Poetics – Under the Influence of Music

Posted on October 14, 2014 by Michael

expectativa

It was part of every day

Songs of the time

Blaring out

A first turntable

45’s gifted

Buddy Holly Raving On.

My words shaped to music

Several plays called ‘musicals’.

Melodies some borrowed

Most original

Captivated me.

Year long lasting memories

All so Charming.

Now its iPods packed with thousands of songs

Artists with one hit wonders

Long time favourites

Endlessly playing

Filling my mornings late evenings

Music to sleep to

Music to awaken to.

It follows me

I lust for the sounds

In every location

Any time

Driving music

Thumping beats

Rhythms, syncopating,

Such exciting artists

In so many genres

My senses awake to new music

Craving each week’s musical offerings.

Written for: http://dversepoets.com/2014/10/14/poetics-under-the-influence-of-music/

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Photo Challenge #30 “Crashing Cranes”

Posted on October 14, 2014 by Michael

paper-cranes

Image: John Alunan

Do you take this……….

I do.

Do you promise to love, honour and………

I do.

Vows.

Sacred vows.

I made them

My commitment.

I cherished you

Revered you

Lived my life in your shadow

So enamoured was I.

Your life was my life.

You were me.

But you changed

Mellowed you said

Youthful exuberance diminished.

You became pre-occupied

I no longer excited you

Gave you reason to live.

You shredded hope

Splintered my life

Fragmented my soul

The ultimate humiliation

Cuckolding me.

My dignity smashed

My self a wasting wretch.

Around me I watched

Our vows erode

A laughing stock

An object of ridicule

No longer a person

All substance ground down

Not even I recognised me.

Today I sat in silence

Folding paper cranes,

Believing

That with one for each year of my life

I can make a wish.

‘To love cherish and obey

From this day onwards.’

Anything to slow this crushing.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/10/14/photo-challenge-30-crashing-cranes/

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Scribe’s Cave Picture Prompt #43

Posted on October 13, 2014 by Michael

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c.1925. Tanning babies at the Chicago Orphan Asylum to offset winter rickets

My name is Esme Osborne; I am a single woman of means working in this orphanage tanning the little tykes.

It always gives me a giggle to see them in their little goggles.

It’s a constant struggle with them constantly wriggling and the never ending struggle to keep the goggles on them. They don’t understand this will keep the rickets off their wickets.

The poor little dears, some are dumped at our door others brought in by the authorities.

We’re encouraged not to attach ourselves to any child.

It’s cold during the winter. I’d hate to live here; it’s a terrible draughty place. Hopefully families will be found for the children.

I give them as many cuddles as I can but it’s hard with so many and me the only one here who sees they need love and attention. Mostly the staff ignore the children.

It makes me sad to see them denied affection.

Young Albert, the one on the left, has a heart defect; his chances are slim of being found a family.

He’s a lovely child.

I’m thinking I might take him home myself.

Written for: http://caveofscribes.starvingactivist.com/2014/10/13/scribes-cave-picture-prompt-43/

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Wordle #30 – A Walk in the Park.

Posted on October 13, 2014 by Michael

week-30

This weeks words were: Cadence Maverick Nimble Turf Initials Pathology Waxen March Eel Vise Goad Hew

 

It was the cadence of her voice that drew my attention. The sort of shrill that made you think she lived most of her life in a constant state of hysteria.

Around her was what I then thought of as a horde of children, each vying for her attention as they crossed the park, a constant rabble and how she understood any of what they said was beyond my comprehension.

Being the social snob that I am I was amused by the thought that the pathology of such a woman would fascinate any psychiatrist and have most sociologists foaming at the mouth in anticipation of sociological discovery.

Being March the weather was still relatively warm and they stopped as one and settled onto a patch of turf that I was sure would never be the same again.

The eldest was a brash young man who immediately took out his pocketknife and began scratching, I assumed, his initials into the bark of the tree beside him.

Whilst he was busy occupying himself with a bit of useful vandalism the waxen faced woman proceeded to place the baby she held in her arms onto the grass in front of her and change its nappy.

The other children nimbly went about exploring the park, riding the rides and generally as far as I could tell enjoyed the break their mother afforded them away from the hum drum that I was sure was their day to day lives.

I thought they were a surprisingly coherent group, playing together so well until I noticed the eldest boy had left his craving to go to the large pond in the park, wade into it and then return with a very large eel, which he proceeded to wave about terrifying his younger siblings.

