Poetics: In the Corner of Your Eye – Weeding the Garden

Posted on October 7, 2014 by Michael

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Weeding my garden

I sense movement

To my left, a scurry

On the right a distinct rustle.

Fairy people live amongst my ferns

Small communities

Cultural centres of wonder.

Some let me in

Most don’t.

Like chameleons

They blend

In amongst the maiden hairs,

Bird’s nests, tree ferns,

Another world carrying on its business.

I see fleeting glimpses

A face, a body, a footprint

That quickly vanishes.

Tending my garden

I remove only the weeds.

Written for: http://dversepoets.com/2014/10/07/poetics-in-the-corner-of-your-eye/

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HAIBUN THINKING – October 7th 2014 – First Date

Posted on October 7, 2014 by Michael

“You came here in that thing?
You’re braver than I thought.”
~ Carrie Fisher (Star Wars)

I watch the street; it can’t be long before he arrives.

I am nervous as all hell as this is our first date and I have longed for this hour. I’ve been ready for the past half hour, my mother tells me to settle and not look too eager but this man is special and I want everything to go right.

I’ve looked about for signs, as I am a suspicious person, I see signs as indicators of luck or not.

Today the spring blossoms are abundant on the orange trees in the yard, the May bush is its springtime resplendent snow coloured self.

There’s movement in the street, a neighbour looks up, a dog barks, a man appears in the street cycling a tandem.

My heart drops, it can’t be, what is he thinking? Then again he is an unusual man, my previous thoughts of him as an eccentric are now conformed as I see him cycle to our front gate and dismount, remove his helmet to reveal those flowing blonde locks I have lusted after all these weeks.

My mother standing behind me gasps as together we breathe deeply, both of us thinking the same. You came on that? You expect me to ride with you? What are you thinking?

Where’s my helmet?

Through springtime blossoms

A bicycle built for two

Carries us away

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Written for: http://haibunthinking.wordpress.com/2014/10/07/haibun-thinking-october-7th-2014/

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Photo Challenge #29 “Passing Through”

Posted on October 7, 2014 by Michael

passing-through

Image: lesley-oldaker@Deviant Art

It would be nice to think of you

As passing through

Like a knife slicing butter

Rather than

A major gastric event.

But you were like that

Never gentle nor humble

More overbearing each time

We cringed as your car

Rattled down our street.

Girded our loins

Braced ourselves for another onslaught,

Where common decency

Decorum, etiquette

Were all words foreign to you.

Demanding our attention

Deriding any suggestion

You might be wrong or misplaced.

For two weeks each year

We suffered you,

Your lack of manners

Ignorance of other opinion.

The days we secretly countered.

Heard your cheeriness

The kitchen awash with

Your over powering personality

Oblivious to our distain.

The final mornings breakfast,

A last supper you called it

We called it one last effort.

With fake smiles, faker well wishes

We saw you off

Waved goodbye

Relief in every one’s heart

But dread that if you didn’t pass away,

We’d be saddled with you

Again next year.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/10/07/photo-challenge-29-passing-through/

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Wordle #29 – The Scriptwriter

Posted on October 6, 2014 by Michael

week-29

This weeks words to play with: Burnish (polish, brighten) Drivel (foolish talk) Theatre Limp Stamp Sciamachy (an act or instance of fighting a shadow or an imaginary enemy) Vulnerability Fountain Shame Patient Ancestral Stare

‘This script Johnny is drivel!’

If I’d heard that once I’d heard it a thousand times. No matter where I took my words the result was always the same. To break into the theatre business was a pain in the arse to say the least. I asked myself a million times how did Shakespeare do it? Though I did know the answer to that, he had his own theatre company; I had a word processor and a book of stamps.

I sent my scripts everywhere and to every theatre publisher I knew. Each one returned with the same apologetic expressions, ‘your work has potential but we do not feel it is what our company is looking for at this moment.’

