Briefly

With a forked tongue

you flay me,

slay me,

flip and fillet me

then pay me

a veiled complement...

double entendre?   

 Mama Zen asked us to write a Twitter-sized poem (140 characters or less) over in the Imaginary Garden. This one is a mere 116. 

The Other

I am the mist

on a raw autumn night

obscuring your vision,

making the familiar strange.

I am the path

you didn’t choose

leading away from your home.

I am the breeze

murmuring in your ear

of adventures that never were.

I am the dream  

you almost remember

dissipating as you rise.

This is for G-man and his FF55.  Click on the link and check it out.

Of Magpies and Toads

    Muscian in the Rain by Robert Doisneau

I love you darling

with your comfort at arm’s length.

but when rain falls soft

on black and white autumn days

I seek the warmth of your touch.

This is generated by writing prompts from two wonderful writing sites.  The first, IGRT, is responsible for the form, which is called tanka.  A tanka contains 31 syllables in a line pattern of 5/7/5/7/7. Check out the link for a much more complete description, and other writers' tankas.  The second source, The Mag, has provided the picture.  Check that site for more writers' responses to this image.

Waxing Gibbous

     Photo by Mary Bach

The moon murmurs

 to you alone

when need eclipses fear,

drawing you  out

over dark stony beaches

through back alleys

and under bridges,

where small flames,

barely aware of their heat,

flick shadows

across your face.

And here you stand

at the border,

between light and dark

pulled by both,

but belonging to neither.  

This is for G-man's FF-55.  Click on the link and check it out.  The prompt for a poem about the moon came from Brendan at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.  Check out that site for some excellent poetry and a link to a brilliant poem by Sylvia Plath (and interesting background information by Brendan).  I'm not listing there though, since I'd a bit late, and I didn't quite follow the rules and use the word list provided.  But you should still have a look!

Morning Chores

I feel a little unfinished with my posts today, but here goes.  I have two versions of a poem, one for dVerse I in the Looking back/forward I chose the previous 'hearth, home and common speech' prompt.  The other, shorter version is for my very favorite G-man and his FF55.  I think they need a little settling and tweaking, but here's what I have so far:
(I appreciate your feedback and/or suggestions, including which version you prefer.)

#1

I enter the barn.

Smells of hay and horse,

warm and sweet,

fill me.

Barn cats wind around my legs

in timeless figure-eights,

purring their thanks.

Horses whicker

low, intimate, impatient.

Water, grain, hay;

most are gracious,

a few greedy,

as I go down the aisle.

Then I pause and live

for a moment

in this contentment.

#2

Today is bone cold;

wind snatches my breath

as I walk to the barn.

Inside, smells of hay and horse,

warm and sweet,

like summer pressed

between the pages

of a book,

fill me.

Barn cats wind around my legs

in timeless figure-eights,

purring their thanks

for the breakfast

I will provide.

The horses whicker

a low, intimate greeting,

impatient for their breakfast.

Water first,

then the grain, then hay.

Most are gracious,

but a few are greedy,

as I go down the aisle

murmuring good mornings

 and doling out sweet feed,

along with a scratch or a pat.

There are more chores

to be done,

but I pause and think

that I could live forever

in this contentment

that fills this

space.

New York at Night

    New York at Night by Vivian Gucwa

Take my hand

and walk with me

into the night of the world.

Take my hand

and walk with me

into the simmering stars.

Take my hand

and walk with me

into the light of my wound.

Take my hand

and walk with me,

and I will make you whole.

Written for Tess Kincaid at The Mag creative writing group.  Also posted at dVerse Open Link Night.  Click on the links to check them out.