Monday, February 28, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #55

                                             photo/ willow/ Magpie Tales

THIS PICTURE JUST SAYS MURDER to me. Wondering what Stieg Larsson would have made of it.  I think I know!  Thanks Tess, for endless opportunities, for one more Mag.


Blomquest picked up the lemon.  Carefully.  The red looked like blood, smelled like blood, when no one was looking, he licked it.  Someday he'd tell his grandchildren what it was.

"I'll get you the bloody list of the Bloody Lemon Killers, as soon as I start up this effing computer".  Liss Salamander slammed her fist into her mouth, sullenly bit her swollen lip before she kicked Blomquest in the groin.  He grabbed his crotch and went off to make a pot of coffee.

You couldn't tell by looking at him, but he was relieved to be out of jail.  The permanent furrow on his brow gave off a gloomy vibe.  He pulled his lips back, exposed his teeth.  He always wanted to try smiling.

Three months of staring through prison bars at a frigid landscape, on an island long since abandoned to the elements, didn't change him.  Not much different from his digs in Stockholm.  Except for the coffee.

After Sweden passed an emergency law to imprison writers of interminable mysteries, Blomquest, the dishonored author, had no choice but to surrender.

Salamander finished printing the results.  The photo came up afterwards.  The fork!  No blood on the tines!  That pointed to only one person, the one known as the Red Herring.

Salamander put on a new nose ring to celebrate, pushed Blomquest onto the  bed, and went to make a pot of coffee.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

Sunday, February 27, 2011

FREAK/ Poetry Potluck #24

 The Goddess Nukua   

Right up my alley: A choice of Cartoons, Sci-Fi, or Super Powers!   All for this week's Poetry Potluck #24I think my choice sort of overlapped..more fun..and I decided to do a Pantoum.  It just seems to offer that spaced-out quality that I was looking enjoy and please visit all the other contributors for a treat.


On a night of lengthy shadows
I slipped away to Earth.
Now my heart has a dream of longing
on the rouged steppes of Mars.

I slipped away to Earth.
I look like any other flying maiden
on the rouged steppes of Mars.
No doubt on Earth I'm just a freak.

I look like any other flying maiden
who sheds her snakey skin.
No doubt on Earth I'm just a freak,
hiding wings you'll never get to see.

Who sheds her snakey skin,
waiting for the light that says return,
hiding wings you'll never get to see.
You're missing the chance to know me.

Waiting for the light that says return.
Now my heart has a dream of longing.
You're missing the chance to know me,
on a night of lengthy shadows.

copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011


Friday, February 25, 2011


                                                            Jessie Wilcox Smith/ 1914

JUST DISCOVERED an interesting site.  Part of the plot to tie me to blogging forever!  Will be taking a chance and joining Monday's Child #34, for the opportunity to write a piece of children's poetry or prose, based on that wonderful illustration by Wilcox/ Smith.  The posting is open from Monday thru y'all come!  Hope I can do this..after all, people are always telling me that I'm acting like a child!


Mother chose
Minky the Monkey
to teach Carlotta
to sip her tea.

First, don't talk
with your hands
when you take a piece of cake...
crumbs are bound to fall
into your ears.

Don't tip the cup
away from you
or the cream will overflow.

Don't let your pink ribbons
dip into your tea,
'cause they will drip
on your fancy dress.

Pinkies up,
pick up the cup
and sip, don't slurp.
Don't talk
with your mouth full,
and elbows off the table.

Let's sit back,
listen to the robin
sing for his supper,

sitting on a petal
near the windowsill,
waiting for a crumb of crumpet
to come his hungry way.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Time To Go...


Winter cramps my hands,
a wind blows in my bones.
Under a mound of snow
the dead lie packed in eternity.

A rubbish of leaves
scatter in a frozen mirage,
tossing in an endless
promise of dawn.

I try waving a wand
like a mad Merlin,
casting a spell
to change strands of icicles
into a budding bough.

Still, the cold day primps
and struts like an aging whore,
full of bravado,
as if we weren't praying
for her to call it a day.

copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #54

                                            photo/ willow/ magpie tales

IT'S PUZZLING, how to come up with a puzzle?  Worthy of the challenge?  Leave it to Mags to push the envelope..thanks again, Tess.


I'd like to be
a fly on the wall,
before I'm pickled in amber.
Day after day,
alighting on
La Giaconda.

Teasing her
that I know
why her mouth
was pulled into
that conundrum.

A cloud of breath
pulls me close
to her lips,
as if she means
to eat me.

Who are you, Mona Lisa?
Why such fame in a smile?
Tell them who you really are.
Will you go that far?

copyright/ all rights reserved/2011

Sunday, February 20, 2011

SANCTUM FOR RENT/ Poetry Potluck #23

TODAY WE ARE ASKED by Poetry Potluck #23, to choose from the topics, Our Home, Temple, Sanctum.
Somehow, Sanctum caught my eye...hope you enjoy!


Looking for a place
to hang my sins out to dry,
quiet enough to work
on my peace of mind.

A place to rinse
and spin my karma,
see the Moon
from my window,
snatch it when
it kisses me.

