Spinning

photo by Francesca Woodman

For Magpie Tales

Spinning spinning spinning

i sway to the fierce music

witness the not guilty

look for the mossy soul that weeps

dancing not for praise

but for disappearing

with no woe and a glint in my eye

i dance for going

to enter the light 

to seek the hushed place

for my soul to shine

Spinning spinning spinning

For Sunday's Whirligig

Cherry Dream

Sunday's Whirligig 

wearing snow
trees' boughs hung
in the woodlands
with no room
for blooms

memories of
seventy springs
the cherry awakened
promised
Spring will come again

Hopelessness

For Sunday's Whirligig who gives us words like clay to shape any way we please

Palm pressed
against windows
lifts unmarked

Pantry of friends
born pure
paint brown and white sins

Consonants without vowels
have burnt
the good in some

A Molecular Fable

For Sunday's Whirligig 

Molecules begrudged the pulling whirl of a sunny day causing alarm among some .  Their frantic shouts reached the ears of creatures near by.

A crow circled wondering what could be so urgent to warrant such sounds.  His caws joined the shouts of the frightened molecules.  

The wasp building his nest decided something must be done.  This was no place to raise children amid these disturbances.

The spider hidden observing silently began to stalk the wasp for a fine meal.

...and the molecules continued to shout.

The crow flew in to make a meal of spider and wasp when the poppy spoke, loudly as poppies do, silencing all.

"You poor misguided creatures!  Look around you.  There is balance and beauty from where I stand rooted.  There are cycles and circles.  Some will end but we are never truly alone or truly gone. Molecules are with in us all."

The molecules quietened by the truth smiled.  The wasp continued to build. The spider went on its way.  The crow sat high in a tree contemplating the wisdom of a poppy who bloomed where it was planted.

And the circles and cycles continued to turn.

The Power Of You

Prompt from Sunday's Whirligig

A Dozen Words For Writer's

When the sorrow drains you

more than you can bear

tug on those happiness jeans

and leave behind despair

Greet the day 

with swagger

a mysterious shining 

from with in

There is a miracle

we call belief and dreams

that save us over again

trade darkness for Son-beams

Lift not your wrists

except for expulsion

of no's and can not do's

reach deep with in yourself

FIND THE POWER OF YOU!

Whirligig 30...Whorehouse

Having fun with Sunday's Whirligig 30

where the words are supplied and you craft them.

Rattle windows check the doors
There's people sleeping
on the whorehouse floor

a pair of melons and a bone
started this mania
and set the tone

Smite the spitwad ceiling bound
it won't stick
to the oubliette crown

Wearing vanilla but touching stone
Crazy is over
I'm finally home

Who's Watching You?

photo credit: Gerrit Photography

Magpie Tales

Sunday's Whirligig

He had the luxury of watching unseen through the windows.  It made him feel a little dirty but not enough to stop him.  Leaning over his brick balcony railing he begin to sing love poems of 

shining horses dancing.  She never heard a word nor knew of his devotion.  

Later as she was passing his apartments, he spoke.  She returned a shy smile.

She never reached the end of the block. She never reached home. She was never seen again.

The alignment gremlins are working against me.  Sorry.  I can not fix it.  I will try later. Thanks for visiting.

Not A Love Poem

Written for Sunday's Whirligig

It was the birthday

of resentments

each move 

choking 

eroding

no take backs

no open gates here

no sparks

no dazzling smile 

for you

I pared 

my love 

to stumps

move on!

before 

i remember

where 

i hid the weapons

i

forgot

to 

say

you

can 

rot

for

all 

i

care

No More!

pretend play

flying shoes

scarlet stench

silence

empty verses

holding inscriptions

scars demanding

NO MORE!

Sunday's Whirligig

Only two extra words!

Doubling Up

For Sunday's Whirligig 

Wordle at Sunday Whirl

Today I'm doing doubles.  My insane self-appointed goal is to one day write a word prompt using only the words provided while having that creation make sense.   I have used two sets of twelve prompt words using two words twice and fourteen other words.  I don't think I made it.

"More Meth" 

cry mouths

midnight receded

mutant sins cry to be fed

Mortuary magician

knows

the chill and rattle 

of many

Motor web creek

scry with crystal thread

maybe mariachis

drums

While sins missed

could be forgiven

rather than plastered

publicly

Bickering Could Be The Death Of You

Asleep on the floor

I hear your breath

separate in the bed

waiting for a signal

bickering

was tiresome

Could you still love me?

I twisted the soft frayed cord

it's use depended on your answer

when you awakened.

Sunday's Whirligig

Diversified Whirligig

For Sunday's Whirligig creative prompt

The park birthed by DAR was cared for, improved and honored by those whose relatives had fallen fighting for varied causes through the years.  I imagined the white-gloved gardeners planting the berms with tastefully chosen plants that would show their pride for years. General Robert E Lee's statue was but a few feet from Martin Luther King's Memorial and these two did not stand alone.  It was a diversified park.

Open all night it was nice for walking or running whenever I could.  Alone, safe in the suburbs until the headlights caught me.  I knew I might not see tomorrow when I witnessed the Grapes hoisting their purple canvas flag in protest of the types of wines the general public was drinking.  I didn't get a chance to see if they were Concord or Muscadine before the vine-like fist flattened me.

As I lay, injured, bleeding red I knew In the wine world, it is the color of the pulp, not the color of the skin that differentiates .

Rage

Word prompts for Sunday's Whirligig

My wrathful fingers pranced as the shady character began drifting into my lane while he was dialing his blasted cell phone.  My obscene gestures had no affect when he drove between me and the posts to park in the only empty parking spot for blocks.

Instead of grabbing my baseball bat I keep in the car (just in case) and shattering his window in an extreme fit of road, no, parking rage.  I reached deeply within myself and found the nice lady who was lolling around without a worry.

She simply told me, "Chill.  Go home.  Bathe. Relax. Have a drink.  He ain't worth the trouble."

Nowhere

Sunday's Whirligig 

Misty world of silence

place beyond people

the beginning of everything

A nowhere spot without end

the only talking I hear

is inside my head again

Love, Toads and Whirligig

For Sunday's Whirligig

and Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

Flash 55 Plus

BrainyQuote inspiration:

To live is like to love - all reason is against it, and all healthy instinct for it.  Samuel Butler

In this valley of springs 
Touching
You kiss the salt
From my brow
Things will be okay
The aches and pains
Sap our strength
But doesn't shake our trust
In the length of the land
In the breadth of our love
We heal the stain
On the lands
Calling no fault
But that of time

My Dilemma My Whirligig

For Sunday's Whirligig

What sequence of events makes us a writer, not just any writer, but a writer people want to read? This thought circled in my mind late one night as I tried to turn a tale inside out attempting to make it better.

I had kicked off my shoes to reach the comfortable spot where ideas grow as thick as cherries on a spring tree.  It wasn't working.  The screen was white.  No nifty ideas were boiling inside or outside my mind.

The chain of random thoughts failed to inspire any thing I could hang my hat on.

If only there was a scale like the four C's of diamond grades:  cut, carat, clarity and color.  Some scale or system of grading that told me this is good or just give it up.

Beautiful writing will remain, like art, within the eye of the beholder.

My fingers hover over the keys convincing me I cannot write.

humming

humming to myself
needle in and out
mending with love
the only way i can

trained in women's ways
needlework is tiresome
alone there's no laughter
dreaming a fool's dream

to leave this bleached land
for a green country
with stepping stones
through clear waters

concentrating
remembering the method
of the matriarch
diving into forced chores

humming to myself
i day dream of sheep
instead of days and olive men
falling like dominoes

For Sunday's Whirligig   With my funny writing or poor eyesight:  I thought "olive" was "dive" and "men" was "mend" so "olive men" was added as an afterthought when I read the words again...dreaming a fool's dream.

Mary Was An Astronaunt

The world was full of pestilence

Only a donkey to be found

But that's no consolation

Must keep southward bound

Hollow breaths soil depleted

Onward they did go

Twenty steps a minute

The going was very slow

Leaning into night

Against a purple sky

Feeble were the hopes

They would get by

Mother Mary was a astronaut*

Father Joseph a working man

They traveled on for glory

Found not in a promised Inn

The mystics watched the journey

And knew from whence they came

Betting on the odds

If good or bad would win this game 

Oh, the glory of a stable

The cradle of a King 

Christ was born

Oh, how the angels did sing!

In swaddling clothes a mother held

The King of all man kind

"Happy Mother's Day" Joseph said

As the Northern Star did shine

 *I apologize.  There was no sacrilegious intent with this poem.  I was prompted.  I wrote.

For Magpie Tales who supplied the picture and for Sunday's Whirligig who provided the words and for Poets United who is celebrating Mother's Day.

To all mothers and all people who "mother" I wish you a Happy Mother's Day!

Land of Our Own

Row after row, 

turning, plowing, and planting

growing, cutting and harvesting

opening the land

of milk and honey

We tire of battling

the elements dressed

in thin simple clothes

but we store our tears

until darkness falls

The dinner bell rings

calling us home

in level tones

grateful for freedom 

we speak Latin no more

Without intending this became a double prompt for Sunday's Whirligig and Flash 55 Plus at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.  I used the words with the picture for inspiration while finishing with 55 words exactly.  I forgot the touch of Zen but some reach that moment working with the land.

Whirligig Nightmare

For Sunday's Whirligig

Moments inside the guesthouse returned in nightmare form.

Askew crimson flowers pulled me back to the unhappy cage.  A furry frightened creature, sanguinary, wide-eyed, waited each night destined to relive death again and again in my dreams.