A Twofer

A poetry prompt from Mindlovemisery's Menangerie Shadorma and Beyond requested a Shadorma and possibly a Tanaga.  With my photos as inspiration, I have attempted both styles of poetry.

(Shadorma)

Spring water

with bubbles floating

happily

heavenly

gather speed over gravel

passing watercress

(Tanaga)

Spring water flows swiftly past
Clearly crossing gravel fast
Bubbles danced and winked at me
Boots in water so happy!

Prejudice

A mass of children

spin their threads

into a blind web

that drums with power

until

one 

voice

insists,

Think, people!

We 

are

not

the 

same

A combined prompt with picture from Magpie Tales

and words from The Sunday Whirl

shared with Poets United: Poetry Pantry

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.

Miffed

Joachim Buecklaer, 1560

Cinder was sorta miffed
It always went this way
She worked her fingers to the bone
While all the others played.

For the picture inspired writing prompt by Tess Kincaid at Magpie Tales

In Vain

The Sunday Whirl...Wordle

Stalking the naked river
with wings of want
she flies the world
seeking clarity
of plains
void of red
empty of
first blood

We Must Remember

we are different, yes
we change, yes
we are what we do.
we must hold on to that
if we lose that last spark
of humanity
then we become THEM
and we have lost

To Honor Those Lost in Senseless Tragedies Around The World Every Day

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

I seldom have writer's block but most of the time I do feel unworthy.  Many pieces have gone into the trash for that very reason.  I feel I am good at some things but not great at anything. I think maybe it's a problem many have to a certain extent.

This is the most honest paragraph I have written in a very long time...Thank you.

Blue Is The Right Color

Mindlovemisery's Menagerie

BLUE IS THE RIGHT COLOR

For carefully folded paper stars

for words that try to hold their meaning

for raindrops that never reach the soul

Blue is the right color

for dreams of youth

cast upon life's Ferris Wheel

torn, worn, scattered

Blue is the right color

when memories hold you

with nothing left 

except the unraveling

She Ain't Alice

photo by Elaine Usdin

For Magpie Tales:  The Mag

She Ain't Alice

That's plain to see

The rabbit's dead

Too stiff to live

At the top her lips of teal

What did the artist intend to say?

Hold a rabbit far away?

A box in a box? Far too crude

Or could it be my perception's screwed?

Fire and Stone

Sunday Whirl-Wordle

It was a dusty blue day

our vessels

our bodies weeping

bleeding

our veins standing out

with fear

that the search

for the body

for any word

would not result in

"She's here!"

We take a moment

to say her name

praying she is 

stronger 

than fire and stone

wrapping ourselves

closely

in hope over dread

we move on

Gorilla

 Highlands Gorilla at Zoo

The gorilla at Memphis zoo

And they call us animals

Those who peer and stare

Making noises to draw attention

To us? or to themselves?

Can you just look?
Leave us where we live
To build a nest every day
Confinement strips us of dignity

A stately beast we quietly adapt
But one day
Hu-mans will stand behind the bars
As we peer and stare and belittle

Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

Two Photos By Daniel...The Story of Belle

photo: Daniel Murtagh

Magpie Tales prompt

 picture by Daniel Murtagh

THE STORY OF BELLE

Belle had been a young thing

with beauty and not much sense
She decided to take a powder
instead of recommence

She left her journal open
her last thoughts for all to see
followed the powder
with a snort of strong whiskey

She barely made it to her bed
where she disrobed shaking
her pose intended to tell
restraints were her own making

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

MLMM's Freedom and The Doors

For Mindlovemisery's Menagerie

Loop Poetry

Freedom

Blocked by walls

walls with doors

doors opened to freedom

freedom to explore

The Doors

Classic rock

birthed easily

by The Doors

rock's "rock god"

Jim Morrison left too soon

the music lives on

Fall

For Imaginary Garden With Real Toads

Fall

I was smart enough not to, I thought

but you chipped at my wall

'til I had no choice

but to fall for you

And I fall

every 

day

all

 over

in 

love 

with 

you

again

A Limerick For Tess

George Tooker, self-portrait

for Magpie Tales

George was a painter of trapped people with sad faces
He wrapped himself in anxiety and ignored the graces
His portrait with a shell
Told his story very well
While his act of art became quite efficacious

"Every One Weep With Me"...

a line from the O Fortuna is our Saturday prompt at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads.  I had good intentions of following the prompt to the T.  The title reflects that intention but I fell far from the mark.  As I wrote this...with no changes...it was an exact Fifty-Five.  I read signs in every thing.

And in this wood

I saw a dragon

with magic wings

and strength unfurled

a medieval moment

frozen

but not lost

forever of wood

for it could not be

in a world of wars

and lost humanity

As it rose today

from the forgotten realm

I unlocked the wood

and gave it back it's song

I Paint

More and more I seem drawn to the daily prompts at Mindlovemisery's Menagerie.  There is a new and varied prompt every day with an open link for a week.  This is my favorite part because there are many times I write something only to discover a link is no longer active.

Jumping In

I paint

A lone figure
Armed to create
Heading to a nebulous copse
There's no menace
I exhale

No infections
Except the atavistic influence
That flows through my veins
Cranberry pastel
Bony fingers paint

I came to create
With canvas and brush in hand
I step through the door
That births art
Dipping my brush in Ichor

I paint

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.

A Turtle Tail

For Wednesday Wit and Wisdom at Senior Adventures.  Post a pic, tell a tale.  Join the fun.

I thought I was saving him

I don't think turtles have reverse

So I removed him from dark waters

I thought land couldn't be worse

He overcame his shyness

By golly, he turned around

And headed back to the place

Where I thought he might drown

He didn't want rescued

It was very plain to see

He made a giant effort

To get where he wanted to be.

There must have been some appeal

To this stagnant little hole

He climbed right in

And the spider said, Hello

Sinking he was happy

To be back where he was

I guess dark and stagnant

Is just what he loves.

Searching

– Rebeca Cygnus

In the dark I reach

to find color

form

 direction

Eternally searching

for the answer

Am I the Assassin Bug

or the wild flower?

MindLoveMisery's Menagerie 

Photo Challenge