imaginarygarden Literary Excursions with Kerry ~ Metafiction
She’s a shoe string that won’t stay tied
dares you to double knot her, pull tight,
she’ll still slip loose like a boat and drift
the currents and tides of her fancies.
You can’t pin her down like a butterfly
in a frame, not even with golden pins
she’ll grin and wriggle away.
She is an enigma, a fairy tale, a fable
with a moral at the end. Truth, fiction,
fantasy and cold, hard fact. She’s words-
worth and a p(l)ath through the fields,
a pound of wilde, a frost that burns.
(See what I did there?) And now she’s donne…
till the next poem is written in the sand.
The Twiglets “The Color of Mud”
The color of mud pies,
like luscious chocolate
tarts dressed in nature’s
frills of daisy petals fanned,
Rose of Sharon crepe blooms,
violets and clover and fern’s
lacy curls presented to mother
with muddy hands.
imaginarygarden The Tuesday Platform Imagined By Kerry O’Connor
I didn’t choose solitude
solitude chose me.
slash, clash, smash
of the world bruised
my soul till I could not
hear the song of the lark,
the music of the wind,
the wisdom of the clouds,
the slow, steady pulse
of the earth’s heart
so I began to withdraw
to the subtle call of quiet.
She soothes my spirit with whispers,
calms with colors of luscious
goose grey storms
and red roses, too.
She tosses the static…
the spark of strife away.
Even this room from which
I write is so quiet
I can hear a faint hum,
a strum of OM
Solitude chose me.
mindlovemisery prompt by Oloriel
“For this week, I will give you a list of random items or words that you should use to create a mini story. The words are: Glass, Darth Vader, napkin, cellphone, lighter, book, anger, trouble, mind.” (use in that order)
I gaze into the looking glass, ancient, smoky, dark as the heart of Darth Vader and with a napkin from yesterday’s anniversary party, I dab at mascara ringed eyes. The cellphone dings. A message from from my best friend, my ex-best friend I remind myself. “Please, answer my call. Talk to me,” she texts. “Let me explain.” I rummage in my purse for a cigarette and lighter and mute my phone.
How would she explain that kiss? He certainly hadn’t had any good excuse as he mumbled and stumbled through an awkward, unintelligible explanation. Just like a cheap, paperback book or maybe a trashy soap opera scene, I thought, trite, predictable – in a book but not real life. I’d cried, pitied myself, despaired, thought of suicide (that would show them!) Then anger took over. A red, torrid, blinding rage.
I’d have to go to some trouble to cover my tracks but my mind was made up. I Googled revenge. Poisons. Accidental deaths. Then, I filled out an eHarmony registration.
TheTwiglets inside out
Their hair so perfectly flipped
kicks high in the air, a hand stand
showing off blue bloomers
under the white and gold pleats
of a crisp cheerleader’s skirt.
I might as well wish for the moon
as out of reach as their perfection…
I sighed. I’ll always be the inside-out
sock on the nylon hose foot of life.
imaginarygarden Of Angels and Monsters Imagined By Rommy
“We all go a little mad sometimes.” – Psycho
What strange potion slipped between my lips
and warmed my blood to the marrow
or did a Gloxinia’s nectar poison an arrow
that slid so painlessly into my placid heart
stirred a fire within my breast, took my breath,
soon as my eyes beheld yours. Or is it merely
that we all go a little mad sometimes? And if
this be madness then let it rage in frenzied,
fanatical, foolish waves of fascination. For I
adore this madness of which I am mad.
The Twiglets #24 delicate ears
Delicate, seashell ears
a celestial nose
and lips rose petal pink
she was dainty
demure, a Lady Banks
drawn in pastel ink
but was too fragile
for this world, I think.
Welcome to Saturday’s Mix. I will be hosting every Saturday throughout the summer while Bastet is taking a break. Today, I thought we’d look at Emily Dickinson. Known for her unusual similes and metaphors, she can be rather cryptic to read. For example, she wrote this poem: Who would guess she’s actually describing a hummingbird?
A Route of Evanescence,
With a revolving Wheel–
A Resonance of Emerald
A Rush of Cochineal–
And every Blossom on the Bush
Adjusts it’s tumbled Head–
The Mail from Tunis—probably,
An easy Morning’s Ride–
A flitter of honey colored velvet
A flutter of dainty angel wings
Dipping in a hundred trumpets
Sipping the ambrosial nectar
Joy expressed in silence
No song, no trill, no hum
Just the lovely cadence
of color, dance and sun.
Paul Whitener (1911-1959) Blue Ridge Mountains @1950, Watercolor
Towering mountains of blue hue
look down on the hollows and hills
with love and pride, with mother’s eyes.
Nestled in her lap like bairns
the village reclines in her arms.
ImaginaryToads Artistic Interpretations with Margaret – Small Town Inspiration…
Welcome to Artistic Interpretations! I am often excited and and often anticipate for months a visit to well known museums such as the Art Institute of Chicago or the Metropolitan Museum of Art, but I recently visited The Hickory Museum of Art, a small town in North Carolina not far from where I live, and was reminded what a joy it is to include these gems on my calendar as well.
imaginarygarden Micro Poetry ~ Streetlight Rain Imagined By Kerry O’Connor
Sweet the anonymity walking in the rain ‘neath an umbrella.