Verse

Magpie Tales: Story from a Bottle

lips

lips like that won’t shatter glass
lips like that will get stuck to your ass
slipping and sliding down a mine
tumbling and wondering if you’ll stop this time
serve me pennies serve me pills
serve me a manner of different ills
hide me safely in the dark
cushion me with your glossy smile
a luxuriant version of a holy kiss

but what
I’ve really come to say
is as from today
your childhood’s closed
all your memories
will be locked up
tiny capsules
melting on my tongue
a devil’s brew never to return
so you wasted the most precious in you
the freshest, flashest, the best of you
and your lips will never shatter the glass
and all the bottles are still there
and the pills with no name
hidden in your underwear

of all things to lose
and remember of none
youth seems the one
that hurts the most
for devil you came
in such a good disguise
with your enchanting
erotic timeless
smooth
angelic
s m i l e

 

magpie tales statue stamp 185

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Carpe Diem Haiku

Carpe Diem Haiku Distillation, John McCrae’s “In Flanders Fields”

As Chevrefeuille says, the goal of this CD-Distillation is to “distil” a haiku from the long-poem in this case “In Flanders Fields”. It’s a challenge of course, but even the classical haiku-poets used parts of other poems in their haiku … so it’s a classic way of writing haiku to distil haiku from a long poem. Why don’t you join in, dear reader, if you haven’t yet!  http://chevrefeuillescarpediem.blogspot.fi/

 

In Flanders Field

 by John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.


We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.


Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

on the crosses sit the birds
that watch over the fallen of Flanders
from where the poppies grow

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Verse

Magpie Tales: Suspended

image by Martin Stranka

image by Martin Stranka

like a flapjack bought at a highway store
undressed from plastic on a flat top
and ejected at a reststop
I found freedom to cruise

crushed by second hand truckers on table tops
numbed by the candy I had to suck
leftover from someone’s pockets
I had to choose

barefoot on route 66
if I make it to the west coast
before 5 o’clock
you can have my ass

San Fransisco’s Golden Gate
on the back of a Harley Davidson
or maybe it was all a dream
flushed down a toilet at the rest stop

another coffee at the counter
another evening wasted almost masturbated
in this small town that’s just a dot
on a map at an old egg yoke pitstop

 

___________________

for magpie tales

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Flash Fiction

FF 100 Word Stories – The Way We Were…

 

He died in Afghanistan.

I was always the wild one, but you know what they say about opposites attract. He used to read me beautiful poetry. I used to shout slogans for our cause. He bailed me out of jail. I’d told him we deserved a bailing out party.

“Your pompous patriach and his anti feminist flunky are gone for two days!” I told him.

Probably my idea to put toothpaste in the  ice cream too, and then to have the ice cream fight.”That’s the last straw!” his mother had shouted, arriving home. “The military for you, son!” said his father. Wrong war, you bastard. 

melting-wax-renee-heath femenFor FF 100W stories – run admirably by Rochelle  picture by the incomparable  Renee – extra picture of ”narrator” taken of a FEMEN  activist for women’s rights, on location, the only ‘Feminista’ group I wholeheartedly support.

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Verse

Magpie Tales: Graduation Day

Finland, 1968, photo by George F. Mobley

Finland, 1968, photo by George F. Mobley

before
they let the balloons go
colourful stories
filled
to flow
float
fly
almost endlessly
rip
on jagged branches
lie defeated
in the tumbling snow
blown
torn
on the jagged edges
of jagged stone

before
the balloons
were let loose
from the palms of our hands
from the psalms
of our defunct books
so much was left unsaid
on lips
already poisoned
by too much innocence
too numbed by cold

and anyway
with nothing
nothing to say
before we passed
the real tests
and regressed
moved to our caves
let our balloons take our stories
far from us
in sunset skies
and jagged branches
where even the snow had dried
and we wonder
if we ever really tried?

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Verse

If Jesus Was a Woman (For Magpie Tales)

el greco feast-in-the-house-of-simon 1610 (1)


Feast in the House of Simon, 1610, El Greco

If Jesus was a woman
and not a lesbian
Would there still be feminism?
Would religion start to make sense to me?
And would she have worn a bra?

Could she possibly have had
better hair?
Along with line in fine lingerie
for those seeking salvation
in the arms of a woman

Would her twelve disciples have been women too?
Would they have cross-dressed
or simply just had more style?
And would she have hung from the cross?

And would Peterina
Upon arrival in Rome
have been hung upside down?

If the Buddha had been all-woman
would she have sat under tree so long?

If Stalin had been a little girl
from somewhere deep in the Urals
would the gulags have functioned so well?

Its only Mick Jagger
that would remain the same
if history could be changed
To be herstory
And of course me
Though then
I would be une Lesbienne
-as I secretly am

magpie tales statue stamp 185

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Verse

Somewhere (for wedrinkbecausewerepoets.com)

there’s a place
in my past
that I passed by
with a smile
when I should have stopped
and taken that turning

perhaps then I would not
have dropped
swatted like a fly
and instead I would have hovered above
like an eagle dressed as dove
pretended to care
for the welfare
of those with too much love

I would have worn fur coats
paid politicians to sit in my pockets
employed slaves
for my factories
and from my big fat car
I would always gaze afar
and learn to ignore
those polluted streets

but as I look back on that place
somewhere in the past
at a crossroads in my life
I’m still glad I chose me
even if they stole my dream, in those years in-between

For I still feel the taste of victory
despite it all
they never destroyed my home
never droned
me, never bombed in shock and awe
and instead just took my health
slowly
bit by bit
those criminal corporatist rich
and their itch
for more of what I do not have

And I’m still
alive

crossroads

wedrinkbecausewe’repoets

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Carpe Diem Haiku

Carpe Diem Haiku Kai – Given First Line

The goal of this feature is to write an all new haiku which starts with the given first line.

