Magpie Tales #58

This one is just for fun:

The highland men stood
upstaged and up-skirted,
tradition of red rage
mocked and flirted
by a very-cherry lipstick smile
on the face of an outrageous
burlesque stripper
easing down her silvery zipper.
Turns out
that’s not Athena’s shield
But a pastie
for Aphrodite to wield.
These well-worn words
have been said before,
but remember my friends:
Make love, not war

Triolet - Poetry Potluck

Here is a form poem called Triolet. It consists of eight lines with a rhyme pattern of ABaAabAB, with the capital letters indicating repeated lines. The meter is iambic pentameter (five two-syllabe groups of unstressed/stressed) or iambic tetrameter (four two-syllable groups of unstressed/stressed). In this one I chose to use iambic tetrameter. I have just spent the past half hour trying to find where I came across this poetry form, but I’m going to give up now with apologies, and finally post it (at times like this I really miss my brain). And finally the poem:

She walked into the sunlit room
her smile was bright and treacherous
a lovely form of certain doom
she walked into the sunlit room
awash in layers of perfume,
with posture mildly lecherous,
she walked into the sunlit room
her smile was bright and treacherous

Raw

Here is a response to the writing prompt 'Raw' from Sunday Scribblings. I know it's very provincial, but ...

Fresh sushi platter
a work of edible art
which I title: Bait

Magpie Tales #56

Tess Kincade at Willow Manor graciously puts up a picture as a writing prompt each week. This week's picture and my response are below. To see everyone else's click on the title above.

Garlic and onion
dance in the big, olive oil-filled skillet
on my stove;
their aroma,
a palpable presence

My people are
Irish and German,
but when I close my eyes and take a deep breath
echoes of
black-eyed, heavy-breasted women
and dark, young men
with seductive smiles
and five o’clock shadows
crowd around my stove
laughing and splashing Barolo
as they carelessly pour jelly-jar glassfuls

I smile and wipe condensation
from the window
over the sink
to watch for your return

Sunday Scribblings #257 - Raw

Apologies to anyone with a weak stomach. I have struggled with the idea of eating meat most of my life. I haven't for quite awhile now, basically because I have an over-active imagination. I also love animals, and am in pretty close contact with a number of them. Besides the dogs and cats and elderly horse in our care, I am also on a first name basis with a number of cows. I married a veterinarian, and while he mainly works on dairy cattle, he also handles a number of 'hamburger cows' (as my kids used to calle them). I am the only one in my family who doesn't eat flesh (meat or fish). In fact they think I'm a little crazy, and I suspect they're right!


When confronted with
Prime rib bleeding on my plate
Knife poised
To sing through the flesh
My half-baked mind wonders
Did I know you?

Sonnet Co-op

I tried something new. I have collaberated on a sonnet with another poet, who wished to remain unnamed at this time. We assigend alternating lines and emailed our responses back and forth. The result is here:



The dappled sunlight dances at our feet
And stops dark shadows cast short by the rain.
The clouds that linger grown white in defeat
No longer threaten. Their loss is our gain.
We now commence our journey’s final phase,
We launch our skiff and head out for the main
As sea birds circle high above the haze
Their cries are an encouraging refrain.
Our paddles drive us up into the waves;
We pull and strain against relentless tide.
To reach the beach is what our bodies crave
With our bow slung low from our fish so wide
To focus on our goal’s what we must do:
A cold beer and a fresh fish BBQ!

I am not your sweetheart

This is a poem I wrote in response to a prompt from Magpie Tales.

I am not Your Sweetheart

My love tastes of salt
there is a bite to it, and
at times
it can sting
but oh,
this is the spice of life.
Savor me.

Magpie Tales #55

If you zest us do we not bleed?