Is it futile to ask
for a dazzling altar,
a place for a cast-out
friend to pray?

Also, I'd like a holy cup
that sings,
when I stir up
some courage,
and a door
easily opened
to shepherds,
leading their flock.

How about
some cross ventilation,
a cool breeze
to carry
my words aloft,
when I ask,
have I been saved?

Absolute necessity:
ability to break
the lease
at a moment's notice.

copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011

Thursday, February 17, 2011


                         RECENT AND NOTEWORTHY PASSINGS

                    KENNETH MARS/  1936- February 12, 2011

Kenneth Mars, actor, comedy, TV, films, at the age of 75.  Best known for the role of the German playwright in the Mel Brooks movie, "The Producers". He played the role of Franz Liebkind, whose play,"Springtime for Hitler", was the basis for the movie.

He also played the Police Inspector with the malfunctioning arm, in Mel Brooks' "Young Frankenstein", in 1974, to hilarious effect.  He had an extensive career in both TV and film, but will always be remembered for the roles in Mel Brooks' immortal works.

                 BETTY GARRETT/ May 23, 1919- February 12, 2011

Betty Garrett, a musical comedy actress, who played the taxi driving pursuer of Frank Sinatra in the great movie musical, "On The Town", left us at the age of 91.  She also played the nemesis neighbor of Archie Bunker in "All in the Family", and the landlady in "Laverne and Shirley".  Her career spanned 6 decades, in theatrical revues, nightclubs, film, TV and Broadway.  Her career slowed down during the McCarthy era, for political reasons, her husband having been questioned by The House Un-American Activities Committee when they were on the Commie witch hunt.  She survived.

         GEORGE SHEARING/ August 13, 1919- February 14, 2011

George Shearing, British born jazz piano virtuoso, the composer of the sublime and everlasting "Lullaby of Broadway", which became a jazz standard, passed away at the age of 91.  He overcame blindness to become a world-wide star with the signature sound of the George Shearing Quintet.

               JOANNE SIEGEL/ December 1, 1917- February 12, 2011

Joanne Siegel was the model for Lois Lane, Superman's gal pal, passed away at the age of 93.  As a teenager during the Depression, she worked as a model for an aspiring comic book artist, Joe Shuster, and became the first version of Lois Lane.  She married Shuster's partner, Superman's co-creator, writer Jerry Siegel.  Much of her life was spent trying to reclaim the original copyright that Shuster and Siegel sold to Detective Comics in 1937, for $130.  In 2008 a federal judge restored Siegels co-authorship of the original Superman copyright.  The money is stll being adjudicated.  Still, it's good to look at the beginning of a legend. 

REST IN PEACE, with thanks and gratitude, originals all.

Monday, February 14, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #53

                                                           photo/ willow/ magpie tales

Here we are with Magpie Tales #53.  I see a wicked little face.  How about you?  A big thanks to Tess.


Heinous imp,
staring at me
like the sly fox he is.

Yesterday those eyes
overflowed with salty tears,
giving zest
to a bone on the plate,
a stripped hare,
done leaping.

Then he spit a curse
that drained the sweetness
from my lips.

I grabbed his spindly neck,
screwed off the pourous crown,
filled his vessel
with pale salt,

shook him over my shoulder,
turning wickedness
into a blessing.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011

Sunday, February 13, 2011

CIRCE/ Poetry Potluck #22

                                          Circe offering the Cup to Odysseus/
                                                 John William Waterhouse

I recently came across a prompt in Poets and Writers Magazine that asked us to choose a poem of ours, and rewrite it in reverse.  Thumbing through my book of poetry,"Two Ghosts", I found the one to fool around with.
Maybe a little wicked for St. Valentine's Day.  Good.  I'll submit it to Poetry Potluck #22, the topic being Love, Bonds, Relationships.  Some obsessions are more intense than others.  Happy Valentine's Day!


I say: Don't worry,
nothing can hurt us now.
You look around to see
who's watching.
But you fall anyway.
You plead:
Don't do this to me.

You will fall into my eyes and stay.
I whisper an enchantment in your ear.
Can I shape your fantasy
before I slip out the door?
Please don't see
how hard it is
for me to leave.

And don't wake,
because I'm stalking you.

Can you feel my intrusion?
I brush the warm sheet,
folded on your thigh.
Let me stare at you
as you dream,
with the bedroom
dark blue at dawn,
the sun still hiding
below the polestar.
Don't wake.

copyright/ all rights reserved/ 2011


MOM! Happy Birthday!!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOM...Heaven is lucky to have you!  Moved on at the age of 99!  What a beauty, what a spirit!!  Left Russia as a kid, (messy revolution), found NYC to be more like it...thanks little Yetta Lam, my Mom!

                                               Ms. NYC


Thursday, February 10, 2011

Are You Happy Now?


While scanning this and that for Mag#52, I was happy to find subjects that piqued my interest.  The list of talent is prodigious, old friends, new names.

I found this interesting proposal, part of Free-Write February.  On a new discovery, RAD , a blog that poses this question:

" How did you handle unhappy days as a kid"?

