The Cat and the Elephant

Tis not the end of the world, my friend.
Nine lives I have
and don’t you see?
I’ve really only been through three.

Tsk, tsk, so you say.
These tusks did push us off the land
but sails they’re not,
without the wind.

Then I shall cat-call to the moon,
plead to lunar-up a breeze.
But you so heavy at the knees,
we’ll still be deadweight in the seas.

Your kitty croons, so pitiful and small,
my BAALOOs shall loudly do the trick.
I’ll proudly call up mighty Orca
and she will surely solve our plight.

—–

Suddenly their boat was perched
atop a dorsal fin
as waves did froth and start to spin,
and winds did help them soar. . .

beyond the land of different,
one so big and one so wee.
She looked up and he looked out
to navigate the troubled seas.

————

Readers heed this little tale
as you doth scan my words.
An elephant and a cat at sea,
sealed their fate successfully.

He did this and she did that
with moon and stars
and wind and whales.
Absolutely no buts allowed.

And thus they sailed,
the elephant and the cat,
into a new and verdant land ~
designed to house the everyone and all.

Silent-Night-Catrin-Welz-Stein-Acrylic-Glass-Print

This is my second post for dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets, where I’m hosting and asking folks to choose one of four images from talented artist Catrin Welz-Stein.

The first post, with another image, is Primitive Folk Tale.

Some fabulous poems have been posted using Catrin’s images. Thank you again, Catrin, for letting us be inspired by your artwork!

Primitive Folk Tale

She, the earliest of living things.
Her strength, serenity.
Eternal for the ages.

Birthed ‘neath a solar scrim
stars and silver moons afloat,
heavenly aura ’round her soul.

In her hand she held thee, wren.
Firstborn feathered creature
created from wisps of love.

Genesis of multiples
winged in soaring flight,
traversing through her skies.

Red blossoms, thorned and not,
suckled from her bosom soft
kindness sipped by every bloom.

Life seeded within her mind
begat entangled branches,
generations of humankind.

Earthly homes imagined
crowned forth upon her head
’til eyelids softly closed,

whispered words escaped her lips.
‘Tis done.
Now they must live.

Catrin Welz-Stein - German Surrealist Graphic Designer - Tutt'Art@ (24)

I’m hosting dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets, asking folks to chose one of four images that I’ve provided, from talented artist Catrin Welz-Stein.  

I also published The Cat and the Elephant, using another of her images.

I love the serenity of this image. If you click on her name, you’ll get to her website which includes much more of her artwork. Thank you, Catrin, for letting us use your beautiful images for motivation today! Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Stop by and be inspired!

Still Love

Namra, spinner of tales, weaved her way into his naivety. Vulnerable, unaware of her guile, he pledged his love, earthly possessions, and his soul. In dark of night, she promised nirvana whilst leading him to the place of angels. Unbeknownst to him, a destination not where spirits soar; rather where they stand in frozen state. Cold stone in the midst of searing heat. Those who dared to fly, minus forearms or bent with ravaged wings. Some forever with fingertip to lips, hushing final cries of hope. Angels, sentinels of death, where living bow their heads.

He followed, unaware that she is a collector. Unaware she lures the unsuspecting to a marble bed. Lies with them but for a moment until the aphrodisiac of her silken ways, overcomes their senses. Seers say his body awakened in the cold to emptiness. That he lies now through the ages, eyes open, awaiting her return. Unaware that silken threads forever lace round a rusted metal lock. A comfortless duvet of intricacy, barely moving in the languid breath of summer winds. He is forever unaware that she continually seeks new prey. Promising an ecstasy of love to rival the ages, but caring not for the soul.

Photos from Recoleta, an amazing cemetery in Buenos Aires, where Evita is buried. We had a wonderful private tour of the city with Ceri of Buenos Tours, which culminated at Recoleta. A word of explanation: I’ve been on back-to-back cruises to South America and now heading to Antarctica, hence have not been able to post often (very limited internet access). I’m scheduling this so it will post for OLN. Consider this prose poetry.

Magic Awaits You

Feeling weary?
Kind of dreary?

Dial R-Oh-6  Oh-31
for fanciful fantastical fun.

Never let your troubles steep
just take a liberating leap.

We absolutely guarantee
balloon-high spectacular glee.

Exchange your world of hullabaloo.
Drive to zabba-dabba fabulah-new.

Come on and make some whoopee,
risin’ up in the jazzy jaloopy!

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Having fun today 🙂  hosting Tuesday Poetics at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. I’ve posted five examples of street art for folks and ask them to pick one and somehow write about it. Images in public domain at Pixabay.com. Only requirement is that folks post the accompanying image.  Click here for second street art poem with different image. I couldn’t resist doing two — the second has quite a different tone!

