THE MAGNETISM OF POETRY

Our home is always storing stuff for people in betweens.  At one time a magnetic poetry kit --words printed on magnetic backing--lived at our house.  I found it fascinating and challenging to work with a restricted  vocabulary.  The following are a few poems that resulted.

MARCH

Rotten snow rusts.

Gardens and forests still sleep.

Wind’s iron fingers smear shadows.

We ache inside

Homesick for spring.

TRUE POWER

Our feet beat fast away from

Repulsive smells,

But tongues want to recall

Pounds of sweet chocolate.

True power

Springs from love

Not strong.

IMAGINATION

You could stare beneath a forest

Flooded with purple shadows

And white mist.

Rain like diamond juice

Shines through

A rose petal garden.

Water chants a symphony

Sunlight swims in a lake

Of green music.

Some say these visions

Are only produced

Behind smooth sleep.

Yet together

We can easily dream

With language.

SHOOTING A DUCK IN MY OVERCOAT

This morning I shot a duck in my overcoat. How he got in my overcoat I’ll never know.

The wind was gone, which was a very good thing. Last night it blew so fierce I almost ended up in the next county just trying to cross a parking lot.

I took my camera with me on my walk. I know, I know--it always makes me late.

The sun eased its way over the mountains.

I almost got trampled by a runner.

Morning. Tah Dah!

And the moon faded to pastel blue.

Nobody on the golf course. The snow hazards are still a little discouraging.

On my way back to the house I noticed a lot of people driving to work.

Work? What time is it? UH oh!

Short shower again this morning. At least I have a new hair dryer.

GREAT ARTISTS AT WORK (Flicker link)

Yes, I know I can post videos on YouTube. But I'm not excited for the world to have such easy access.

Video version three.  Learning to publish a video on my blog.  Click on the link to see the video on my Flicker Account. 

We had a lot of talent and a lot of fun at our house over the weekend.  Notice these kids don't worry about coloring in the lines.  In fact, Her Majesty isn't even limiting herself to the paper. Wish I could show you more but until I upgrade my Flicker account I'm limited to 90 seconds. (Yeah, I know 90 seconds is plenty, if not too much).

Hope you had a great Easter weekend!

SMOKING GUN

It was one of those mornings when I squandered a few a lot of precious minutes reading blogs. I was just going to visit one or two, but overnight a lot of brilliant posts had appeared. Now I was really running late for work. A quick shower, clothes and a slice of toast. All I had left was to apply a few layers of paint to my face so I wouldn’t scare children, do something with my wet hair, and rush out the door.

I was in the bathroom working over my wet mop when: PTANG! BeeeZang! FizzT! and my blow dryer stopped humming and started shooting sparks. Then all went quiet and I was left standing there holding a smoldering weapon. Kinda felt like Dirty Harry--

“I know what you're thinking. "Did she fire six shots or only five?" Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?”

But my smoking gun dryer was useless against sopping hair. In fact the dryer was totaled. I tossed it and went for the next best source of hot moving air; the furnace vent in the floor. So there I was kneeling with my head over the heater vent and my rear in the air. This was inelegant in so many ways. And my hair was still wet. FINE. I drove to work with my head to one side over the warm air coming out of the dash vent. There is no law (yet) against driving and drying.