Depending on what caused my unhappiness, whether a school related irritation, or outrageous demands by my parents, I somehow survived by taking a deep dive into fantasy.  Standing in front of the big mirror in Mom's room, I soon started to resemble Rita Hayworth, Lana Turner, or on a very good (or bad) day, Ginger Rogers, dancing backwards, in high heels, with Fred Astaire.  Becoming a star in my own mind rescued me.

Being pushed face first into a snow bank, strangely led to my first Valentine's Day card.  I was sworn enemies with that know it all, Marlon, and I found him following me home from school on the day after a messy New York snow storm.  I think because I got a perfect grade on a test and he didn't, it definitely drove our emnity over the edge. I stuck my tongue out at him. That sealed my fate.

He tackled me in front of the A&P.  I fought to win, kicked him in some private parts, and spit snow in his face.  Old ladies emerging from the A&P yelled at him to leave this poor little girl alone.  Bully!  I ran away, backwards, (just like with Fred Astaire), dodging snow balls.

St. Valentine's Day was on a Sunday that year, and the doorbell of our apartment rang at about 10:00 AM.  We were in the kitchen at a late breakfast and The New York Times, becoming more crumpled by the minute, slipped out of my startled Dad's hands.  What the...!!  He called to my Mom to "get it".

She came back with a smile on her face.  "A boy is here to see you".  I was 9, and my Mother looked as if might be possible after all that someone would want this skinny minny.

"His name is Marlon and he wants to give you something, go to the door".  I dove under the table and fell on the Arts and Leisure section of the Times, my Mom's favorite, which lay on the floor.  "No no no," I stage whispered.  "He's going to kill me"!

On the contrary, Marlon handed my Mom an icky, sparkly card that showed his embellished wishes for me to be his Valentine.  Please 'splain love to me!!  I promptly and wildly ripped the card in half.  Marlon didn't witness his love torn asunder, having been asked to leave, as poor Linny wasn't feeling too well.  My Dad peered over his glasses and said, "Someday you'll be looking for one of those".  Card, guy??

That was a day that I danced a lot with Fred.

copyright/all rights reserved/2011

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #52

                                                       photo/ willow/ magpie tales


There is a house
that Magpies built
made up of strands
of poems and prose,

bits of hilarity,
shreds of tragedy,
pasted together
with spit and wit.

Runaway villanelles
to string us along,
sonnets to bend us
towards Shakespeare.

The walls of this circle
stretch with truth
or dare,

and Tess
collects all
to feather
her nest.

copyright/allrights reserved/ 2011

Congratulations to Tess and Magpies galore for 1 year of very fine blogging!!!  Bring on the Prompts!

Sunday, February 6, 2011

I WANT TO MEET YOU/ Poetry Potluck #21

                                                 Gustav Klimt

Welcome to Poetry Potluck #21This week we are asked for our Aims, Goals, and Ambitions.  The name of my poem is about a goal, and I chose to write it in the form of a Pantoum.  Hope you will also check out all the other super entries!


I want to meet you,
now, not someday.
Your touch, like a thin piece of silk
pressing against my face.

Now, not someday..
I can do mischief too.
Pressing against my face,
it felt like a kiss.

I can do mischief too.
I dwell in my mind,
it felt like a kiss.
Who did you last embrace?

I dwell in my mind.
Reminisce with me,
who did you last embrace?
Just a ghost in the fog of dawn?

Reminisce with me.
Your touch, like a thin piece of silk,
just a ghost in the fog of dawn?
I want to meet you.

copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011

Thursday, February 3, 2011


IT SEEMS THAT there's a revolution going on, somewhere.  The usual suspects, the usual destruction.  Once again, front page news.  Tune in tomorrow for the solution.


I'm thinking, remain a step ahead.
Pulling and pushing the door,
trying to open it,
to escape,
what a fool,
so easy to fall.

Splinters glance off
the jagged face of the past,
points of shattered wood
slide under my nails
as if they were meant to unleash
some torture.
And then a beast tears up the floor
and spits it out.

Comes the revolution they say.
Well, here it is.

Now snakes of retribution are waiting.
That was a mirror I stood before,
glass shattered,
moments of shoving,
walk away.
It's not a rehearsal.

copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

MAGPIE/ Prompt #51

                                                        photo/ willow/ Magpie Tales


That's all that remains,
a road to nowhere,
scarred and burned,
bricks scuffed by time's solution.

A wall, chipped like chalk,
edges flaked,
inform the place
where windows let the sun
shine into the cubiculum.

A door that's gone,
lacking an interior,
summons up frescoes
of playful nymphs,
now departed in history's hand.

Alabaster dust floating
in the minds of Gods,
surrounds the Villa at Boscoreale.

This ash, some glitter,
what went on here?
Ants and weeds will again build a town
between the blocks
come springtime.
Lean down a bit,
you can see the life.

There stands a ghost peering out,
framed by the dado
that Vetruvius said
would last forever.

Tracing along a wall,
now dust in the memory of time,
a mother's face
still smiling, calling,
come back in.

copyright/ all rights resolved/ 2011

Can't believe that we've gone through 51 Magpie great is that??  Thank you, Tess!


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