We’ll be visiting Valparaiso, Chile in January and look forward to seeing the street art there — which is what motivated this idea for a prompt.

Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come walk the streets with us!

 

Velveteen Love

Magic is very strange and wonderful.
The moon had risen,
the fronds of the bracken
shone like frosted silver.

The windows stood wide open.
The loveliest fairy
went swooping about like a great wind
amongst the flowers and the butterflies.

At Last! At Last!
When all the house was silent,
love stirred.
To be loved
forever and ever.

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Victoria is tending bar at dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets. She asks us to do some Erasure Poetry. A new form for me. We choose a book or text and by “erasing words” from it (or an alternative way to say it is by choosing words from it), make up a poem of our own. We may only use words as they appear in the book/text. We cannot add any of our own words.  Each line in Velveteen Love is an exact phrase from Margery Williams The Velveteen Rabbit. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!

Limited Shelf-Life

Glass blown unicorn
stored on dusty shelf,
grimy and forlorn.
Mocked by pewter elf,
steals its love of self.
Always within sight,
craving touch its plight.

Hear my cries, it warns.
Save me, save yourself.
Magic turns to mocking scorn,
powers drained from self
locked upon on a shelf.
Give me freedom’s light
for only then shall I have might.

unicorn-611886_1920

Written for dVerse where Frank hosts today, asking us to write a Chaucerian Stanza / Rhyme Royal poem. 7 metrical lines per stanza with ababbcc rhyme scheme . . . can be up to 3 stanzas. I attempted Trochee Meter: first syllable accented, second syllable not, with 5 syllables per line (well, a couple lines have more than 5).  I am ALWAYS challenged by anything with rhyme and anything with meter. For me, it’s very hard to have the sense/meaning of the poem front and center when I’m consumed with trying to get the rhyme and rhythm right. Always learning at dVerse!  Muse here is a glass menagerie collection my mother used to have on a glassed-in knick-knack shelf.

Abdication By Your Design

I decree:
I am the Queen of Cooland.

See me shimmer and shine.
Bling me with stardust.
Bring me gold and silver sugar crystals
to savor upon my tongue.
Bring me dime store diamonds
glitter glue, sequins, and bangles too.

This bench, my throne.
This broken branch, my staff.
I fling riches upon my subjects,
kernals of golden corn their joy.
Why do you not share your riches with me?
No bows, no smiles, no understanding.

Can you not see me?
How can you pretend I do not exist?
My royalty wrapped in newsprint,
I wear the remains of your misdeeds.
Can you not feel shame
as I mutter my royal decree?

Pigeons shit on my command.
They coo at my feet,
jewel my crown.
I am the Queen of Cooland.
This is my decree.
The End.

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Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets, where Paul hosts today, asking us to write a poem that somehow deals with “the end.” Pub opens at 3 pm.  Come imbibe some words with us!

I wonder . . .

if star dust is available
to those who seek a glimmer of hope

if lunar paths lead to satin slippered elves
ready to grant a wish

if buttercups picked yield petal tea
when imbibed bloom happiness

if imagination can quell fear
set pen to page with gut wrenched honesty

if simplicity can softly pad its way
through a cacophony of bombastic lunacy

I wonder
how to reach Neverland

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Shared with dVerse where it’s OLN time.  Open Link Night – no prompt. A time to share a poem of your choosing.

A Haibun for Bilbo

We drove for miles ‘cross lush countryside, the majestic Kaimai Range in the background. Rolling hills in myriad shades of green were everywhere, always dotted in white. There are more sheep in New Zealand than people.

We finally reached the sprawling Alexander family farm, centerpiece of J.R.R. Tolkein’s Middle Earth. Setting out on foot to stroll the Shire, we were enthralled by the massive pine known as the Party Tree, the scene for Bilbo’s eleventy-oneth birthday. We walked along paths that led to vegetable, herb, and flower gardens – each different in shape, texture and color – next to thirty-seven colorful Hobbit Holes. Delightful miniature sheltered smials. Underground homes built into the hills, with roofs covered in grass and clover, and windows so low we had to crouch as if to take a peek. A clothesline was strung with miniature work shirts. A small wheelbarrow leaned up against a tree stub. We were giants walking through a magical world.

lily of the valley
miniature belled flower tops
tabby cat traipsing through

 

Written for Haibun Monday at dVerse where Toni is hosting today, giving us free rein in terms of a topic. Haibun: prose (not fiction) followed by a haiku (must have a nature theme). Photos from our wonderful trip to New Zealand. We visited the 1,250 acre Alexander family sheep farm outside Auckland, NZ, home of the mythical Hobbiton. The rolling topography, huge trees and lakes were deemed the perfect spot for 17th century Middle Earth immortalized in J.R.R. Tolkein’s The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring.