Night Tones

    Nocturne in Grey and Silver by Jame McNeill Whistler

Dark walls of water

and sea-foam lace

reach up for a moon

pinned impossibly high,

while the woods settle in

to the bed of the earth

with a shrug and a yawn and a sigh.

Then you lean into me

as I reach out for you

and we bid all the specters good bye,

 at the edge of a world

where the nightmares are curled

and the stars fall away from the sky.

Over in the Imaginary Garden Hedgewitch asked us to write a piece in keeping with the Tonalist painting movement, "with 'no under drawing,' by tkaing an idea, a place, a persn, an event or a mood and quickly fleshing out a portrait of it in a blur of words.  Use language to mass light and dark verbal'tones' and build up our poem in dashes of description and image. The end result should be something immediate but 'misty.'  Or we could use a painting from this school to inspire our writing.  I'm not sure I achieved that first bit, so the painting is one from the Tonalist School. 

The (Im)perfect Love Poem

Over in the Imaginary Garden we were given the formula to write "The Perfect Love Poem."  It is as follows: x (p + b + c + o), where P = Pattern (meter and rhyme,) B = Brevity, C = Comparison (describe the love or lover with a comparison), O = Obstacle (the difficulties inherent in a love affair), X = Mystery

But I was told there would be no math, so I didn't quite follow the formula. Instead I give you two imperfect love poems: 

My first love  poem is more like y(p+b+c+o), where y = humor.

Love Poem #1

Your love is like the bite of a tick

unnoticed at first, then making me sick

with fever and chills, aches and pains.

I hate that my heart doesn’t have any brains

when it sees this disease

that brings me to my knees.

If there was an injection

to stop this infection

I could save my heart from your rejection.

but I seem to be a philosophic waxer,

and a crazy, wild-eyed anti-vaxxer.

And my second love poem is sort of x(b+o)

Love Poem #2

You are 

the feel of wind

on my face,

the moon’s reflection

in my eyes,

the lens through which

I see the world.

You live

in the hollows of my bones,

in the lining of my skin,

in my dark center,

patient, waiting.

Happy National Post Pi Day!

    Photo by Mary Bach

We made it through 13th, Friday
to Saturday, National Pi Day!
I shouldn't have to say it twice,
come on in and have a slice.

I'm not just a word nerd, I'm also a sort of a number nut.  And, hey, any excuse to have pie is good enough for me, so I just had to bake a pi pie.  :o)  And thanks to Jazz Bumpa for reminding me to post about about this!  I did bake this on Pi Day, but it's a post Pi Day post.  :o)  For the Toads Sunday Mini-Challenge.

Butter Me Up

Way back, when I was only three

and Aunt Loretta sat for me,

Uncle Erwin put me on his knee.

He taught me a crucial skill for life:

how to eat butter off a knife.

When I was little my parents hired Loretta Kleinschmidt to clean house and 'sit' for me on Tuesdays and Thursdays when my mom was at work.  She was strict, exacting, and loved me like a grandchild, and became my "Aunt Loretta."  She didn't drive, so sometimes my mom would get her, but frequently her husband, Erwin (pronounced Ervin) would come to our house to get her when he was finished with his work for the day, as a carpenter.  And that's when I learned about the wonders of butter.  Sadly, but maybe not surprisingly Uncle Erwin died of a heart attack December 26, 1985.  Aunt Loretta is dead now too, but I still remember them both with love. 
And this is for IGRT Sunday Mini-Challenge.  You should go there and check it out!