Monday, August 18, 2014

Voyage


 
     Yell Sound, Shetland by R. A. D. Stainforth


Climb aboard!
We sail away today,
over oceans deep and wild and wide,
out, and out, league after league toward the horizon
under endless slate grey skies, rain-kissed,                                  
cloud-tumbled, sun-pierced or
star-riddled.
And all we know recedes,
all the firm, green predictable things
recede as we proceed over oceans toward
the strange terrain of dream and fable.
Unknown wonders await;
climb aboard!


The picture is complements of Magpie Tales.  The form is from Imaginary Garden w/ Real ToadsIn its simplest form, the Triquain consists of seven lines, with syllables counted in multiples of 3.
3 - 6 - 9 - 12 - 9 - 6 - 3
The trick thereafter is in deciding how many of these stanzas you want to use.  There are several described, and I chose one called   Triquain Swirl.  This is created by joining the stanzas together on the seventh line, eliminating the second 3 syllable line and the space between stanzas. The finished stanza will stand at 13 lines and may be repeated thereafter.
3 - 6 - 9 - 12 - 9 - 6 - 3 - 6 - 9 - 12 - 9 - 6 - 3 
Also, one can include an element of repetition in the Swirl by taking a 3 syllable word or phrase from one of the longer lines and using it as the final 3 syllable line of the stanza or at the bridge of the swirl. 



Sunday, August 3, 2014

When Cowgirls Git Over Their Blues

    Elizabeth Taylor, set of "Giant" by Frank Worth

Life’s a rodeo
life’s a desert
life’s a sand burr
under yer saddle
life’s a hot stinkin’ sun
burnin’ the back a yer stiff, red neck
life’s a hot, sweaty sonofabitch
full’a bullshit n’ Copenhagen.

Imma rope you up
real good 
cowboy.
And I ain’t talkin’ no
eight seconds.


55 for all the Toads in the Imaginary Garden and all the Magpies at The Mag.

Monday, July 28, 2014

Queen of the Stone Age

     Museum by Tess Kincaid

Let us not concoct
healing potions for the dead,
nor invent
new colours
for blind eyes.
     -Hilda Doolittle

I dream
that I am on display
I have no privacy
except inside my own mind.
So I go about building an
inner life of vast spaces
empty of people
with wind and sun and
nightjars
singing me into bed.
Meanwhile
I stare blindly past
the gawking people
past the marble floors
glass doors
past the
streetfuls of cars and crowds,
buildings, bridges
mountain ridges
past the curve of the earth
past Moon, Mars,  Pluto
Milky Way,
out and out,
past a thousand galaxies
through time itself.


Written for Magpie Tales where Tess Kincaid reigns as Queen of the Manor.  Click on the link and join us.

Friday, July 25, 2014

Crossroads

I’m standing at the cross roads
eviscerated;
my intestines spilled
in a shiny, quivering heap
liver, spleen, stomach, lungs
laying at my feet,
and blood, so much blood
everywhere.
And you say,
“I never mean to hurt you,
babe”
so sincerely
that of course
it’s true.
And I am embarrassed
by the pain I feel,
by the mess I have made.
You smile and begin to walk away.
I quickly try to gather
my vital organs,
but my colon,
slick with dark blood
 slips
through my fingers,
and even though I know
they all came
from that gaping hole
just below my
throat,
I can’t seem to fit
them back in,
no matter how hard
I try.
Then you turn back to me
and say,
“You’ll always be my friend.”


This is for  dVerse where Claudia asked us to use images and metaphors boldly so that they paint a strong picture.

Thursday, July 24, 2014

Memory

     Image by Mama Zen

Small beauty
etched in bone,
folded in upon itself,
pressed into place
at the back of your mind.


For Mama Zen and all the toads in the Imaginary Garden.

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Pub Pals



        Photo by a random man

Two beautiful women from Wales,
both writers and tellers of tales,
welcomed me to their land
with a hug and a hand,
lots of laughter and love and cocktails!


This is about the "publife and community" for dVerse.  I am much too late to link up there, but you should still go there and check out some great writing.  I had the good fortune to meet up with two writing, cyber-freinds when I travelled to the UK last year.  The amazing Shan Ellis and Julie Watkins are pictured here with me and the non-writing, but still delightful Lori McLaughlin.  And yes, a good time was had by all!

Ripe

     Photo Grocery from Tess Kincaid

At the corner store                          
are piled apples, oranges, potatoes 
and onions enough
to make you cry 
with the cutting of them,
 but that just takes one.
And shoppers touch the fruits
and the vegetables -
I won’t even mention
 the ogling of melons,
or the squeezing of tomatoes;
that is too much
firm fruit for this page.
But there is this concentration
of life, of juices, of vegetable matter,
some of it is still ripening;
and though we cling to life like a peach,
out back, the dumpster
is full of molding pears and cabbages.
My dead grandmother used to say
when you are old
your skin gets rotten like a banana.
We are all
ripening and rotting,
every fruit and vegetable and shopper
reaching for a peach,
every person walking past,
too busy to stop
but not able
to rush, or race-walk, or outrun
their own mortality.
And in the end, we all end.
And it is sad, if the life, or the fruit, or the vegetable
was good at all.
But, despite the dumpster full 
of endings,
the store front 
still draws us in.
We want the fresh fruit,
the sweet bite,
the juices running down our chins.
So savor it,
beginning, middle, end.



This is for Magpie Tales writing group hosted by the talented Tess Kincaid.  Come join us!