Quaggy Contemplations

I just discovered a new word: Quaggy.  It means soft and watery (usually in regard to soil.)  It's kind of representative of the weather we're having here right now.

Anyway, Monday's Child posted a picture as prompt yesterday (okay - so I'm a little behind. No sweat.)  Magpie Tales posted a picture today.  Both poems which follow have to do with water, hence the 'quaggy' contemplations.

Illustration by Ethel Mars and Maud Hunt Squire, 1900s, from a Children's Garden of Verses

My Bed is a Boat

My bed is a boat

where dreams may float

on currents calm and gentle.

The splendid sea

waves right at me;

its fish are ornamental.

And birds in air

place in my hair

a garland of pretty shells.

I'm drifting away

‘though heartdeep*, I’ll stay

amidst the placid swells.

###

Quaggy Contemplation

These water droplets

make me think of damp golf balls

or Swiss cheese. How strange.

###

(Note: heartdeep, per Webster's 1913 Dictionary, means from the heart.)

...and one more (not-so-prompt) delivery...

Image courtesy of Zazzle

Messin’ With the Messenger, Ambiguously

"A messenger cannot be beaten.” ~Luyia proverb, Western Kenya

“I had to eat my words.” ~Unknown

Messengers transport

the words,  but if news is bad

they might get eaten.

###

(Note: the prompt is from Sunday Scribblings.  The word is 'messenger.')

 

Prompt Delivery!

Happy 3rd Day of NaPoWriMo!  Hope everyone is having fun with poetic expression (and license.)  I posted a few poems at Poetic Asides earlier today, but now it's blog-time!

Prompts du jour:  Big Tent Poetry - 'write about making a phone call.'  One Single Impression - 'epidemic.'  

Image courtesy of oldphoneworks.com

Call Box

I put the dime in

and listened to it cascade down

to dime and human purgatory,

because after all,

what could I possibly get for a dime

but a quick local call

so I could say, “Please come pick me up.”

...and hope that someone might answer

on the other end.

###

Image courtesy of janetscreativepillows.com

Epidemic

What would happen if

the only epidemic

was the spread of laughs?

###

Dressing Down

Image courtesy of Artnet/Henry Patrick Raleigh, Theater Dressing Room

Before the Parade Passes By

I hurried into the small

basement room

and began unbuttoning

the elaborate buttons

on my pale lavender jacket. 

By the time

I made it across the room

to the scarred wooden chair

by the red-bricked wall,

I was already undoing

the fasteners

on my skirt.

Standing in front

of the mirror

I watched myself drape

the skirt and jacket

over the chair’s back.

Inhibitions,

shed at the door

like my pale lavender jacket

with its elaborate buttons

and the matching skirt

were never a key point,

and besides,

no one else n the room

seemed to care, anyway.

                                   

I stepped into

a violent array

of spangles and bright colors,

adjusting myself

as needed

(and it was needed)

and then gave one final

appraising look

in the mirror,

before dashing

back out of the room.

Behind the heavy curtains

I waited for my cue.

###

Process notes:  Years ago, I was in a production of Hello Dolly!  During the course of each performance, I had to make a quick change from my 'street clothes' costume (an elegant suit apropos of the Gilded Age) into a spangly showgirl costume in order to appear on the float for the 'Before the Parade Passes By' musical number.  (Then, after the number - just as quickly - I had to change back again.)  

This narrative poem was written in response to two prompts:  Big Tent Poetry's 'write about getting dressed somewhere other than a bedroom or a bathroom,' and Poetry Tow Truck's 'write about something common, like Sylvia Plath's mirror.'

Happy NaPoWriMo!

Today is April 1st.  April Fools Day, yes, but also - the start of National Poetry Month!  To all the poets who are penning poems each day throughout this month - big cheers!  WooHoo!

Poetic Asides will be offering prompts for each day during the month, and my responses to prompts from Robert Lee Brewer will appear on that site.  Big Tent Poetry also will be providing daily prompts, but just so you know, poems written to their prompts - along with any other poems I write during April  - will be posted here. 

One of Big Tent Poetry's prompt ideas for this first week was to write about being on a balcony with someone whom we read about in the newspapers.  I kept mine deliberately vague (as to identity) but this Nasher is a true story. [Wink.]

Image courtesy of Fine Art America/Starry Night by Meghna Patil

A Nodding Acquaintance

I stepped out onto the balcony to get a breath of fresh air.

The soiree inside was lively, but at that moment, I didn’t care.

I slid the glass door shut and walked towards the far terrace wall.

I usually don’t like high balconies – a fear of the fall.

I held my wineglass in one hand as I gazed at the stars.

I refused to look down at the tiny people and their tiny cars.

Vertigo.  Dizziness. A genetic abnormality.

But I needed some space from the party’s triviality.

Then I felt, rather than heard, the slide of the glass door pane.

Someone was joining me but I couldn’t ascertain

who it might be.  I knew few people at this chic little get-together.

He quietly came up beside me and I heard him mumble, “Nice weather.”

I sighed.  I really didn’t want company of… well, any kind.

I guess it was luck: he could not read my mind.

Without looking at him, I merely nodded my acquiescence.

Two people…one space.  A parallel, in essence.

Then, somehow I sensed he was staring straight ahead, not at me.

I was relieved.  But, as usual, curiosity

for whatever reason, grew stronger.  I turned ever so slightly.

He nodded politely.

A star of screen, who recently made headline news,

was there on the balcony – next to me – with his glass of Chartreuse.

I guess ‘the famous’ also need a break now and then.

A moment of peace.  A moment of zen.

I turned back around to my stars and my moon.

That was the extent of our attempt to commune.

After a while, he left.  So did I.

My brush with celebrity was (for lack of a better term) ‘drive-by.’

But when you think about it, what were the odds?

Not fodder for the tabloids…just an acquaintance of nods.

###