on half of them.

As the undead Count Paris,(Daniel Day Lewis, left, flirting with vampire extra), in a daring portrayal, leaps, dances, seduces and sucks.

The Count gets a grip on Nurse,(Helen Mirren), who then enters Juliet's chamber to dress her for the ball. Juliet likes the touch of ruby red on Nurse's lips. Soon enough...

In a dreamlike sequence, Montagues and Capulets chase each other and blood happens. Juliet is caught in a deadly embrace by a masked man. Fatal kisses are blown and caught. Capulet cries out, "My kingdom for a stake".

The entire original score, (by Lady Gaga), is played on a single Lute, by the gifted hands of the not yet dead Romeo, Ashton Kutcher,(seen rehearsing).

The stars can't wait to complete work on this lavish film, where the stakes are very high indeed!

Thanks, Tess, for the opportunity to play with this wonderful painting!

copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011

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THE SKETCH/ Poetry Potluck #36

2011-05-22T21:58:00.000-04:00

Edgar Degas

This week's Poetry Potluck #36, brought to mind a time gone by, when I used to go to Greenwich Village with my friends, and just hang out. We liked the art exhibits and one day an artist asked me to pose for him. For free..so people would stop, admire his work, and want a sketch.
I was about 15 at the time and it sounded like a good deal to me, because I got to keep the sketch.

THE SKETCH

The wind blew dust from the sidewalk
in little whirlpools,
picked up a smudge of blue
that flaked from the pastel crayon.

It lodged in the corner of my eye.
I squinted, as the artist
sketched my face one Sunday afternoon.
I sat for him in the shifting glare
and shadow of a chiaroscura day.

Placing a chair beside the Arch
in Washington Square,
I posed as the Little Dancer at rest.

The artist appraised the pose,
moved my hand to my chin.

A beret tilted over his windswept hair.
Tourists stopped, stared at me.

Sketched with hints of Degas,
a dot of chalk blue
appeared as a tear in my eye.

copyright/ all rights reserved/2011

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NOODLE SALAD/ Peanut Sauce

2011-05-20T15:12:00.000-04:00

LOW FAT AND DELICIOUS!! Who can resist those words.. This is just your basic Cold Noodle Salad...maybe with a couple of new twists. On the hottest day,(or for me, any day...mmmmmgood) this is fast, easy, yummy!

COLD NOODLE SALAD with PEANUT SAUCE

1/2 cup creamy peanut butter
1/4 cup soy sauce
2 tsps. grated fresh ginger
2 cloves garlic
red pepper flakes to taste
1/2 cup water
1 tsp. sesame oil
8 oz. dry spaghetti
2 cups shredded cooked chicken
1 carrot, shredded
1/2 seedless cucumber, julienned
1 red pepper, thinly sliced
1/2 cup thinly sliced scallions

1. Combine peanut butter, soy sauce, ginger, garlic, red pepper flakes, water and sesame oil, in blender or food processor. Puree until smooth. Add more water if needed. Set aside.

2. Cook spaghetti according to directions, drain and cool.

3. In large bowl, add spaghetti, chicken, carrots, cucumbers, red peppers and scallions. Pour half of sauce over mix. Toss to coat, adding more if necessary.

4. Serve with remaining sauce on the side. Serves 4.

For vegetarian version, omit chicken or use tofu instead.

Based on a recipe in iVillage.

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #66

2011-05-16T16:21:00.001-04:00

photo/ tess kincaid/ magpie tales

I WROTE THIS POEM about a week before MAG 66 was posted. I somehow knew there would be a match up, and soon, I hoped. Tess, thanks for the wave length...

LOST AND FOUND

There is an authentic place
for all of us,
where we pull
the blanket of comfort
up to our chin,
and dream through
a universe of wonder
and discovery.

A genius, a prodigy
may have that
one true blessing,
that who am I?
handed to them on silver.

Most of us are not that lucky.
I was a tourist in my life
till a minute ago.

That's when I started
to assemble the blocks,
the alphabet,
and noticed that some
called this writing.

I finally arrived,
opened that door,
was able to yell out,
"Honey, I'm home".

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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POWER/ Poetry Potluck #35

2011-05-15T21:38:00.000-04:00

Bodiam Castle

I WAS CHARMED by the idea of this week's Poetry Potluck #35. Fortresses, Castles, Palaces and Royal Houses! Bound to be intriguing...

POWER

You are a fortress.
The mighty build a deep moat,
but I am the Sun.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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Short Story Slam #1...

2011-05-13T19:24:00.002-04:00

photo/ short story slam

GREAT IDEA...a Short Story Slam!! An inspirational photo, and off we go...

HOT AIR

Paulie dear, I do give you full credit for coming up with that super name, "WE'VE GOT AIRS". Balloons..air..why didn't I think of it? By the way, babe, I'd like to know why the Department of Hot Air Balloons has sent a Man in Black to snoop around. Seems they're looking for some guy, Doyle. Disappeared. Like I would know?