.This week’s haiku has to start with the following first line:

a shooting star

 ¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

a shooting star
-don’t go
gone

 ¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

 

¤ ¤ ¤

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Magpie Tales – The Letter

once

there was a world
where a simple hello

meant a pen
ink

the right paper
the right scratching…

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Opinion
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Opinion

Ode To Traffic Wardens

I used to hate
traffic wardens
when I was a slave to society
but now I see them
for who they are
our holy warriors
slaying dragon cars
appearing just on time
to lay down a beautiful fine
their little sword a pen
but oh don’t be mistaken
its a mighty weapon
and their shield the simple note pad
which such style they wield

Yes! Oh yes!

…oh thee of tight uniforms ankles bare
our proud holy warriors
marching in your ranks
to my eye you bring a tear
the dobermans of an Orwellian animal farm
and part of our war against terroni
on behalf of nations and corporations
yes hail the heroes who set us free!
they are veritably our kindred kind
how I’d love to put my arms around your neck
advance fair until a car be found
or hope for a delivery truck
to which an orgasmic ticket written
feels better than a …Original Sin

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Verse

dVerse – Let It Rain

soft rain
takes me home

to watch drops
roll on a window pane

grey skies
waves caress sand
-a background refrain

I walk the forest
bathed
hesitate not
in my step
it leads me away
from where I came

the passion
of the Amazon has gone
the storm that lashed my skin
nectar of native fruit sinned

her arms tightening
under the lightning

I know
I’m not tamed

for the soft shores of a final destination
that to roam is my home

that my peace is found
in the eye of the monsoon

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Challenges

Ligo Haibun Challenge – Quote Prompt Week

Winter on one side, summer on the other, we drift into December. There were some beautiful haibun last week, making the choice of Honourable Mentions absurdly difficult again. Thank you again, wonderful contributors.

This week is quote week again. Please choose one as always continued…

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Verse

Ode to the Troll

This piece has been commissioned by myself for dverse science fiction poetry, hosted tonight by the unequalled Bjorn Rudberg.

fool was I
did I think the troll would just
fly by?

I was warned
don’t trust them – or anyone
who wears their heart on their sleeves

and there it is, it’s heart
glowing maliciously in the dark
pumping sparks that will not ignite

I wonder what the troll thinks it is
perhaps the Marine of the internet
invading free speech

you come from a dark planet
full of insidious plants
but your words – I fear – have little effect

feed yourself on another
you’re a victim of your own success
or lack of it

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Haibun

This Week At The Ligo Haibun Challenge

Haiku is the  customary close to a haibun’s prose, and fits so well, but in our innovation week we are not obliged to limit ourselves to haiku. What we must not forget is that the haiku, either one or more, is a distillation of the prose, in a contrasting form, and seems to enhance the prose, while of course the prose itself raises the haiku up.

In saying that, there are other forms that might also work with prose to create a particular magic.

So this week, in innovation week make a choice between haiku or tanka, or pathya vat from Cambodia, orthanbauk from Burma, now Myanmar, to go with your prose. You may also choose another form, though I would hesitate to go much further in volume than a tanka, which does make me slightly uneasy, as the balance just may be ‘wrong.’ 

Pathya vat is a four-line poem, with 4 syllables each line – and line 2 and 3 must rhyme. Here’s one I tried.

my forest walk
is long enough
to stop my rust
-meditation

XXXX
XXXA
XXXA
XXXX

Yes, I know, not very deep – but there isn’t prose behind it, and to be honest a couple of paragraphs describing my feelings among the trees might go nicely with this.

Thanbauk is poetry of three lines with four syllables on each line. The rhyme pattern of thanbauk can be seen below, with 4th, 3rd and 2nd syllables rhyming in the 1st, 2nd and 3rd lines. Here’s my first attempt, without any prose to give it more depth as a haibun.

X X X A
X X A X
X A X X

a coffee poured
eyes adored, hers 
her, bored, so tired

As you have noticed I haven’t mentioned syllable requirements for the tanka. Let’s generally label the requirements frameworks. In tanka they are  (notionally for Ligo Haibun) 5-7-5-7-7 syllables. 

Should you prefer to use the haiku as is customary, there are 3 forms that are variants. One is the 5-7-5 syllable English language format, which stresses form over meaning. another one that is popular is the haiku over 3 lines with no more than 17 syllables in total, but no line requirement, and the third is freestyle with no syllable count over 3 lines.

This week is quote prompt week. You do not need to include the quote in the haibun, and normally it is not included but used as inspiration for your haibun. As always, choose one.

It is not enough to know how to ride – you must also know how to fall.–Mexican Proverb
It is solved by walking. –Algerian Proverb

WEEKLY LIGO HAIBUN CHALLENGE HERE

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My Forest & I

Prayer Time

033

There should be no doors to a church
No nails to a cross on which a victim is hung
In order for us to chant a hymn
No priest in sacrilegious sacraments
No virgins to satisfy the inability of some

There should be no lord no saviour
Except a deep understanding of nature
No commandments
No flock to follow
Deaf, blind and dumb

No teacups or mugs
With the picture of the pope
No creedence to the belief in any holy goat
No masses to join to whitewash any guilt

Stop believing someone from a fantasy they call history
Has a role for you
Spend a little time in the freedom of natural rhythms
Do not be tamed into becoming sheep

Do not be shamed, into becoming sheep

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238

Opinion

See yu Wullie Wordsworth, ye didnae have this tae compose wi’, did youse?

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