Saturday, October 16, 2010

Threads of time...Magpie#36

Willow's Magpie Tales is bustling with poems on yet another interesting prompt:

Fate plays a game without a score
bringing me back where I grew
Musing at the apron of loneliness
covering me, hovering over me
in a room once painted with memoirs
opening a window down memory lanes
joints cricking , reminiscence aching
dusting those sun-kissed
work hardened hands
brows wiggling against blinding
rays of my county’s sun.

I see weeds sprouting despondently
worming a dried up backyard
where we rushed over fences
to catch the first carol every Christmas
where the castles in sandboxes
were the only known sands of time
when edgy rainy dull Sundays
stranded us in our rooms
waiting with noses against this window
chin upon clenched hands
sniffing running noses
spirits only soaring higher by the minute.

I changed, aged, matured
but this place remains unaffected
I’ve grown wings, wrinkles
challenged, failed, bruised with time
stabilized which was a gamble then
when daring an enemy-clad sibling
was the only mission in tow
failure was getting a B in art
while that neighbor’s acing it
bruising meant a wounded knee
or a scraped elbow over sunset
times do flicker and people do differ
you realize smiling a little
that was then & this is now…

~ET/MD, 2010

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Magpie #35...

Willow's Magpie Tales is up with a new prompt...Oh God! There comes a next one, in a blink of an eye!

I have two pieces for this:

Take #1

“It’s amber or…hmph…may be chrome yellow” she said.

“It’s dark yellow, I think”, he said.

“There is nothing known as dark yellow”

“Why is that? If you can have dark green or brown, what’s wrong with dark yellow?”

“No! It could be Urobilin or Goldenrod” her chin going up.

“Ahh…could be what?” he gave a no-clue expression.

“I said…”, then she looked up at the stranger beside her “Urobilin?...Goldenrod?” giving him a duh expression.

He shrugged with a blank expression.

“Let’s ask the artist. Who is it by the way? Do you know him?”

Narrowing her eyes and searching for a name on the painting…
”It’s some Nick Tad”, he interrupted.

“Ohh, do you know him?” she started scanning the room.

He removed his hands from his pockets, uncurling them first; pressed his lips tightly.
Coughing “Hi, this is Nick Tad and it’s dark yellow”, he informed.

Turning around, he left the room smiling; leaving behind a gaping completely insulted lassie.

Take #2
Arid, dry they fall
without a din
along a calm breeze
waving, swinging
back and forth
beckoning autumn
blithely ardent
lay in a golden-stretch
those aged leaves.

Churned, stomped
underneath a sadist being
they soar edgily
flinging dust
now making noise
summoning winter
sullenly somnolent
lay in a earthy-mellow
those aged leaves.

Friday, October 1, 2010

Magpie #34...first for me!

My first magpie on Willow's prompt.

Solitary, wickless
you blew out my fire
i still burn
silly ceiling fan
you chipped my wick
maiden, naïve.

You forgot
my metal still tepid
ashy tad hung in air
you overlook
the smudge I left
in the cold night.

I stand tall
abut the pane
sunshine warming me
in myriad colors
no more lonely
no more gloomy.