Chocolate

Prompted by Verge and Doodlewash

一目の月見 Hitome no Tsukimi

sneaking glances east

gold moon rising as I drive

sixty miles per hour

Landscape

How deep the snow,
how tall the trees
among whose tops we trod? 

How many waves
have washed the stones
that lie along the shore?

From sea level
to snow level,
the gulls and ferns and more--

He paints the canvas
where we walk,
a bounteous artist, God.

The Wedding Gifts

Gift Box Wedding Cake by pinkcakebox

The plates have chipped,
the cups have cracked.
It's much too late
to take them back.

The quilts have ripped,
the towels are rough.
The toaster works--
one side's enough.

Two decades and
four thousand miles
are hard on dishes
and textiles.

The best gifts never
fade, you see:
of me for you,
and you for me.



For my dear husband

Perspective

Puget Sound Skyline, July 2015

smug skyscrapers swell,

full of human consequence--

dwarfed by lofty mount

On a Pedestal

Courtesy of the Boston Public Library, 

Leslie Jones Collection

When it gets too hot
in this town there's not a lot
of comfort one can get
in the form of something wet.

I climb in to get my kicks
and escape the baking bricks
and I whistle at the chicks
and ignore the tuts and tsks.

They say this bath is for the birds,
but it's good enough for me!

Clearing

Dragonfly by Rostislav Kralik

buttercup

foxglove

blue sky

blue dragonfly

bright rays break through

gray days

smiles soak up

the tears

Disparity

Photo by Elene Usdin

Don't fret
because I've pulled out
all my baggage.
I'm not moving out
or moving on,
just moving up--
the better to kiss you,
my tall dear.


For The Mag

Grandeur

Wise Men Journey, by Joyce Tremethick

They journeyed far to seek the Light,

a star their compass through the night.

Their dearest hopes and dreams, could all

be brought to pass by one so small?

The majesty of earth and skies

were kindled in the baby's eyes;

the power that ruled the heavens, crammed

into a tiny infant hand.

Wise men bow to a humble King

whose love gives life to everything.

Merry Christmas!

Guest Soloist: Dandelionslayer

My man done called in sick yesterday, 
an' this is what he said:

Well, I woke up this mornin',
sinuses full to the brim.
Yeah, I woke up this mornin',
sinuses full to the brim.
I gots to call in to work now,
'cause you don't want my phlegm.

I got the blues,
I got the stuffy head blues.

Gonna drink lots of liquids
whether or not I'm feelin' thirsty.
Gonna drown those blues away now,
at least Wednesday and Thursday,

Cause I got the blues,
I got the stuffy head blues.

Take it away, Jim . . .

Deciduous

red

leaf

flutter

in the wind

clinging to your branch

majestic evergreens look on,

unshaken by the season's change, wait to see you fall

My son's third-grade teacher introduced us to Fibonacci poems on a field trip.  My son was more interested in the numbers, and in drawing pictures of his subject.  I hope he'll find some words, too.

The Sculptor Poses

A Magpie Tale

Daguerreotype, ca. 1850

Be still, Bastet.
Our friends have gone
to some expense
to acquire "something
to remember us by,"
though how a thing so flat,
so smooth, could aid
their memories a whit,
I cannot say.

I could sculpt their souls,
you know, build up each virtue,
gouge out each vice,
carve forgiveness in deep relief,
smooth some with their kindness,
scar others with mistakes.
I could put nobility 
and baseness on display,
covered with a filigree 
of laughter or tears,
the feelings of years.

But if they came to see
with only their eyes,
they would not know themselves.

Flip Flop

A Magpie Tale

Getty Images

Take notice of me, referee,
writhing in my agony!
Call down a grievous penalty!
The other team deserve it.

Behold, the game continues on.
Don't they realize I'm gone?
    Guess I ought to move along,
play football, not observe it.

April Shower

Photo by Takkk

Unpack your colored chalks;

draw them in an arc across

the gray slate sky, washed clean.

 

Upon Her Hyperopia

A Magpie Tale

Photo by Kelsey Hannah 

When I consider how my sight is spent,
full half the day searching the web world-wide,
t' inspire hands with new skills, which, if applied
might cheer eyes, warm the cold, or save a cent,
or seeking books, wholesome entertainment,
or learning tunes, for which my spirit sighed;
how, with corrective lenses now denied,
shall time to serve and improve self be spent?
Methinks I need to look beyond my nose,
beyond my needles, pages with type set,
recall the feel of earth beneath my toes,
prepare the ground for seeds, though it's so wet.
I pray the lenses soon will be restored,
but I will dig the dirt (dust be ignored).



Hooray!  My new glasses came!  I can post this without zooming in  500 times, and still getting a headache.  And my peas are already sprouting.  Apologies to John Milton, whose gift and trial were so much greater.

Post-op

A Magpie Tale

gauze must be crazy

trying to fill wisdom's seat

soften the impact

At 15, my son seems rather young to be so full of wisdom, and to have it forcibly removed.  But, alas, that is how we spent this morning.  He seems to be taking it well, but if there were any gems of knowledge in his babbling on the way home, I didn't catch them.

Invitation

A Magpie Tale

Feast in the House of Simon, 1610, El Greco 

You run a certain risk
when you invite the Master to dine--

You may run out of wine,
or water,
for His dozen dusty friends;
unsavory gate-crashers
may entreat Him with more unction
than thou.

You make a show of listening
when He answers your
unspoken sneers.

What if you opened wide
your narrowed eyes,
unstopped your pride-corked ears?
You just might recognize His truth.
And if you dare
lay bare your heart,
He'll heal your hidden scars.

Forgiveness can't be bought.
It must be begged--

and then He freely gives.




Find out more at Mormon.org

New Look

A Magpie Tale

Room 1504, Lee Plaza Hotel

by Yves Marchand and Romain Meffre

Why, Granny,
you've redecorated!
What sharp eyes it takes
to achieve a chic so shabby--
such sharp claws to simulate
so much distress
in so short a time.
And what sharp teeth
could really sink
into this vintage chair?

It doesn't suit me,
I'm afraid.
I prefer the sleek look
of the hunter's lodge.
What big guns he has!

Writers' Block

A Magpie Tale

Poet's Sleep, 1989, by Chang Hong Ahn

New writer on the block
looked for rooms to let
the inspiration percolate.

Blank wall, blank page
hand cramped around dry pen.
The only view:
the empty hopes and bones
of tenants past.

Lay down your head
to sleep, perchance to dream up
a gripping tale
full of wit and pathos
and signifying everything
to hordes of eager readers.

On the off chance,
neighbors with glass hearts
jostle for position,
prepare to cast their stones.

Typical

A Magpie Tale

New York at Night, Vivienne Gucwa 

Shimmering Northern Lights
should have been visible,
south to Seattle, be-
cause of a flare--
but for a closer storm,
tempestologic'ly
drenching my lashes, ob-
scuring my stare.