Poetry Bus,3/26/11 " What it is not

It is not a fairy tale
or Broadway play.

A "Warmer" clue: It was not just
in Black and White.

Animal, Vegetable, Mineral  ?
Nonexclusive;  all and even more:

Not a tribute to just one person
It was not just about old men or women,

The events were not all fiction.
It wasn't all sad

or set on Easy Street.
It was not my all time favorite,

But possibly second.

Flash fiction 55. In my Yard.

I come home to find
A "push me- pull you-"

Do it behind my back !?
Don't you dare.
Be direct and stand square.
Even if you don't stay long.
You can whisper I don't care.
I can pinch, grab an ear-
yank you, shake you
'til sense rolls down;
clear your head and try again.

Poetry Bus 3/21/11

 The challenge is to go somewhere we have never
been before and write about it.
  Yesterday, I walked a slow cubic path
into the back room of a popular Tavern
for a Surprise Party and Brunch.

I sat with four ladies I had never met.
After introductions,Marta
began by unveiling her tattoos.

Down below the sleeve line
a long horn skull spread out
over her right bicep.

White and red flowers
and vines banded her left arm.
Each had a story and related to someone.

I reflected that tiny, subtle
brown crosses or muted blue dots,
were all I could conceive of
if tattoos were required decor.

Migratory patterns of a life,
a long path,beads of homage
to birds, fish, game I have eaten,
might trail along the edge
of a collar bone.

Tiny symbols of art or poets
might tiptoe single file
etching with a few little beads
along tendons.

They might after long living,
encompass shadow lines
along most of a body.

Flash fiction 55, 3/18/11

Ok, G-Man you got us all going today!
not only hosting but toasting some particular
favorites! Hats off to your launch-

She grabbed her magnifying glass
and several books of maps.
A friend had mentioned America
and "THE Inter-coastal waterway ? "
rushed around her brain.
Panning for gold, and pirates;
 possible adventure always stirred                
her blood.From Houseboats to a canoe-
she gazed down upon the rivers
How far from the panhandle
could she get?   

Poetry Bus, 3/12/11

Thanks to WATERCATS for stretching brains.
I am not sure I met all the criteria, but I got
 -4 line protest, seven beats, 2+2 end rhymes.

A horse tied to a huge tire
no food, no water, heat like fire
I went home and got some money
went right back, it was not funny-

Magpie tale, 3/6-7/11

She wanted the reds,
and shadow and browns.
her brush was thin
she lifted the tip
many times from palette to page;
finally the tiny stem
made it possible to bring
the crinkly flavors
to her plate.

Microfiction Monday, 3/7/11

Susan over at Stony River gave us this photo.

 "This used to sit on his desk. He was:
J.M. Brown to his colleagues.
James Michael to his mother.
Jam to his subordinates at the Railroad."

Poetry Bus :"Long ago: At the Barn"

We have been asked to describe a dumb drinking experience:

Deep evergreen shade
a warm beer is pulled from behind
the car seat under a shirt
two swigs become four.

Back through  huge sliding red doors
to finish shoveling sawdust
for fourteen stalls
sticky air builds.

Crank the feed room radio
rock and roll twists with handles
of the wheelbarrow
more and more.

At lunch another warm beer
where two swigs become four.
Finally at four
several of us ride out down the road

On one turn a dog sneaks out
launching a silent attack
on a horses back leg;
I fly off breaking my collar bone

with that and my shame
I have to walk home.
After the hospital
By eight o'clock,

two swigs have become four;
and then many more.

Poetry Bus /2/27-8/11 finished 3/3/11.

TFE found us these pictures, thanks Mr. Emergency Driver !

I managed ten lines on Sunday-could not get the rest to save a life.
Sooo things got deferred, until Thursday: last 4 eggs hatched.

A-peaching we will go, 

  A-peaching we will go,

  HiHo the dairy-o-

Well we tried, see?

to oblige, see-
but the dog went squirrelin'
and the donkey ran off to the brook !

We all had to get down
and drag them both back
up, up the dusty track-    
                                                                  

Then Uncle showed up with the camera
and the dinner bell rang-
Here we are like we started, few peaches rollen'
with baskets, all tumbled and bruised.