Sit down and listen to me Paulie. I sort of remember, way way back, some guy named Doyle was with the Balloon Goons, the Spy Division. I only heard in passing. He fooled around before the Satellites. So I heard. Skimming the rooftops of Moscow. That's all I know. They say he was the first to test the invisibility factor. Never got caught. He thought he was invisible. Maybe he still is. That's why nobody can find him now.

I don't know why you think that this frou frou wedding cake of a balloon is an espionage balloon. I don't care what they whisper about me. This is my business. I deliver Happy Birthday surprises. Like the six strippers we just dropped off at the Playboy Mansion. Guess they needed one more babe in that joint. That's what I do Paulie, pick 'em up and drop'em off. Surprise!

So funny that you think I might have anything to do with this I Spy nonsense. Do you think the Heffner drop was a mission? Did I leave my cloak and dagger lying around?

What do you mean you think you saw him lurking around here. You can't know what he looks like. I didn't think you'd ever heard of him. I surely never saw him. Never. I was kidding about a Spy Division. Comic book stuff. Not for real.

But if the Guy in Black asks you if you saw Doyle, it's best to say, Doyle, who's Doyle?

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #65

2011-05-09T20:37:00.001-04:00

photo/ Tess Kincaid/ Magpie Tales

WHAT A POWERFUL IMAGE for this week's Magpie Tales. A favorite saint, lead me on....

ST. MANDOLIRA *

I will be a saint one day too,
threading a needle of hope
and genuflected to.

Martyrs haven't owned this title yet,
the Patron Saint of Worker Bees
and Violins.

For the amber flow
of honey
in a hexagon geometry,
pray to me.

If you play a Stradivari,
do the same.

Saints give up their skeletons,
I pluck a string
with a sliver of mine.

My world is a reliquary,
I have holy bones too,
and bless the honeyed tea.

*Mandolira...a musical instrument.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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ARC OF THE RAINBOW/ Poetry Potluck #34

2011-05-08T21:22:00.008-04:00

WHO CAN RESIST this week's Poetry Potluck #34 ?
Color, Spring, and Rainbow! Count me in...

ARC OF THE RAINBOW

I stood in the green arc
of the rainbow,
the other colors hovering,
waiting to absorb me,
make me red or yellow.

But blue, itself heavenly,
lifted me upwards
towards the sky.

All pooled into white,
a light turned on,

the beckoning path,
where familiar faces
looked my way,
hands waving me on.

But I decided to go back,
carrying a pot of gold,
hoping to spend it well.

copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011

http://www.ellerochelle.blogspot.com
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MAGPIE/ Prompt #64

2011-05-02T22:22:00.000-04:00

Clarence Holbrook Carter 1904-2000

This week's Magpie Tales caught my eye with this strong and maternal painting, "Smoldering Fires". For me it highlights the inate protectiveness of motherhood, an apt thought with Mother's Day just around the corner. May all Mothers be surrounded by love and joy.

WHAT WE DID BEST

You baked, flour sprinkling on the linoleum,
as I stole a sweet bit of dough,
a lucky charm when a raisin was tucked inside,
and I couldn't wait for the cake
and a sip of your coffee.

Your cheeks went rosy, Mom,
without a touch of the makeup you loved,
the Maybelline mascara tucked behind
the Tangee in that messy drawer,
where I learned to pinch a moment of stardom.

And that was what we did best,
going to the movies.
Collecting a free china plate
on Wednesday afternoons
and looking ahead
to the triumph of the complete set
by the end of the year,
when we could finally eat dinner
like Katherine and Cary.

We worshiped at the palace
of Loew's Paradise,
where adulation came easily,
falling in love with Robin Hood,
swaying with Ginger in the arms of Fred.

We went home and I slipped
into your red wedgies,
prancing while you kneaded the dough,
till you promised to take me
to dancing school
where I might find a Fred of my own.

Copyright/All rights reserved/ 2011

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OUT OF THE BLUE/ Poetry Potluck #33

2011-05-01T21:25:00.000-04:00

THIS WEEK'S Poetry Potluck #33, presents us with the opportunity to deal with our Doubts, Fears, Inhibitions and Hesitations. What weighs me down the most? I hesitate to tell you...

OUT OF THE BLUE

A friend schedules a seance.
I'm the ghost.
I come through
but it's Greek to me.

That makes two of us
who wonder
what my spirit is up to.

I fear my soul
may have
a separate language,
and it's one
I do not speak.

Out of the blue
I start scattering
tittle-tattle,
revealing secrets,

and everyone
gets the message
but me,

because I still
haven't learned
the true
heart to heart
of Heaven.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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The Twilight Zone...

2011-04-29T09:15:00.000-04:00

I LIKE TO CHECK MY HOROSCOPE in the morning. Usually I don't get a big laugh out loud moment. Today is different.