My favourite script was the tale of an aging male’s vulnerability when faced with his greatest mid life crisis, he stands naked before his beautiful leading lady staring sadly at his limp member drawing the audience’s attention to the fact that his search for the fountain of youth had shamefully deserted him. Despite her pleas for him to be patient and to relent and take the small blue pill she holds out for him he argues that in his ancestral family every male was able to stand on his own.

This moment I thought was such a pivotal and poignant scene and one that would burnish the play with a freshness hitherto not seen before.

All efforts of course fell on deaf ears as theatre owners suggested the potentiality of the scene but feared the legal ramifications and laws suits the scene would generate could put them out of business. I think I went a little too far inferring a little hip sciamachy might be a crowd pleaser when pitching my script the First Self Righteous Church Theatre Company which did result in some consternation among the committee members some of whom had to be revived with smelling salts.

But I had learned during my years of writing that you should never give up on an idea if you believe in it. Drivel it may have been to some, but I knew I just had to find the right company, one where my play could be burnished and stamped as the theatrical masterpiece I knew it was and that one day my name would be up in lights, glittering shamelessly, society no longer limp in the acceptance of hip sciamachy as a legitimate form of theatrical expression.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/10/06/wordle-29/

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Prompt #75 Influence the Dark Side -2

Posted on October 5, 2014 by Michael

not-my-dark-soul-stylianos-kleanthous

This week there have been two excellent prompts in MLM. This effort takes the photo prompt offered by Laura and combines with MLM’s prompt from yesterday.

In the dark my soul climbs the walls

I see you and what you are

Your breathe enticing yet deadly

Manipulation your middle name.

One part of me wants to please you

Bend to your every wish

Yes ma’am no ma’am, three bags full ma’am

Cowering in the corner I seek approval.

You have taken my soul, I sold out

I lay before you a wretched forlorn man

Twisted and tormented, damaged beyond repair

Used and abused as your plaything.

My soul has climbed one last wall

My last spark of resistance, rebellion

Fires my resolution, defiance raises its head

Your bewilderment proffers satisfaction.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/10/05/prompt-75-influence-the-dark-side/

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Prompt #75 Influence the Dark Side – The Patsy

Posted on October 5, 2014 by Michael

antonia-mora

Image: Antonio Mora

I watched you so often from afar

Never dreamed I would encounter you

Never imagined you would show a speck of interest

As you went about your lofty manipulative business.

It was as I recall a chance

Alone on the same bus stop

A conversation

You piqued an interest

I fell for your allure.

A drink you said in feigned innocence

My mouth fell open too good to be true

My brain flashed red, signalled an alert

My other brain said: ‘Go man go.’

So with eyes on mine, your hand held firm

You led me and I gladly followed.

There’s a lot of truth in ‘grabbed by the short and curlies’

But you never notice when enamoured

All starry eyed and dribbling.

Within a week I was in your arms,

I thought of nothing else but you

Those moments where you dropped your dress

When you took me in hand into your bed.

Never had I felt such lust, such desire

You said you need me, said; ‘You’re my one great love.’

Made me feel the ultimate man

My ego you embellished beyond its worth

But I was too blind to ever see.

Then the subtle requests, if you don’t mind

Take this here, drop that there,

We need to be rid of the competition

There’s only room in this town for us.

With blood on my hands I answered the door

Man handled and jostled, led away

I turned but you were no where to be seen

Evaporated as if you’d never been there.

Then I realised your careful manoeuvre.

I was the one left holding the bunny

You had vanished, never heard of again.

Caught red handed, I did see the joke

I languish and continue to do so.

I never dreamed of meeting you

Never imagined you interested in me

But I was your patsy, nothing more.

It was as my mother once said:

‘Too good to be true? Then it probably is.’

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/10/05/prompt-75-influence-the-dark-side/

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Fairytale Prompt #28 – Nihilation Grunge

Posted on October 4, 2014 by Michael

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Photo by Anja

Nihilation Grunge looked about and decided that this was the most beautiful place he had ever lived.

It had taken many years of hard work to get the Reflective Ponds Memorial and Resting Gardens to the standard he desired but he considered it well worth the effort as he stood and cast his eye over his domain, a vista that left his soul calm and pondering the sheer majesty of nature.

