Sunday, 23 November 2014
snowstorm by maurice de vlaminck
We abandoned the car
in rutted ice
its engine steaming under zero.
Tied together by arms
we giggled and slipped
into the light of a winter moon
Hoar frost grows
on tendrils of hair
escaped from hoods,
droplets slide down
scent cooling perfume
shivering thoughts become static
as we tumble
into the snow.
For the other writers work go here at Magpie Tales
Tuesday, 18 November 2014
I was so lucky to have my work at Floret Flower Farm last month photographed by the amazing
photographer Georgianna Lane. It was a privilege to see her at work and I am beyond excited to have this image sent through to me yesterday.
And my favorite photo by Chris, we all got used to being constantly photographed over the three days and on this day we also had a film crew from Martha Stewart's TV station....no time to be shy!!!
|image by Chris Benzakein|
Sunday, 16 November 2014
we speed to the next place
unsure of what the destination will be
we follow signs
picking the next place if there is a second letter 'u' in it
or a road number with 'three' included
we are the wayward travelers
the ones of no fixed address
we pick the next pit stop by the colour of the doors
music tunes loud
reverberates the rubber
we leave the others seemingly stationary
our distance racing into the night
as the street lights become stars
and fried food a distant memory
we power on.
Here for the others work.
Sunday, 9 November 2014
You wrapped me up in a tattered cloth of your hopes and fears
bound me tight with banners of love and duty
showed me the tarnished stars of your dreams,
I am held fast as we chase westwards.
Tired and distorted I struggled to be free
my skin a map of the rivers and valleys you took me to
wheals and welts etched as the cartographers pen
a hidden landscape rising in defiance.
See me now smooth and perfect
the marble stone, cool, alabaster
except on a dark night, a north wind raging fear
as I light the candles around me
the truth is laid bare.
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Sunday, 2 November 2014
photo credit...Dick Blick Art
You have stolen me from an old masters painting
my petals, scarlet, flayed and fading
a homage to the season of spring
tattered petals sense revolt.
You pulled me from my quiet resting ground
shot me into an unknown reverie
of target practice against a gunpowder sky.
I am the dancing flag of your anger
the quivering stamen of fear
we fall together
united into a squelching sea of mud
our singular beauty trodden upon
by unlaced hard cracked leather boots
and sliding rusty horses shoes.
We lie face to face
you may survive
your story to tell
I will gather myself in
and wait the seasons turn.
Other poets work is here!
Sunday, 26 October 2014
The detritus of our morning
followed a pattern
knit two together
The lovely image of cosy toes is supplied by Tess at Magpie Tales, for the others head over here.