On this date, April 29, 2011, I, an Aries, am warned that I may not realize that I've slipped into the Twilight Zone. That the various nooks and crannies of my so called life are bent slightly out of shape.

ahem...I've noticed. As if I can't tell that I've settled into a parallel world, ever distant at times from the so-called "real world".

I'm advised by this stunning horoscope to perhaps call on my friends to help me distinguish between my illusions (mostly harmless posturing) and the nitty gritty world that I obviously should get closer to.

I'm not sure if I'm on the outside looking in, or comfortably reclining on my Lazy Boy, happily looking out. I hope that tomorrow will, horoscopically speaking, signal to me that it's safe out there, and that I can bid farewell to The Twilight Zone.

Friends, I know that your down to earth qualities will come to my aid when you see me tottering too close to this edge or that. When you see that I need help, please...Help!

MAGPIE/ Prompt #63

2011-04-25T20:48:00.000-04:00

photo/ magpie tales/ tess kincaid

WHAT A GREAT BURST of color! Leave it to Tess to come up with this original prompt..always something special waiting for us!!

QUANTUM TREE

I thought it would be sinister
on the other side
of the black hole. Surprise!

All my yesterdays
and tomorrows,
a vibrating quantum tree
of relativity,
blossoms of light
leapfrogging unbound,
doing the two-step
with the Wu Li Masters,

expanding as far
as the third eye can see.

In this seamless universe
each colorful soul
overlaps into the other,
no hard edges,
one ball of God.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

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WRITING POETRY/ Poetry Potluck #32

2011-04-24T21:29:00.000-04:00

THIS WEEK'S POETRY POTLUCK #32, is offering the wonderful challenge of ART, MUSIC, and POETRY. What a great choice!!

WRITING POETRY

My words are floaters,
little suicides
bobbing to the surface,
assembling into a sonnet.

My own wit lies concealed,
waiting to be dissected
by sages of doggerel.

Some find another Ode
on a Grecian Urn,
identify an element of beauty,
others hoot at a cliche'.

I count off a haiku
on my fingers,
kick a tanka into shape,
run with a necklace of triolets,
and fall head over heals
for a pantoum.

No matter what the price,
this is where
I enter paradise.

copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011

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I LOVE MADELYN

2011-04-23T09:38:00.003-04:00

MADELYN PUGH DAVIS

March 15, 1921- April 20, 2011

With her partners, MADELYN PUGH DAVIS, who has passed away at the age of 90, wrote the classic "I Love Lucy", including the memorable stomping of a vat of grapes, the oversized bread swelling from the oven, and perhaps the most famous of all, "VITAMEATAVEGAMIN", a commercial for a health tonic.

The premise that Ms. Davis and her partners came up with was to have far-fetched physical predicaments for the show's star, Lucille Ball, and to get Lucy Ricardo into ever-lasting conflict with Ricky Ricardo, played by her real life husband, Desi Arnaz.

The Paley Center for Media honored Ms.Davis in 2006, and said of her: She "not only made her mark as a writer, but also opened the door for other women to follow in her footsteps."

Starting in 1951, for four of its six seasons, "I Love Lucy", was the most popular show on television. All 179 episodes remain in reruns. Probably forever.

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #62

2011-04-19T07:25:00.000-04:00

photo/ magpie tales/ tess kincaid

THERE ARE TWO DIFFERENT kinds of folk in the yolk world....a subject that comes to mind because of this week's Mag...thanks Tess, and pass the salt, please...

OVER, NOT EASY

Take it back.
Please.
I don't like leaky yellow
seeping into white goo.

When I say "over"
I mean flip it,
till the edges crunch,
and the yolk looks
as if it can bounce.

Please.
Tease that egg.

Don't serve me
sunny side up,
or runny side down.

A hockey puck
on toast will do.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

http://www.minblu.blogspot.com/
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SUMMER DREAM/ Poetry Potluck #31

2011-04-17T21:22:00.000-04:00

"THESE ARE A FEW of my favorite things..." Can't get that song out of my head...although I sure will try so that I can get to POETRY POTLUCK #31. And one of my favorites is....

SUMMER DREAM

Hum a tune to me, July,
brush a peach
a plum
a cherry
against my waiting lips.
I will share the taste
with the eager hummingbird.

Let honey drip
its coy sweetness
onto my finger tips.

Redbreasts and bees
alight on my hand,

as flowers come into bud
for summer's birth.

copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011

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MAGPIE/ Prompt #61

2011-04-12T07:50:00.000-04:00

photo/ magpie tales/ tess kincaid

This enigmatic photo posed a bit of a challenge ...I'm so late this week to feel the spark!! No one ever said Mag would be easy. Thanks, Tess....

DREGS

A candle's beam
illuminates the goblet,
as I swirl a plea into the wine.

I hear a moth's whisper,
watch it fly into its fate.

Tiny wings float,
mix with vintage tears,
cheap wine.

Tastes like the Red Sea
before the parting.

copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011

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