Here before him lay the result of his labours, a home for the dearly departed fairies, sprites, nymphs and any miscellaneous being who stumbled upon their beautiful town.

He had set out to create the ideal Resting Place, an area in which loved ones could feel safe that their loved one was in the right hands and in the right place.

His team were hard working, dedicated and loyal to him. One thing he could say about fairies was that when presented with a task to complete they would work their little wings off in completing the job to his satisfaction.

Today was a special day in the town of Reflecting Ponds. Olafus Murkle had passed away and the whole town was expected to attend his funeral. Olafus had been town mayor for many years and the source of so much inspiration to many over his long life.

Nihilation expected many to attend, there would be tears, speeches and more speeches as every one it seemed saw Olafus as a very good person and wanted to have their say.

He had made sure that the sniff fairies had a more than adequate supply of flower handkerchiefs for the occasion.

With such a huge outpouring of grief within the community there was no telling how long the service might take.

Such was the importance of the event Nihilation had engaged his best funeral celebrant, a petite fairy who would flutter among the congregation delivering her eulogy in her own unique way. People always felt their loved ones had received the best send off when The Mill Park Fairy officiated.

Today she had been well oiled in the correct protocols, the appropriate attire, her wings were preened and sparkling and Nihilation was pleased to see her earlier that morning practicing her fluttering and eulogy out behind the cabbage patch.

As the moment of the ceremony approached and the congregation assembled amid hushed respectful voices Nihilation couldn’t help but gasp at the riot of colour that greeted him, flowers of every hue and kind tastefully arranged around the coffin of Olafus Murkle. This was not to be a sad dour affair, as Olafus would want everyone to celebrate his life, sing, drink, make merry and of course dance.

The Fairyland Jazz band had set up in a corner of the chapel and were tuning up, before launching into their own rendition of ‘When the Sprites come marching in.’ The area in front of the coffin was a cleared space where the singing and dancing would take place.

This was going to be a memorable event thought Nihilation, a mark of a persons esteem within the community was not how many attended the final service but how many danced and how long the whole event took.

Nihilation thought to himself, this is going to be a long day.

It was indeed a long day. The community honoured Olafus as they had no other. The singing and dancing at first full of precision and finesse gradually deteriorated under the pressure of large amounts of alcohol being used to toast Olafus’ departed soul. Nihilation lost count of how many toasts were called for, it was easier just to raise your glass and sip a little more Fairy Wine and feel its intense alcoholic effects gradually take over and leave you wanting nothing more than the opportunity to drink more. Fairy Wine did that to you, you never felt you had had enough. Enough was when the supply ran out.

As the sun set that afternoon, Nihilation and his team finally laid Olafus to rest in a spot carefully selected to overlook the Reflective Ponds and with a view of the town centre. He’ll be happy here was the general consensus.

That night Nihilation pulled of his shoes and rested his weary feet. It had been a good day, the community had rallied to the cause of Olafus Murkle and tomorrow they would sleep late, the consumed wine had a long term restive effect, there would be not much work on offer as most would not rise until after midday.

He sat back and looked out over the Memorial Gardens and thought it is a good place to live. Patting his rounded stomach he laid his head back and drifted off into a well-deserved slumber.

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/10/03/fairytale-prompt-28/

Posted in Faery Tale, Funeral, Life, MLM | Tagged , , , , , , , | 13 Comments

N + 7 = (Huh?) The Marriage of Math and Poetry

Posted on October 3, 2014 by Michael

Morpheus and Croessus

Here is the original poem:

Come to me?

Come to me?

I call you in the night

My bed, desolate.

I wonder where you have gone

To which port, into whose arms.

I loved the expectation of your words

That you could sooth me

My anxieties you could calm

My fears failed never realised

Your protective arms around me

I long for your return.

My heart aches

A throbbing reminder

Of my loss.

Leaving me

Devoid of all emotion

A shell, a vessel taking water

Ready to sink below the morass

I now flounder in.

