Rim of Oblivion

A memoir slouches
on the rim of oblivion,
its title
was “never forget”.

It was written by
a wife, a mother,
who couldn’t let it go
to live
at the mercy
of its readers.

It gathers dust
untranslated,
sits as data files
multiplying.

It is remembered
by scattered
polyglot descendants
who try to see
through her eyes
what happened
that fateful night
when her daughter
accidentally
opened the door
to the enemy.

Back to One Shot Wednesday

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A Riposte to Envy – Get Dirty

After a dinner conversation about a cultural cynicism and envy, I got inspired to write a series of short poems about getting dirty in a very fundamental way. These are a mud spa for the mind.

________

Mud oozes
between my toes
lusciously

________

I stroke the clay
into a column
a satisfying squelch
as it rises
rounded
________

Up to my elbows
in silky porcelain mud
slipping and slapping

________

Up to her neck
in steaming cleansing mud
it found every crevice

________

Red clay fingerprints
trace the hidden bones
her ribcage flutters

________

Porcelain snail trails
smoothing ribbed belly curves
a tweak for a spout

________

Potter’s wheel
tactile
sweet
scent of clay
grounded
________

Toaster

The vodka bottle sweats
on the bench
as I chop eggplant, onions;
ratatouille’s on the go,
it needs tomato juice
so it doesn’t stick.

I pour some in the steaming pot,
and fill a glass, tomato juice
with a generous splash of vodka for the cook,
Ah, that hits the spot.

Bread pops up.
The toaster does it to a perfect gold;
I open a jar of Beluga caviar,
place a spoonful carefully
on each toast triangle,
a pretty morsel for the guests,
I should taste one,
washed down
with a slug of Bloody Mary,
life is good.

Little Things

She seeks secrets
in his burnt senna eyes
bamboo whispers

~~~~~~~~

Half a lemon
amber tea
sleeping dog
a rose
and you

~~~~~~~~

Cinnamon
chilli, cumin
coriander
gently heated
glowing golds

~~~~~~~~

With a clear gaze
he offers diamond rings
a deceased estate

~~~~~~~~
my compassion
his violin
I notice

~~~~~~~~

He brings lists
acrid samples
for conversation

Dragonish Renga – Mayhem

This is a collaborative piece – apologies if the order is not quite right – the players in no particular order were @VelvetinaPurrs
@marousia @fumanchucat @peterwilkin1 @amoz1939 @novatwitman egged on by @simonscotland. It was great fun and completely spontaneous. There was no prearranged  sequence of turns.

We had been playing around with FF and identifying those who had a love of dragons. I sent out a hash tag –  #dragonishrenga and the mayhem began.

When reading this remember that with renga the important thing to watch is what happens BETWEEN the links. Here is our crazy dragon quilt for your pleasure.

The crescent moon smiles/ the sea catches silver light/ a dragon stretches

Dragons run riot ~ sprinkling us with magic dust ~ our brains are addled

Amethyst dragon ~ singing old George Formby songs ~ playing a banjo

the dragons roar music fire ~ bright stars race the night (Err!)

With unfurled tail and high polished spikes / the beast muse stalks my thoughtful words *7/7*

Silver dragon tap-dancing ~ he thinks he is Fred Astaire

An amber dragon ~ gliding around the ballroom ~ like Ginger Rogers

And now I see a natty dragon/ he wears spats and sports a cane

A thunder clap over head/ the dragons chase lightning now

Dragons chase lightning ~ drop it on @fumanchucat ~ her hair turns silver 😉

And that’s not the only thing dragon/ drops for he is not litter trained

Swoop left right up down searching/ preys sighted the hunt begins 7/7

Our dreams race trails ~ dragons fearless magic arc ~ we hold their tails

Frowns ~ toilet paper in her hand ~ dragons howl laughing

Baby dragon belches now/ sniggers better out than in

Sitting down for lunch ~ tying bibs round dragons’ necks ~ such messy eaters

Dragon sulks-the others not serious/wanna hunt now!!! *pouts*

Babies asleep watched by one/ the others set out to hunt

For lunch young dragons have cast-off words / of poets and writers, near and far

With stubby claws they stalk their prey/ these beasts of lore, these guardians of words

The morsels they seek ~ all bad to be consumed ~ guardians of good

Baby dragons wait ~fairy dust on their wings ~taking baby steps

Edding large tears of sadness ~ see baby dragons grow up

Poor squires of York ~polishing claws of dragons ~and their scales too

Boom boom extra boom ~hunt of dragons begin now ~weapons words only

Swoop left right up down searching/ preys sighted the hunt begins 7/7

With unfurled tail and high polished spikes / the beast muse stalks my thoughtful words