Icarus' Sister?

David Salle - Flying Down (2006)

He loved three things alone:
 White peacocks, evensong,
 Old maps of America.

 He hated children crying,
 And raspberry jam with his tea,
 And womanish hysteria. ...

And he married me

Anna Akhmatova (1889 - 1966).



She loved four things alone
Candlelight, classical realms
Ambient music and feathered wings

She hated my thrill of heights
And my long hours
And drunken spirits

And she left me...



Linking to:
Magpie Tales #136
Poets United - Poetry Pantry

Yesterday Was Wrong

Yesterday's Dreams ~ Jack Vettriano


Waiting for
A funeral to unfold is
Hardly the time to feel
Romantic


But then
There are times when
Reason
Rocks
Protocol


Consciously
She gowned a black version of
Her dancing dress


The one she wore when
They shared 
One 
Split
Shaft of
Eye 
Fire
Across a room


The one she wore
Before
His marriage to
Her friend




Linking to:
Magpie Tales #126

She was Ophelia...

Ophelia by Odilon Redon



Mirage
Sleeping young face melting in 
Some oasis rain puddle
Alongside
Some random fallen leaves
And flowers


Soon
The relentless sun
Snuffs
The last light
Burns the cursed moment
Gone


 Linking to:
Magpie Tales #124
Poetry Pantry #105

NOTE: For those who think I have re-invented the Ophelia story, I have not.
Instead, I looked at Redon's image and thought he seemed to capture the shape of a rain puddle.
And that's where my idea began.
As if, like a mirage, (my opening word) the innocent face of Ophelia appears in the rain puddle.
Like a brief, legendary moment has surfaced, re-incarnating her final moments, until the sun dries up the puddle, and she is gone once again.
Ophelia's story remains intact.

Stained Perfection

Magpie Tales #89 - Picture Prompt
image source here

Windowless
Like my mind

Walls stained with the blood of
Anger and
Broken dreams
Like my heart

A desk marked with curled
Blank slates
And one
Twisted
Noose of
Confusion

But the typewriter
Shines
As if new

Dustless
Unloved

Mein Kampf

Perfect


Hosted by Willow

Old Questions

Banquet Scene with a Lute Player by Nicolas Tournier, 1625
~
Magpie Tales #67 ~ Willow's Picture Prompt
+
One Shot Wednesday #47
+
The Poetry Pantry #51
~

I know that this is no "happy families" get together
These are your close friends
Bound by time
I am just your
Incidental trophy

Our lute player tinkles Ariel's song
But he plays to closed souls...

Just this once
PLEASE let me join your thoughts...

I am sure you are rattled by
Galileo's increasing
Assertive claims that
Our Earth
Is not the centre of the universe

But the point is
Do you dismiss his claims
In line with our Catholic teachings
Or do you and your friends
Wonder
Could it be

I see you peering at the trembling shaft of moonlight
And one friend follows your gaze

Are you seeking answers
Do you fear what the answer may be

And I am slowly realising that
If the Earth is not the centre of the universe
Then
Neither
Are we
~

NOTE: Galileo Galilei(1564-1642) was an Italian scientist and astronomer who supported Copernicus' heliocentric view, which placed the Sun at the centre of the universe. Philosophers and clerics denounced Galileo to the Roman Inquisition early in 1615.
In February 1616, although he had been cleared of any offence, the Catholic Church nevertheless condemned heliocentrism as "false and contrary to Scripture".
The date on the prompt image seems to fit in with these events.
~


Hosted by Willow


One Shot Wednesday @ One Stop Poetry – For Poets, Writers & Artists


The Poetry Pantry is hosted by Poets United

Dregs

Picture by Willow who hosts Magpie Tales
~
Magpie Tales #61
(NOTE: This verse form is a pathya vat from Cambodia)
~

Peeling echoes
Dregs of past lives
Fractured with knives
Polluted wine


In golden lights
You were my vine
You were my shrine
My sacred crow
~


Hosted by Willow

Do You Know What I Know?

Magpie Tales #49 ~ Picture by Willow ~ My great aunt Winnie Hanna with friends and skates (right)~ Ervin Township, Howard County, Indiana, 1905
~

Blurred generation
Gowned mannequins face the snow
Invisible past

But in the 1600's
Bold forebears shared adventures
Famed Three Musketeers
~


Hosted by Willow

A Leather Glove Story

Magpie Tales #46 ~ Picture by Willow
~

I got me a real bargain!
You know, these gloves are famous!
In the 1960's, they were in the Triumph motorbike advertisements.
Ann-Margret, the beautiful Swedish/American actress, starred in The Swinger and rode a Triumph motorbike in the film.
Then Triumph wanted her as the face of Triumph.
And she wore those gloves in photoshoots!
(Aside from acting, Ann-Margret so loved motorbikes.)
But do you know the real story behind the photos?
I know from a reliable source that those hands in close up photos do not belong to Ann-Margret!
Ann-Margret's hands didn't photograph well.
So they used the gloved hands of another famous actress.
I'll give you a clue.
She LOVED wearing gloves and is most famous for her hot pink ones!
Give up?
Those ads actually co-featured the gloved hands of Marilyn Monroe!
If that auctioneer had only known the real story, I wouldn't have got them for the crazy price of $500!
They would have been at least worth double!
A great investment!
So did I waste my money or not, eh?
~

Hosted by Willow

A Chance...