Now by applying Victoria’s formula it becomes this:

Come to me?

Come to me?

I call you in the nimrod

My beer, desolate.

I wonder where you have gone

To which porter into whose arnica.

I loved the expectation of your worsted

That you could sooth me

My apartment you could calvery.

My fears failed never realised

Your protective arms around me

I long for your revenue

My hecatomb aches

A throbbing rencounter

Of my loss.

Leaving me

Devoid of all emprise

A sheriff, a vessel taking wealth

Ready to sink below the Morpheus

I now flounder in.

Written for: http://dversepoets.com/2014/10/02/n-7-huh-the-marriage-of-math-and-poetry/

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Tale Weaver’s Prompt #28 – Grim

Posted on October 3, 2014 by Michael

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They say the night is always worse as we imagine more than we do during the daylight hours. That is certainly the case with my house.

Its an old house by our standards, over a hundred years old, seen a few families many of whom were my past family.

It’s during the night that the house speaks. The timbers communicate with each other in a language that is haunting reminder of the houses age. The gentle creak of a beam can to countered by the crack of an expanding or contracting timber depending on the season.

Added to that are the footsteps on the old flooring as it gives way under the pressure of the ghostly footsteps. This goes on most nights in some form or other.

I can say this about my house it rarely has the same conversation with itself.

Once I got used to the creaks and groans, and ceased being frightened by the swaying walls, the way the cast iron bath rocks when you sit in it, lights going on and off at all sorts of odd hours I feel the house has come to accept me.

It has character, a unique personality, that’s how I describe it even though it doesn’t look all that different from other houses in the street.

Though the 1am noises have always bothered me. Somewhere there is a child crying. I cannot put my finger on where, as it seems to move from place to place throughout the house.

All can be quiet and peaceful, I will be sleeping deeply only to be awakened by the sound of the child crying. As if that is worrying enough the temperature in the house drops suddenly when this phenomenon begins. Summer or winter it makes no difference. The baby cries, the house freezes.

I have walked round my house trying to find its location but to no avail. The only thing that has presented itself is that in the spare room I have had the sensation of a cold breath on my neck; as if someone is standing behind me, close enough to feel their breath, which is deathly cold.

This has been going on for some time and I know now when it will finish as around 2am the baby gasps, the crying stops.

But by then I am a shivering mess, at my wits end trying to discover what is happening.

Research has taught me that in 1913 a child to Mathias and Hilda O’Gorman died in the house in the middle of a particularly cold winter. The parents had been to a church meeting and upon their return found their children all asleep. Thinking they were in with the chance of a peaceful nights sleep they too went to bed. In the morning the older daughter ran in to say the baby was not moving. The baby was frozen stiff.

The daughter believed the baby had cried itself to sleep.

Could this be the baby whose cries chill my bones?

Written for: http://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2014/10/02/tale-weavers-prompt-28-grim/

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Poem 132 – I Wanted to Write a Poem Today.

Posted on October 2, 2014 by Michael

photo(7)

I wanted to write a poem today

But no words came

Not a one.

As if my muses were on holiday

Moved out

Needed a break.

Sit and ponder though I

Of metaphors and figures of speech

Twist words into meaning

Profound

Profundity abounding.

But instead a blankness descended

Engulfed me in shadows

Laid me in the waste land

Said come again another day.

I wanted to write a poem today

But no words came

Not a one!

I sat and read of being lost

I related to that

My mind floats in a vortex

Where there is no beginning no end

Just a ceaseless void

An abyss to fall into

Where demons rejoice at my lack of lustre

Ridicule any attempt at lucidity

Chaos rules supreme

A jumble of words

Meaninglessness

Maybe I should come back another day.

I wanted to write a poem today

But no words came

Not a one.

I read some Eliot,

Lord Alfred even

Shakespeare only offered impediment

No clue to the gist of anything

Myths they said try that

What? Why? How?

Bunyips came to mind

They live in my back creek

Nasty characters but we do get on

The attention would embarrass

They embrace anonymity.

Maybe I should come back another day?

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