Calico Dream

Calico Dream

Calico ghost

cowgirl on the whirlwind,

drinks dusty nectar

from the thimble of

a wildflower's face,

dances on a wagon wheel

across a wicked wasteland,

eyes on the blue mountains

and the swallow's last home.

Her well-wound heart

chimes soft as a pocket watch

under cool cotton covers.

She washes in sunsplash

and curls up contented 

to whisper when the coyote howls.

She's nothing but a promise

guarding the river

that sinners can't cross.

Calico girl

sings me at sunset

a tune from the Territory

a chant from the Tribes

beaded with pollen hot from the prairie,

keeping her hands clean, hiding

the hunted, defying the flag.

She follows the trail

no murderer can see.

~August 2017

posted for Izy's Unseen

( nothing more unseen than a cowgirl in a dream)

Images: Cowgirls, public domain
via wikimedia commons

Friday Flash Fiction 55 Farewell Tour

Life is change, and all good things must end, and come again, and all that jive,  but today is a sad day here at Verse Escape as we say goodbye to the G-man 's Friday 55 meme.

Galen Hayes, (Mr KnowItAll) after seven years of kicking ass and taking names, has decided to hand over the Friday funfest to new ownership. I'll let you read the details over at his place. I also encourage you to participate in the farewell tour with a final 55 of your own.

Looking back over my posts, I see that I have written one hundred and thirty four 55 word poems or prose pieces for the Master of 55's, and the one below I just cranked out makes one hundred thirty-five.  

135!!!

Many of those poems would never have been written without that platform, its supportive readers and Galen himself with his always warm praise and hospitality.

Galen's goal has always seemed to be to me to connect and to have fun, some of the best things we can do with the internet. He has not just patiently, but cordially waded through my incomprehensible gibberish and weekly hallucinations and never missed a beat (or a smart-ass remark.) I shall miss this weekly celebration immensely, even though it will continue in a new form elsewhere--it will not be--nor should it be--the same without him.

So tonight, here without further ado is my totally non-hallucinatory tribute to a fine meme, and a finer gentleman. I call it

Ode to the G-Man

Whether it was snow or hailin'

you could always count on Galen.

Every Friday (maybe Thursday)

every week's-end, late or early,

cheerfully he'd read your scribble,

tactfully not call it drivel.

It was real & it was fun

BUT 
tonight the G-Man's done.

Gun that Harley, go take five,

then please
Have a Kick-Ass Life.

~March, 2014

55 lonely teardrops for  the g-man 

:C

Just for fun, here is a link to the very first 55 I ever posted, back in November of 2010, the second month of my first year blogging, called Dental Work--that proved to be quite a prophetic title, eh, G?

B-logorrhea

B-logorrhea

I'm just a blogging poet

despised by academe.

I don't count my atonalities.

I rust my cast iron dreams

in a rain of ruinous lunacies.

I polish twenty syllables

to spin you a ragged dime,

I sonnet from non-portuguese;

I don't hold my nose at rhyme.

I'm just a blogging poet:

read, rinse, repeat online.

~December 2013

55 blithering logorrheic units for    the g-man

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night! I plan on taking a blogging break till the New Year, but I will be lurking around in case someone makes me a prompt I can't refuse. 

Best of holidays to all and so many grateful thanks to all my readers who take the time and energy to visit, read, rinse and repeat all year long.

Image: Untitled, by Janiana C Falkiewicz on flick'r
Shared under a Creative Commons License