Saturday, May 15, 2021

Sun Kiss

 



Sun Kiss

 


The sun was on me
that day. 
It came
 
through the bars
selfless as my
grandmother's kiss;
 
 clover mead light,
sweet on the lips
of winter's dead dream.

I turned my back
on the itching of buses.
I forgot 
 
the black lilies
spearing frozen worlds, 
nova'd stars.
 
Promises overflowed
the bottles of my eyes.
For a moment
 
I even tasted
the blackberry vintage
of you
 
decanted before me,
then dust
once again.





May 2021
 
 
















posted for  Fireblossom






Images: Photo, artist unknown Fair Use
Olive Trees with Yellow Sky and Sun, 1889, © Vincent Van Gogh  Fair Use



Friday, December 25, 2020

Friday 55 Holiday Edition 2020

 



 

 Welcome all, to the final Flash Fiction prompt of 2020, a Holiday Edition of the Friday 55. This year has been a slog, and it's not over yet, but the time has come to acknowledge it will not last forever, and in fact is in its last throes of weirdness and upheaval as we speak. Whether your mood is celebratory, contemplative or still an utter roil of feelings, you're invited to write it all out here, in 55 words, no more no less, on any subject that strikes your fancy.
 
I will leave the page open for contributions til December 31st at midnight since this is a busy time for all, even in isolation. 
 
Post the link to your 55 in the comments below, and I will be by to mark the passing of this Hell Year with you.

Brighter Days Ahead.
 
 
~ *~
 
My 55, such as it is:
 
 
 
 

 

 Supplication To The Old Year




Jack Frost, Jack Frost
crack the wind
for what we've lost.
Kiss the tree,
break the wood.
Show us all that's gone for good.
 
Toss the cow over
the mad moon's head.
Put stars on her horns
in the land of the dead.
 
Numb my hand, burn my ear;
then keep your promise and disappear.
 
 
 
 
 
December 2020



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Images: Vintage Victorian Christmas Card, circa 1890  Fair Use
Illustration for The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayam, © Edmond Dulac  Fair Use
Cow and Moon, © Alex Colville    via intyernet   Fair Use

 

 

Saturday, December 19, 2020

Snow Blind

 

 


 

 "If it's peace you find in dying, when dying time is here,
just bundle up my coffin cause it's cold way down there,
I hear that's it's cold way down there, yeah, crazy cold way down there.."
~Laura Nyro, When I Die
 
 
Snow Blind
 
I sit remembering
when we were dragons,
our mating flight in October's
bloodbright sky, 
another country
that rush of scales and fire.
 
Or when you saw me first,
moth with green-eyed wings
on a factory rafter. You knew
 among the nymphs
I was a spriggan

twisted wry but quick and hot,
that on the mountain with the goats
I climbed the highest
to be alone, krampus-girl
too full to eat the darkness.
 
So come, wind of the north.
Blow this west-wind fever from me
with your ice-eyes and cheap bargains.
Mound the cold grey snow
upon this bed, shabby
goblin sheets to numb my sores,
 
rime my lids 
 snow blind, give me
shadow glow, hallucinations, lunatic
visions, his
living face candle-lit,
smiling

at me:
the glass dragon,
the dust-moth dry with
death's-head wings,
broken as easily 
as a candy heart.
 
 

December 2020











 
 
 
posted for Fireblossom
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Spriggan: "a legendary creature from Cornish faery lore...said to be found at old ruins, cairns, and barrows guarding buried treasure. Although small, they were usually considered to be the ghosts of giants..notorious for their unpleasant dispositions...~wikipedia
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: photo of Laura Nyro via internet   Fair Use
Moth Wing © Amelia Fletcher    Fair Use
 
 

Saturday, November 28, 2020

In The Tank

 
(SCROLL DOWN FOR THE 55)


 
 

 
 
 
In The Tank
 
 
 
In the tank, watching
the last foam ascend,
no rockets from
this wet womb, nothing
left but the sinking
still

the spirit seed
warm-curled in rainsilk, is
a spark self-shielded,
a voice unheeded
untrained but turning, a
desire piercing

paper-dead husk
with green.
The birth cord was tangled,
the roots softly angled,
a woven squared circle
of sticky heartweb.

There in that secret
float of penumbra
I felt you move.
I felt myself
blowing, unwrapped and golden,
in the tears of the sun.

