Alone with her beauty #magpietales #poetry

A beauty they claimed

her eyes full of fire

the men wanted those lips

and … yes hot with desire

though songs were sung  pictures painted

she waited for love

alone

***

an aging beauty they said

her eyes full of tears

the scores and paintings now smeared

hoping for one

to dry her eyes

she stood waiting

alone

***

wrinkled now with only a faint glow

she looked to the moon

“it’s late I know”

turning she beheld wrinkled and gray

he had always been there

never seen til this day

she smiled and he saw her beauty

no longer

alone

The picture speaks of a woman rejected and alone. I had to throw in some hope even as the night approaches.

Thanks to the gracious Tess Kincaid who hosts Magpie Tales week after week for all to enjoy.

Merciless Game #poetry #magpietales #birds

Yesterday…

She buried her head in the sand

Today…

He cowered in his nest

~Tomorrow~

They swoop down on innocence

Unhooded hawk

do not feign ignorance

 you hold lifelessness in your claw

predatory gaze

at your next victim

making life

a merciless game

of your gain

Thanks to Tess of Magpie Tales for the excellent prompt and to ParkeHarrison  for the photo: “Study-of-Nest” copyright 1994

Dream Machine #flashfiction #magpietales

“I had a wonderful dream,” I said to my roommate my hair in a very mussed state.

“Oh but then you are always having dreams,” she grinned.” What was the dream this time?”

“It was more dreamy than usual. It was if  a fog machine was on in my room.

The hottie who is always in my dreams was in a three piece suit. Ive never seen him dressed like that.

He told me he loved what I was wearing.

Then the fog rose. I didnt see the rest of my own dream. Must have been X rated.”

“Well in your case roomie PG-13.”

I laughed ” I guess you are right. I woke up fully clothed.”

 

Thanks Tess for the great picture prompt for this week’s Magpie Tales

 

 

View from Deja Vu #micro fiction #poetry

How had i gotten here

To the place of my dreams

i have been here before

In my childhood it seems

***

A meaningless game

Of chairs and of song

My chair it is missing

From the play i am gone

***

i am found in a field

An ominous place

Empty chairs everywhere

Not a single Child’s face

***
i have been here before

My chair it is missing

Not a single Child’s face

there is No One who is listening

Thanks to Tess Kincaid for the weekly prompts on Magpie Tales / This one has many great words without a single sound

The Little Ruler #microfiction #magpietales

He had a mighty voice so they said.

He paraded and pomped a crown on his head.

Wherever he went they oohed and they awed

Some said he was greater than God

Then came a day a wind blew and blew

and when it was over his kingdom was through

He cried and he tantrumed with his little voice

the people heard  it had been their choice

for when the wind had stopped and people could see

what was left was minute smaller than wee

the king had put himself high in acclaim

but he was nothing more than the height of his crane

Many thanks to Tess of Magpie Tales for the wonderful prompt this week.

Raven’s Rain #microfiction #magpietales

I looked in her eyes.

So much sorrow

so  much pain.

As tears began to fall

they were more turbulent

than the rain

what can I do

to remove this blight?

for she is my everything

my true love’s delight!

Yet what can a mere

black raven do?

I  am small

meaningless

insignificant too!

Then I heard

the wind’s roar through the rain.

I will turn her black as the night

give her feathers

remove this bane.

We will never caress

nor will we embrace.

But of her tears

there is no memory nor trace.

thanks to Magpie Tales for a wonderful challenge to put this picture to words and to the beautiful Tess Kincaid who makes this happen

The Colorless Life #microfiction

“There was very little color in my life,” she sighed in her accented narration.

“We were poor, daddy rarely came home and when he did I always thought he was mean and he smelled funny.

He was a lousy drunk who would take what little mama could save in that pitiful cracked jar.

There was the man with the red umbrella though. He would come on rainy nights

( now I knows it’s because papa always stayed at the bar on those nights to keep warm on the bosom of a barmaid.)

ah yes the man with the red umbrella …

He always had a small toy for Petro and candy for me or a ribbon for my hair

….and wine for mama.

She didn’t need the wine for the smile was there the moment she heard his shoes splash against the cobblestones.

He told us stories of far away places and as our heads bobbed with sleep he would gently tuck us into bed.

When I awoke, the sun always shone after the man with the red umbrella had visited.

When I was older, I looked in Petro’s eyes and saw the light dance in his eyes like the man with the red umbrella.

I smiled knowing a little more about color…”

Thanks to Tess of Magpie Tales who always sponsors a wonderful time and offers delightful prompts.

When We Were Young #microfiction

We were just kids then though we felt we could change the world

The boys were already leaving in their shiny new blues or greens for another land

giggling as they went

knowing when they returned the letter jacket would be replaced with a band of gold for the girls

Some smiles grew wiser as they opened each new account

Others lost their smiles completely when the horrid news came out

And now the eyes remaining

glisten with a wisdom not all their own

We never knew survival would extract such a precious toll

This great prompt came from Tess Kincaid over at Magpie Tales

Let’s Play a Little Jazz (#microfiction)

No more trills

have had enough of that

this Gavotte

is sounding rather flat

*

Music I simply adore

but please mon conductor

can we add some pizzazz

and lighten up with Jazz

 

Needless to say in a house filled with musicians – it’s nice to have some variety.

Thanks to Monkey Man for hosting Flash Fiction each week.

The photo prompt is from Willow who each week hosts Magpie Tales

Part of Me (#short story)

A chubby little hand in the firm grasp of a stout Dutch woman with kind eyes. The fog may have concealed landmarks of  the street that loomed ahead but the smell of calf-skin leather leant comfort and stability. Tapered fingers would gently slide out of the gloves onto the keys. The pianist coaxed the songs of broadway from the lips of a shy little girl. Little fingers would wiggle in too big gloves as a little girl giggled and took in the scent of White shoulders and pretended she was a grown-up.

She gently tugged each frail finger off. The separation of the gloves apparent. Each motion  struck another key, a memory, of the woman who held her fast, put a song in her heart, and assured her she was loved. The gloves the only tangible evidence that her grandmother remained firmly fixed in her heart.

Thanks to Tess who hosts Magpie Tales each week. A Happy New Year to each of you as memories of the past fill your heart with a glow and prepare you for memories to come.