Breaking through gray clouds pregnant with rain, a bright xanthic orb brightens the sky and warms the shadows. A pile of shoes shed near the front door during cold and dark are now ignored in favor of rubbing sole to earth and feeling the purr.
I'm not sure how old this washing machine is - but no matter how many times I fill it with laundry I never fail to wonder about the wording in this warning. Does it mean what it says, or does it mean what it thinks it says? The first two lines are so wise.
The third: 'Failure to do so...' confuses me. It reads like a double negative to me. Sometimes I think about painting that line out but what would I ponder while waiting for the tub to fill?
Magpie Tales 19Please visit the Magpie site to view the image prompt for which this was written and to see what others wrote. This is a previously published poem but it when I saw the prompt, it came into my mind and didn't leave.
Scissors and Knives
Young unblinking eyes
brand me a stranger
in that Frankfurt square
where shawled women
walk with unwrapped bread
and fabric bags of produce.
Outside a temporary rental
my landlord bends to clip the grass
with scissors used to trim his beard,
the same tool splits domestic hare
into Sunday night's entree.
Germans have shears
and a war bunker up the street;
the Swiss have army knives.
Watercolor created on Bamboo Fun Tablet with Adobe Photoshop Elements.
This plant began as a cutting from Mother's hoya after her untimely death twenty-four years ago. Its green leaves now wind in and out and all around to cover the entire window sill area plus a little more.
When Jen, who has been the main caretaker for this special hoya, mentioned that it was blooming, I raced to take a picture since it had been a long time since I'd seen a hoya blossom.
Magpie Tales offers a wonderful prompt by image on each Thursday morning. Responses are due before the following Tuesday morning. View the image at the site and read what others wrote. It's a fine trip.
Tamped Down Taupe
released from shades of gray
formed by sackcloth taupe
she sings of burning hope
sends it off to sky blue orbit
she cries out to the wind
dreamers' old stories
now sheer with overuse
the cocoon spat her out
with wings too wet to fly
she shuts her mouth