 
 November 2020
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 posted for
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: Artist and title unknown, manipulated,  via internet, Fair Use
Seedling  ©2017, joyannjones
 
 

Friday, November 27, 2020

Flash Friday 55 Thanksgiving Edition 2020

 

 


 

 Welcome all, to the Thanksgiving edition of the Friday 55. This year has seen so much turmoil, death, despair and anxiety that pulling anything up from a well of gratitude can be difficult, but there are indeed things to be thankful for, like those we love, the hope for change and renewal we have under a new administration, or like this gathering of writers remembering our history, our craft and an absent friend, the G-Man, who originated this meme and never lost his sense of humor or support for others in his quest for a kickass weekend for all. 
Thank you, Galen.
 

 
 
As always, this isn't a prompt about anything in particular, even gratitude. It's the 55. That is, 55 words of your choice on any subject, in any form, so long as the total comes to 55, no more no less.

Link your result in the comments below and I will be by to see what you have written.
 
Because of the holiday, the prompt will be extended from Thursday at midnight all weekend through Monday at noon.


~*~
Here is my 55:



 
 
 Over The Wind



I threw my leg over
the back of the wind,
or was it the mare
 
who gallops my sleep
your face
bounced in her bag,
 
leaves on her eyes
storms in her tail,
a jagged nightbird
 
with razorglass song,
dragon-winged
by a child's sleeping breath?
 
And I the rider
faded as fable,
lightning passing by.
 
 
 
 November2020
 
 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: Vintage postcard, manipulated  Fair Use
Photograph of Galen Hayes, source unknown  Fair Use
Donnerstag,  artist unknown, via internet  Fair Use
Dragon Awakens,   © Theodore Severin Kittelsen  Fair Use
 

Saturday, November 14, 2020

End Times Redux

 

 


 
 
End Times Redux
 
 
There's always been
only one end
to a skull run against
a wall of stone,
always a single truth against
 an outnumbering of fools,
 
always ears stopped to
the pulse-drum beating fear,
the microphone vomiting
all the glory lies. Reason's light
is not blown out no matter
how many choose to sit in darkness.

It's always been coming again,
this over-heat in the system;
where the sovereign goes mad
bashing skulls
in Punch and Judy shows,
stuffed with his own sawdust failures.
 
Our love is the ink with which
over and over
we scrawl these wartime sagas,
the spilled blood 
from which the Resistance
 always rises.
 
 
 


November 2020
 
 
 
 
 
 
Allegedly the last picture of Adolf Hitler before he committed suicide on . Hitler (right) and his adjutant Julius Schaub looking at the ruins of the Reich chancellery, April 28, 1945.
                              

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
posted for the inimitable Fireblossom
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Images: top, author unknown, via internet, Fair Use
Bottom: image 1:Ditto;Allegedly the last picture of Adolf Hitler before he committed suicide. Hitler (right) and his adjutant Julius Schaub looking at the ruins of the Reich chancellery, April 28, 1945.
Image 2: Trump returning to White House after election projected for Biden. ©AP Fair Use


Sunday, November 8, 2020

Mooncandle

 


 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Mooncandle
 
 

I put my candle in a jar
when all the songs were sung
to send across the raving sea
to the lost land of the young.
 
I watched its flame-eye shake and spill
across the mad night sky
til frozen waves and silver snakes
knew more of it than I.
 
Light and dark were dancing.
Beach and tide were dancing.
Man and beast were dancing.
Together---
away---
one covered the other
like a morality play.
 
But a spark from the mind
the heart's testing tide
keep a candle alive,
cover wrong with right,
 
burn a flame as bright
as the white moon's sail
untangling herself
from night's matted tail. 
 
 
 
 

November 8, 2020




biden reactions america detroit michigan donald trump sign









posted for 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Process notes: Land of The Young: "In Irish mythology Tír na nÓg ; Land of the Young) or Tír na hÓige (Land of Youth) is one of the names for the Celtic Otherworld... [it]is depicted as an island paradise and supernatural realm of everlasting youth, beauty, health, abundance and joy"~ wikipedia
Morality play: "an allegorical drama popular in Europe especially during the 15th and 16th centuries, in which the characters personify moral qualities (such as charity or vice) or abstractions (as death or youth) and in which moral lessons are taught."~Brittanica



 
Images: via internet. Artist unknown      Fair Use 
Celebration in Detroit Michigan after 2020 election, via Getty Images  Fair Use