Rusty Flower

Image courtesy of Magpie Tales/Skip Hunt

Rusty Flower

It sits silent and still; blades do not move.

Instead of a sirocco-god, it's now  

only a rusted, black-eyed Susan.  You’ve

got to look close, in order to see how

it once spun silver…centrifugal pow-

ered.   At present, on corrugated sheets

of metal, it meets metal and dies.  Trow…

Time, in time, eventually defeats

turbines, wind-sails and the human being.

We all get old if we’re not in some groove.

Yet, in knowing this, it’s somehow freeing

since (save for self) there’s nothing else to prove.

###

Notes:  The poetic form is Pantoum.  It was inspired by the above picture-as-prompt, kindly provided for by Magpie Tales.  It's not my usual humorous(ish) piece, granted, but the words just seemed to come out that way and I decided to go with it.  

On the other hand, regarding humor, perhaps I should re-title my post "Fan Page.'   Just kidding.

You never know what might happen when you dip your toes in a creek...

Image courtesy of Monday's Child

One Morning, I Dipped My Toes in the Creek

One morning, I dipped my toes in the creek.

To my surprise, I had companionship:

A turtle, some fish and three ducks. Unique.

Why do I say that?  The white duck did speak!

She said to me, “Hey!” and waved a wing tip

the morning I dipped my toes in the creek.

At first I was dumbstruck – and then I did shriek.

The turtle said, “Dude, kindly get a grip.”

Hey turtle!  With fish and three ducks?  Unique!

 “You don’t meet talking turtles every week,”

I replied.  “We do!” the wee ducks did quip

the morning I dipped my toes in the creek.

A fish said, “It’s cool.”  (He spoke with a squeak)

 “The turtle is Bob and I am called Kip.”

A turtle?  Some fish?  And three ducks?!  Unique!

“Hi, Bob.  Hi, Kip,” I then told them, “I’m Deke,

and meeting you all is really a pip!

Who’da thought…when I chanced by this ol’ creek.

I spent the day being part of their clique,

flipping and dipping and skipping.  A trip!

One morning, I dipped my toes in the creek.

A turtle, fish, some ducks and me. Unique.

###

Notes:  I was delighted to discover that Monday's Child is back with the prompts today.  I always love the gentle illustrations posted there which bring back an earlier and more innocent era. 

Today's poem is in the form of a Villanelle.  (I figured it was time to try it again.)  It is also my way of saying that I love rhyming anthropomorphics, even if it's something 'they say' you're not supposed to do.  (Who is this 'they' anyway?)

Happy August!

Standing O

GismondaSarah Bernhardt by Alphonse Mucha

Standing O

Directed towards proscenium,

at curtain call, like xenium*…

the crowd goes wild; a fierce tableau

of fan-filled cheers: the Standing O.

Performers bow with practiced grace

while pleasure shows upon each face.

The audience, they now bestow

upon the cast, a Standing O.

It was, I swear, performance art

of highest level in each part.

The accolade for such a show?

Applause and then some...Standing O.

So on my feet, I wish I were

thus able to myself transfer

my spirit from my seat and row.

My fantasy?  That Standing O.

###

Notes:  The poetic form is Kyrielle.  The poem was inspired by today's prompt of 'Standing Ovation', graciously provided for by Sunday Scribblings. 

'Xenium' means a gift or present given to a stranger or a guest.

Alphonse Mucha is one of my all-time favorite artists, and as I think I may have mentioned in an earlier post, I absolutely adore Art Nouveau and the artists from La Belle Epoque.  

As a child, because I had a tendency to be rather dramatic on occasion (okay - more than just occasionally!) my grandmother often teased me [lovingly] by calling me Sarah Heartburn.  I took it as a huge compliment.

Commentary

Kick Stand

~ The bicycle, the bicycle surely, should always be the vehicle of novelists and poets.  ~Christopher Morley

~ Think of bicycles as rideable art that can just about save the world.  ~Grant Petersen

~ When I see an adult on a bicycle, I do not despair for the future of the human race.  ~H.G. Wells

 _

Consider this:  art,

rideable or readable,

is, at heart, still art.

###

Notes:  The above picture, which is a digital reproduction of a poster from La Belle Epoque (a particular period favorite of mine!) was thoughtfully provided by Magpie Tales for their current prompt.  My first thought was that I wanted to find some bicycle quotes, and build from that.  I actually found three quotes that I really liked.  The picture and the quotes inspired the - errrmmm - readable art (or what you will.)  That's my kick stand.

A Distant Bohemia

Image courtesy of Chest of Books/A Distant View of The Powder Tower

A Distant Bohemia

Distant…

The drums of the past beat

cobbled tattoos

Distant…

On the empty streets here

pushcart dreaming

 

Distant…

The Tower calls me on

in shades of grey

Distant…

Memory of a day;

lifetime ago

Distant…

Sepia photograph

brings it all back

Distant…

I thought I let it go,
distanced myself... 

***

Notes:  Poetic Form: Triversen Poetry, a form developed by William Carlos Williams [courtesy of The Poets Garret]; inspired by the prompt from Sunday Scribbling of the word, "Distant.'

Six Word Saturday

Show My Face: Six Word Saturday wants folks to use just six words to describe his or her day.  Here's mine:

Swim team wins for hubby's birthday!

[The kidlets' swim team won today, and obviously, it's the dude's day to celebrate.  Except for the blast-furnace heat, it's a mighty good day.]

What a Trip!

Image courtesy of mspaforums

Tripping

Shoes left

in the middle

of the floor…forgotten…

until the middle of the night:

Dark.  Ouch!

***

Note: Poetic Form: Cinquain; inspired by Poets United Thursday Think Tank #58 [darkness]