rabbit...rabbit...

rabbit by Elaine Usdin


I am woman 
magician

a Medusa
armed with
rabbit power

my crinoline boxers
flaunt the colours
of my own landscapes

I am laced
in 
my own naked truth

and 
my spiked high heels
are meant
for walking
tall


never mess with my illusion

my glasses intend to
magnify
your details



 

Linking to:
Magpie Tales #292

a stone face...

Gerrit Photography



a stone face

your blind soul is
fixed
behind the wall
of glass level
and
dressed in
the webbed music
locked
in your system

my sighs
outside
spin
kick
bust 
and trump
the reflection mess

yet for you
inside
I am less than
a mirage
a reflection


my visit

does not exist

 


Linking to:
Magpie Tales #287
+

The Sunday Whirl

Wordle #218

all the mystique...

Aline Smithson


all the mystique and
glamour
and flashy photos
spewed like sticky honey from
the relentless
Hollywood
marketing
machine
cannot compete with
the passing of time

tastes and
stardom
move on

just like your fancy doll's house for
your fancy doll
abandoned
buckling to the ravages of
loveless
dust

while I stand
and I see
and I conquer

and this 
ordinary
smug
doll

moves on

 

Linking to:
Magpie Tales #285

I remember...

I remember 
the day we decided to go far south
far
far 
south
south of the mainland
south
to 
an island

we found a piece of 
valley paradise
by a river
hugged
by mountains

our island legs were not too steady

do you remember one icy morning
when your boots leaked
with ice

and in the near distance
you saw
your first tiger snake?

that ice saved you from moving too fast

and 
do you remember
when we decided to have some music in the gardens
we bought a large tent with a fancy fringe
hired a quintet
and sent out invitations
to everyone
any one
and hardly a soul replied

then
the night before
the day of island days
it rained
rain turned into 
a wild early morning thunderstorm
sleep eluded us

but
next morning
the sun glowed
the garden glowed
and colourful cars
a tribe of
colourful cars
carefully meandered up
our muddy driveway


our home was humble
with a home-made feel
but our views were grand

our lake
fringed with magical spruce
danced with Merlin
our platypus

Dry's Bluff
rang with sunset colour

our mini rainforest
spun Celtic questions


do you remember
why it was

we wandered

away?




 

Linking to:
Magpie Tales #284

peonies...

Peonies (1897) William Merritt Chase


a healer
lives within

quietly airing
multi-layered
folds of
sphinx-like 
beauty

******

sometimes
I walk back to
my beloved grandmother's cottage

on the outside
the cottage seems
neglected
choking with
weathering and
weeds

gateless
fenceless

there is little 
visible appeal

at least
not to strangers

but inside
in a dusty
webby 
room

hangs
a lone painting
of a humbly elegant woman
gently bending
to admire

her precious selection 
of peonies

****

I know just when
to view this painting

it must be
early morning light
spring light

softly streaming
through
smudged glass

as if some beam
from afar
scrambles to connect
for a little while

it is then 
the painting glows

****

she looks so young
so sacred
so at peace
with her healer

she is
her own god

and
each visit here
I feel 
a painful 
longing
to be more than
some adoring child
at her altar


indeed
sometimes
I need 
to damn 
the insane urge


to stay



 

Linking to:
Magpie Tales #283

Van Gogh felt...

Starry Night by Alex Ruiz


Van Gogh
felt the colours
of the night

I long to be in
a Van Gogh moment

I want to feel
the light
of the stars

I want to hear
the darkness of my soul

I want to paint 
the music

of my mind




 

Linking to:
Magpie Tales #234 - August 24,2014

in a smoky haze...

in a smoky haze
naked beauty
struggles
to be 
explicit

but you like it that way

the allure
of sensual
froth and bubble
appeals to you

your camera
tries to probe
the inner sanctum of me

tries to 
freeze
frame
your concept
of love

I can only cope with
your allusion
your delusion

bound in a slim
black blindfold

and minus
your
precious
 diamond ear-rings


so why do I stage your gauzy dreams?


I need 
the money





 

Linking to:
Magpie Tales

out of synch...

Mag #280


it's strange
to be out of synch

she was British
and the role was
an American one

but circumstance
let her star

it's strange
to have thoughts
that don't seem to
connect

some call it depression

she just knew
that her reality was strung 
somewhere between
a red tag and
a white tag

it's strange
to feel that home
may have begun in India
but then
glitzy love and promises
planted  a pseudo home
in filmy countryside
and
staged rooms

the kind that
never lasts

it's strange to see
the mask of all I was

gone with the wind



 

Linking to:
Magpie Tales

sepia...

Mag #279


your
ironwork
lassos
my fantasy

sepia 
vortex

my eye has lost
the colours of you



 

Linking to:
Magpie Tales

I'm ready...

Magpie Tales #278


I'm ready

nicely healed black boots
nicely billowing black skirt
nicely fitting black top
and bell sleeves

tokens of my city life
my high value of
style
in motion

however
I'm ready for the next stage

I think

my sensible black hat
over sensible plaits
suggest that this is more
a business journey
rather than pleasure

and indeed

you are so right

I am on my way to
a funeral

out in my childhood
prairie country

the one I escaped
the one I ignored
the one that was 
so meaningless to me
then

but now
my funeral
calls me back

to face old demons
and old values
and maybe find
a few angels
or two

however

as you can clearly see

I missed

my train

 

Linking to:
Magpie Tales

bathers...

Bathers (1950) by George Tooker
Magpie Tales #277


on my way to some fragile nirvana
(fragile 
because it was just
a desperate quirk of
my mind)
I found the scents of the sea

strangely
I expected to be alone
wanted to be alone
but
there were others
just like me

at least some were
(ahem...
two were)

they stood
towelled and capped
in some frozen expectation
of an instruction
(perhaps a command)
to move forward

like handmaids
going through the predictions
of a tale

I sidled in line
unaware of another door
where one
sculpted body
appeared to be casually drying
herself

unaware
that my entrance
and her exit
were zagged
mirrored
underbelly
opposites

but
I stood in tight-lipped silence
until
a dark moment
turned
my silence
into
fear

of being
closely
watched

closely
monitored


Linking to;
Magpie Tales

Midsummer Night's Melancholy...

Midsummer Night's Melancholy by Michael Sowa
Magpie Tales #276


they rushed and bustled
frantic to cling to
somewhere
far from here

a room with a view
of the sun
of trees
of the sea

they said

they said
they loved me

they said
they would
provide for me

they said 
they would could come back

so
in my small space

I'm pining through
the hollow hours

for 

my room
with a view


but 
from my window

if she only knew...

if she only knew...




Linking to;
Magpie Tales