circus whisper

i am whispering to you
can you see the cracks
beneath the white pan paint?
the trapeze artist
has fallen from grace
her corset laced so tight
blue  lashes flutter from the pain
i picked you out
you looked like you could tell
realities from the fake
the top flight from the grubby canvas shroud
don't be taken in
the wings are clipped
a heart beneath the feathers beats
to our tune
now you see the truth
come and join us
for the time of your life. 

This is the latest picture from Tess at Magpie Tales head over to see the other writers take on the  Marc Chagall painting, Circus with the yellow clown.

ripe

The Mag 117

head over to Tess to see the others.

                                                             The Meal by Paul  Gauguin

RIPE


we split the mango

to the pebble stone

orange flesh

running juice

down our necks

laughing

your tongue caught the drips

of my desire.

Summer visitors

1

i woke up

and drew the curtains

to find 

a host of swallows

chattering perched on high wires

flitting and fluttering

forty three tiny hearts beating 

just the other side of a pane of glass

the air was alive with them.

The Mag 116

See the others here

                                                          image RAD Stainforth

                                                                                                      2

as we walked in the very early morning

the joy of the swallows

wrapped around 

my heightened senses

heavy cloud could not diminish 

the lightness i felt

feet floating above the ground

skimming over mud and flint

if a gust of wind had happened by

i should have been lifted 

up and over 

the freshly emerging canopy

of green

as we passed over the bridge

the river newly swollen by rain

rushed below

dredging weed and fallen twigs 

while in the distance 

the approaching beat of air

against white wings

 as five swans fly by

feather on gray

we are the only ones in the world

this morning

with nature as our close companion.

6/5/12

'You never enjoy the world aright, till the sea itself floweth in your veins, till you are clothed with the heavens and crowned with the stars.-

Thomas Traherne