Portrait Poem

Neighborhood eccentric
a bit askew,
dressed for the decades
always strutted her stuff.

Peered out on the sixties
in tortoise cats-eye glasses,
black beret rakishly tipped
atop henna dyed hair.

Artistic in the seventies,
she embroidered purple zigzag
on turquoise gaucho pants.
Donned gaily colored tie-dyed tops.

Now ninety-four,
spiffy on her daily walks.
White gauzy lace gloves
firmly grasp walker handlebars.

Feet move deliberately.
Frilly laced anklets,
inside patent leather
Mary Janes.

Everyone smiles
as she lights up the street,
battery operated bulbs
on her Christmas wreath hat.

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Written for Misky’s Twiglet prompt #184.

Four More Mini-Portraits

THE DREAM CATCHER
Her dreams flew by
on gossamer wings,
too high to reach some days,
even on tiptoes.

THE ELDERLY MRS HOLIDAY
Waste not want not.
She’d heard that all her life
lived by it too –
Christmas wreath upon her head
ready for the Easter parade.

THE SENATOR
With perfect pitch,
opera singer by avocation
and meteorologist by training,
he became a successful politician.
Elected term after term,
he simply changed his tune
depending on how the winds blew.

THE LIBRARIAN
She collected books.
Being of short stature
she carried a stack wherever she went,
booster seats not always available.

Four Mini-Portraits

The Office Achiever
He fancied himself a jockey
riding the backs of many
on his way to the top spot.

The Malcontent
He fancied himself a botanist
dropping seeds of discontent
in every conversation he joined.

Two-Faced
Adept in two careers . . .
meteorologist and politician.
A pinch of fog blurs reality
wearing either suit.

The Planner
Architect by trade
he drew blueprints for his life.
Meticulous plans.
Until she walked in one sultry night,
right angles upset by curves.

Image from Pixabay.com

Flower Child

Bloom wherever you are planted, my dear.
Her mother’s sage advice.
And she did.

She fancied herself an annual,
as her life took many turns.
And always, she bloomed,
but never with perennial roots.

She took odd jobs to secure her keep.
Brought joy and happiness
wherever she landed,
for whatever her growing season.

She took a new name in every town.
Dahlia for Davenport. Pansy in Peoria.
Hitchhiking cross country
she became Zinnia in LA.

Suitors brought her flowers,
obsequiously wooing her.
When they got too close.
she uprooted once again.

She carried one note always
written in careful hand,
folded inside the pocket
of her well-worn floral wrap.

When last I seek the sun
and it rises not on me,
place me ‘neath the fertile ground
with marker at my head.

Etch my epitaph in simple script
that all might finally know.
Here lies Marigold.
Daughter of Chrys Anthemum,
and dweller of the Cosmos.

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Day 10: National Poetry Writing Month, where the challenge is to write a poem every day. Written for Toads where today we are to write an Ekphrasis: a poem that is motivated by a work of art. 

This work of art by Odilon Redon (1840 – 1916) is titled Mystery. He is a French symbolist painter, printmaker, draughtsman and pastellist . “My drawings inspire, and are not to be defined. They place us, as does music, in the ambiguous realm of the undetermined.”

Indifferent Model

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Feline lies on ledge
aloof, pristine.
Basks in sun
seemingly thoughtful –
certainly Zen-like.

Aperture opens,
quickly clicks and closes.
Image frozen in time.
Unaware or insolent,
she doesn’t appear to care.

Languidly cleaning her paws,
she stops to stare through me.
Stretches, slowly unfolds to stand,
silently slinks away
with one swish of her tail.

No hello.
No goodbye.
No sound.
Simply present
for a moment in time.

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Photo taken yesterday on the deck of our rental apartment in San Diego. She wandered in and wandered out. Paid no attention to me. Will we see her again?  No idea. Cats are such interesting creatures.