The boy appeared to me to be a bit of a maverick for despite his mothers pleadings he continued to goad his brothers and sisters by dangling the eel in front of them the result being a cacophony of screams that served to reinforce my by now developing opinion of them as a family of potential banshees.

In due course as with most children with short attention spans, the boy discarded the eel and went off to locate some further mischief.

Some moments later the police arrived with the boy in tow, his mother was on her feet, demanding they release her son. The police handed back the boy, gladly I would think, with the news that they were well aware of the boys latest vice and had as a result removed his pocket knife from his person after they had observed him hewing his initials into the oldest most loved tree in the park.

I went home that afternoon happy in the thought that I didn’t have children, that all my friends spoke with cultured and educated cadences in their voices, that the only Maverick I knew was the excellent country band and that I could spend my evenings contend with the thought that I was a pretty nimble with my thimble.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/10/13/wordle-30/

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Prompt #76 “Self-Portrait”

Posted on October 12, 2014 by Michael

2013-11-12 15.02.19

Portrait by Sophie Davis

He was my teacher and my year advisor and I know so many of us loved him.

He taught us about ourselves. He made us look at things and question and when the time came to draw him I jumped at the chance to do so because I felt here was an opportunity to discover the man is.

He was very flattered at the suggestion I do his portrait, I know he is a very private man, he doesn’t make a lot of noise to attract attention, he goes about his job in his own unique way.

I have to admit that I wasn’t his best student. I did drama during my Year 10 and he cast me I have to admit so accurately as an obsessive compulsive I often felt he knew far more about me than I was comfortable with.

I liked that he gave me the opportunity to express myself. At one stage of our performance schedule he gave me the script and said read it and if you see any areas it might be improved then write something and we shall discuss it.

At the time I jumped at the chance as I did see parts of the script that could in my opinion be improved.

The next day I presented him with my suggestions. He listened to what I had written, he listened to my reasons for saying what I said he then told me that my ideas were good except I had missed the point of the scenes in question and that he would re write the scenes taking into consideration the suggestions I had made.

At the time it was big thing to be entrusted with such a responsibility. I thought I made great suggestions and I was very chuffed when the new scene appeared with some of my ideas written in.

Now I look back on that time and realise he was giving me ownership of my character and her scenes. It was after all his script. His work that we were workshopping and eventually performing in front of some wonderfully responsive audiences.

I now know he was not relinquishing his ownership but rather giving me the sense that my ideas mattered and were worth while.

I liked that about him. He would listen, talk to you as one person to another and no matter what always seemed to be able to find something positive to say, encouraging you in whatever pursuit you were undertaking.

So when it came to the portraits he was the same. He wanted to know how they were coming on. He’d come into the art room and sneak a look and I’d see the look of amazement on his face as I began to draw him as I saw him.

We did do a photo shoot and he was very generous in his time and willing to go along with the little whims I had about the sort of photo I wanted from the serious to the pulling funny faces (seeing your teacher screw up his face like a little kid is a delight I must say).

When I finished I presented his portraits, as a collection of thirteen images as I felt only in this way was I able to capture the many facets of him. (I’ve published one of the portraits at the top of this post, the rest you’ll have to go to his house to see).

It was a beautiful thing I have to say that at the end of his teaching career I was able to present him with the portraits as a farewell gift not only from me but from every student with whom he’d had contact over his long career.

He is essentially a quiet man, intelligent, witty, creative and who sees those about him as people who like him eat and breathe and who deserve to be treated, as he would like to be treated.

As a teacher he wanted every child who entered his classroom to leave it enriched in some way. He wrote shows during his career with the single purpose of taking the students who wanted to be part of them on the most fantastic journey with him, to discover after the stage lights had dimmed, that they had been to places within themselves they never thought possible.

Drama was his passion, he saw it as a great teaching tool, one that allowed those in his class to grow and experience learning in his own unique way.

He was an awesome teacher, a good man and a friend to so many.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/10/12/prompt-76-self-portrait/

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SoCS October 11/14

Posted on October 11, 2014 by Michael

the letter “s.”

 AlexaMeade3

Image Alexa Meade

Scrumptiously sexual

That’s how I saw her

Heels that gave her

An elevation she didn’t enjoy out of them

A skirt that flattered her aging thighs

A bra I am sure was earning its keep.

A top that allowed those sexual

Assets to be displayed

In all their magnificence

And a walk

Sensuous, provocative

Strutting the light fantastic.

Your Saturday night fling

Atop the world

Come look at me you said

I’m alright

I’m available.

By 10pm seriously wasted

Slobbering about past loves

Slurring every word

Scrumptiously non sexual.

Written for: http://lindaghill.com/2014/10/10/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-october-1114/

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Fairytale Prompt #29 “The Magic Wood” – The Visit

Posted on October 11, 2014 by Michael

Napoleon in the Wilderness

Image by Max Ernst

No one could enter the magic wood for two reasons

1: You didn’t know where it was

2: You had to be invited in.

I know this as my Aunt May Isabelle had told me one day when I questioned her over the photo she had over her fireplace in the lounge room.

My Aunt May Isabelle was an eccentric woman, every one in the family viewed her the same way as she often littered her conversations with stories of the Wood and of the people she knew lived there.

It became an expectation when chatting to her as she was more than happy to regale you with stories we all thought were too fantastical to have any semblance of truth.

When I was fourteen she took me bush walking. She’d tell me I shouldn’t spend all my time cooped up in the house reading that I needed to be out in the fresh air enjoying what nature had to share with me.

We headed to Cranky Corner a place I knew as it had the best swimming hole, a large deep pool, fed from a waterfall, which gushed over rocks and cascaded into the pool.

She told me to forget about swimming today that we were going to see the true magic of the place.

We walked for near on an hour and I was feeling pretty exhausted when she stopped and said for me to sit on a fallen tree as she stepped forward to see if ‘they’ were about. I was so tired at that time I didn’t take much notice of what she was saying. Despite her years Aunt May Isabelle was a very spritely woman and moved at a more than healthy pace.

Urging me to take her hand she stepped forward towards a briar bush. I held tightly for suddenly in a flash of light I was no longer where I was before.

Before me floated the most beautiful of women. Her eyes were focused on me as if wanting to see the substance of me.

My Aunt whispered to me that they would call her MI and to not be afraid.

‘MI you have brought a guest?’

‘My nephew.’

Then the most amazing thing happened. From out of the woman came a thousand fingers of light that wrapped round me, and intensified in colour and speed until I could find myself reeling in the flow of what was happening.

I don’t know how long it took but after I felt the most brilliant calm flow over me.

‘He is a good boy, he has a sound soul, he is welcome,’ said the woman. Turning to me she said. ‘I am Alana Maree, keeper of the magic wood, you are most welcome, enjoy your visit with us, keep our secret as your Aunt has done.’

With that she vanished leaving my Aunt and I standing in this wondrous place.

A large leaf appeared, my Aunt encouraged me to climb aboard where the leaf took us on the most magical of journeys, up and over forests of spectacular colour, deep chasms in which lived the most curious of animals and onto a small village in which life went ahead oblivious to our appearance and in which the most fascinating array beings lived in perfect harmony.

The market place was awash with people buying, selling, trading, bartering all engaged in their occupations with not one cross word was being uttered.

We zoomed back to our starting point my Aunt looked at me and asked what I thought. I was speechless with having witnessed so much, so amazed by the world revealed to me.

‘I’ll listen more closely to your stories now Aunt May Isabelle.’

‘You didn’t before?’

‘I thought you were making them up, but not now.’

‘They all think I do don’t they?’

‘Afraid so.’

‘So now you know.’

‘ Yes I do.’

‘They’ll think you’re are weird one now if you start saying anything.’

‘I’ll leave the telling to you for the moment.’

‘Probably wise.’

‘I think so, you are more believable than me.’

‘Had a lot of practice haven’t I.’

The conversation continued the whole way home. I had found my words and my questions flowed out. Aunt May Isabelle nodded to my questions answering them as I asked.

As we arrived home she took my hand and squeezed it.

‘Seeing what you saw today was an honour not a right, you did well, if Alana Maree didn’t like you we would never gotten past her.’

I nodded in reply knowing this was not the last time I would visit the magic wood.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/10/10/fairytale-prompt-29-the-magic-wood/

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Taleweaver’s Prompt #29 “Grimoire” – The Book of Distant Magic

Posted on October 10, 2014 by Michael

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It all ends next Tuesday.

After thirty years it’s coming to a close.

They said I needed to have everything in order, be prepared, it will happen over night.

Thirty years of wealth and health ends on my fiftieth birthday.

On my twentieth birthday my aged neighbour gave me a book, an old book, “The Book of Distant Magic”

Use it wisely she said and it can change your life.

Chapter Five was – Health and Wealth.

I was transformed from the moment I read the by-line to the chapter, “Touch this page and your life will change forever.”

When you are twenty you are invulnerable. So I did.

I found myself in a place where before me stood three women. Radiant in white, if know auras these women had the ultimate auras.

They offered me thirty years of health and wealth in exchange for my body on my fiftieth birthday.

To me at that time fifty was old, every one I knew who was fifty was old, wrinkled and pretty much decrepit. What did I have to lose I asked myself?

I took the offer and enjoyed thirty years of wealth and health.

I made it to the top in my profession, I accumulated massive wealth, I travelled the world, met some interesting people and a lot of not interesting ones as well, at one stage I even had my name among the top most eligible bachelors in the world.

My health was never in question, not even a cold or the flu. It was a dreamtime and one I am sorry to say now I took for granted.

On my forty-ninth birthday I had received a note to say I had a date with the three women in twelve months.

I was puzzled at first, as I had forgotten the contract from thirty years before. I had taken it for granted that my life was one of success and enjoyment.

Now seven days from the day I was beginning to reflect on my life.

Yes I had achieved success, yes I was wealthy but I thought would I be remembered for anything other than a man who once was rich and played the world and lived it up day in and day out.

On my thirtieth birthday I had married and in the following years my wife Marcy and I produced three beautiful children.

My work and my lifestyle whilst providing well for them did take me away a lot and I now realise I had been away for much of the formative years of my children.

There were days when I felt I knew them and that that was all.

In this next week I had to re-establish some form of contact with my children, I wasn’t even sure where they were. My wife and I had separated some fifteen years ago; I didn’t even know what had happened to her.

I now realise that I was so wrapped up in my own life, my own needs that the ones who should have been most important were forgotten and in some cases lost from me.

To make it worse the thought of my life ending after Tuesday did fill me with dread. Thirty years ago it seemed an eternity away. Suddenly it was a week away and my doom was staring me in the face.

By Monday I had tracked my children down, made provision for them and their respective families, I had achieved at least something worthwhile in my life, that my success would mean they would be looked after at least.

As the week had progressed I had begun to notice changes in myself. Spots had begun to appear on my skin, I felt suddenly tired by the time the sun was setting, the thought of partying all night which previously had been a way of life was no longer a consideration.

I rejected all suggestions from friends to hold a party to celebrate the day, preferring to be by myself and see what happened as I could sense something was occurring.

I awoke this morning to a brilliant white light.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/10/09/taleweavers-prompt-29-grimoire/

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Verbal cubism and tender buttons – Meeting the Bar- Only the Lonely

Posted on October 9, 2014 by Michael

Still_Life_with_Cubist_Guitar_by_Valnor

Words falling

Floating away

Grab one

At least

The yellow

The red

Fondle the fuchsia

Three sticks are better than two

Three arms

Play

Naughty

Career choices.

A ramble is better than a stroll

Purple impresses

Stains

Putrefies

Take hold

Brown paper bags

A plenty

Rain on my head

Soaked

In crap

Hesitation

Colours blending

Caress the green

Kisses on chocolate

When at rest

Home again

Home again

Only the lonely

Know pain

Dum dum dum dum dum di do wah.

Written for: http://dversepoets.com/2014/10/09/verbal-cubism-and-tender-buttons-meeting-the-bar/

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Scribe’s Cave Picture Prompt #42 – The Wayward Wife

Posted on October 9, 2014 by Michael

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Harry sat forlornly in the doctor’s surgery. His tale of woe he had unloaded to the good doctor. Harry’s Janice was a wayward wife. What could he do?

The doctor produced a bottle of his remedy for wayward wives.

‘It will settle her down, calm her rages, inspire her to cook like never before, she’ll be compliant and ever so loving,’ the doctor stated.

‘It’s the ironing,’ said Harry. ‘She refuses to starch and iron my shirts.’

‘No need to worry any further, a few spoonful’s of my remedy and she’ll be a better wife than you ever thought.’

Harry took the bottle home and that night he slipped a spoonful into his wife’s late night coffee, the same the next morning.

A week later Harry reappeared at the doctors surgery, wearing a beautifully ironed and starched shirt, though walking extremely gingerly.

On examination the doctor could make out the end of the bottle protruding from Harry’s rear end with the small note attached:

‘Works well.’ Love Janice.

Written for: http://caveofscribes.starvingactivist.com/2014/10/06/scribes-cave-picture-prompt-42/

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