Magpie Tales #45 ~ Image by Willow
~

Holy colours
Christmas colours
Pulse in
A window

The god within stirs

We sense
The sacred of yesterdays
An unfettered longing for
The essence of
Pure beginnings

A chance to know
Innocence

A chance to ease into
Spiritual harmonies

A chance to sing
In tune

To be
The god within
~

Hosted by Willow

Autumn Reverie

Mag 35 ~ Image by Willow
~

Like mixing a palette of dry ochrey wines
Like brushing a canvas with transient light
Like letting a painting become
A fall of leafy colour
Lifeless
Living
Autumn

Like mixing a palette of bright summer memories
Like brushing sands with transient footprints

Like letting a reality become
A dream of blue skies and blue seas
And blue strings on
The wind
~

Hosted by Willow

Where Am I?

Mag 34 ~ Image by Willow
~

Like dust on the glass
Like dried oil in the old lamp
I'm without reason

Light cycles round me
I decorate your window
I cast no shadow
~

Hosted by Willow

I have never been to Parma...but...

Mag 33 ~ Image by Willow
~

Italian perfume
Filtering depression years
Watcher of world wars

Yesterdays may fade
Classic elegance lives on
Legendary scents

Italian fragrance
Parma is beyond my world
But I breathe echoes
~

Hosted by Willow

Just Somewhere...

Mag 29 ~ Image by Willow
~

In another life
Dreams swirled with limping laughter
Rooms curled with secrets

Leafy sweet facade
Tall windows stare with sad eyes
Now steps to somewhere
~

Hosted by Willow

Strange Thoughts in a Bubble Bath

Mag 28
~

Strange thoughts are born in a warm bath
Especially a warm bubble bath

I have never tried to play with
A found poem
That is
Until this afternoon
A chilly, rainy afternoon when
I found a marvellous Mastercard adverisement
A double page spread in a broadsheet

Easily I saw how the dust
From a stellar explosion
Conglomerating to form earth
Could be the first footstep in
A chain reaction

Gondwanaland separates
(Like my toes rising in the bubbly foam)
An Ice Age
Boulders on mountains
Tectonic plate movements
Earthquake upheavals
Boulders thrown

Earths thaw
Washed and weathered
(Like warm water
Gushing from my bath tap
Wearing down the grime of my tensions)
The boulder became a stone
Tossed and churned
Till it fell
Just a pebble
A beautiful
Small
Smooth pebble
On the beach
(Like the polished beauty of my nails)

The Mastercard advertisement claimed
The pebble was found
A moment shared
A connection through time

I hope this connection will be mine
Someday

Strange thoughts are born in a warm bath
Especially a warm bubble bath
~

Pic by Gemma Wiseman
~

Hosted by Willow

Piped From Yesterday

Mag 27
~

Rusty memories
Piping from a peeling life
Laid bare and wasted
~

Hosted by Willow

Break of Dawn

Magpie Tales ~ Mag 24
~

Dawn light breaking in a room should be the birth of waking joy.
But in this room of tossled, discarded sheets, (at such an early hour), there was a sense of hasty, sad retreat from broken, dying dreams.
~

Hosted by Willow

A White Breath Tale

Magpie Tales ~ Mag 23
~

My golden glow is stained with age
But my signs weather on...
Signs attesting to
A master plan
The eternal beauty of
My purpose for being...

I cocoon
I am
The White Breath
Against
The House of Fire
~

Hosted by Willow

Pale Tales

Magpie Tales ~ Mag 22
~

Pale
As if blushing is too far away

Or forgotten

Or unknown


Hosted by Willow

Paper Tales

Magpie Tales ~ Mag 21
~

Fading pink paper
Fading reason for being
Fading memories

I found so many rolls of limp wrapping paper, gathered together in the dark corners of the barn.

An old house on a few wild acres, tucked down a forgotten lane, had awoken the dreamer in me!
So I bought it - just a week ago!

So far, all I had really explored was the house with its creaky porch, its peeling woods in every room and its cobwebbed ceilings!
(I had also noted that windows needed a good clean if I was to enjoy any views of my garden to be.
The old barn was rather far down my curiosity list.)

But today it was raining.
Nothing much could be done.
So the shelter of the barn was a good option.

Pale floral patterns
One odd renegade green roll
Three odd rough bindings

The agent told me that the house had been owned by one lady - who lived alone here!
The house was about one hundred years old.
(It had been empty for five years, until I moved in.)

There had been some rumour in the village that when she taught a few children in the village hall, she became friendly with one of the fathers.
He had a boy and a girl and cared for them alone in some small room he rented in the village.
The boy, (about 17), moved out and said he would finish his schooling in London.

Nothing was heard for awhile.
The father became withdrawn, speaking to no one.
Finally, the father said he was taking his daughter with him to London to search for his son.

Somehow news filtered back to the village...

The father would never return to the village.
The daughter was lost to the lights of night life.
The son would never return from the war.

More than just paper
Stray thoughts of Miss Havisham
Gifts never given
~

Hosted by Willow