Mag 93 11/27/11 Mystical

Photo: Christine Donnier-Valentin

   Just above my lovely speckled red
One of my new owners spied a living picture as
they were carrying me home.

"Stop Mark! " Anna cried " Do you have your camera?"
" No "He sighed. -And they put me down.
"Look through your pack" She begged.
After that she dragged him by the arm
across the road and pointed up, among the bricks.
"See! An angel to the left in white, playing a violin!
And a taller one to the right- singing with one arm up in the air!"

   Now they are gone, I know not where,
for paint- a camera, or phone?
And here I sit once more, alone...

Mag 92,11/14/11 4 Minute Evolution

The dance was hard
beginning on all fours, to crouching
in silhouette trees,
Stretching to launch stone spears
whole bodies sweeping, for walls of cave painting.
The beginning of we- digging, cutting, crushing,
Straining to raft, onto hauling of sleds 
Assault of mountains,scanning for invaders-
The lunging of a gallop,and sword fights. 
Somersaulting into forwardness of wheels;

cartwheeling to soaring airplanes
the rise of rockets;


When you finish, ending in this pose
you are breathless-
it cannot be held still;
they had to project the photo, behind you on the wall.

Flash Fiction 55: 11/18/11 : It Was Time To Get Up

                                                    Photo by Dorothea Lange      ( Posted for Poetry Jam)

The cupboard was bare
as the ragged edge of her sleeve

some potatoes lay on the hill
tumbled in dry earth.

She knew her two children
were ready for food;

she could feel and hear rumbles of
empty hunger against her shoulders.


Wyatt had gone hunting
maybe squirrel or rabbit

would soon grace the pot.

Mag 91,11/14/11 In a Fog

 You have found yourself here,
alone suddenly.
There were people here a moment ago.
perhaps you recall why you were gathered,
but paramount is- Where did they go ?
am I safe
will they be back,
do I wait here ?

   Do I hear, or sense in any way, company ?
First off I want to remove my shoes. I cannot run in those.
am I too exposed ?
I will take my shoes and one chair
go see if there is shelter anywhere nearby .
A tree, a house, a car-
I may need the chair to climb, sit, or defend myself.
If darkness comes, I may want a fire.
If the sun comes out, I may find a road.
If my memory returns, I may know what it was I was supposed to do-

Flash Fiction 55: 11/10/11 Hemingway Ethers

Drawn somewhere between
Jet and Gulf Stream
we are swooping,
diving off into blue.

A deepening weave
between royal and aqua
Pilar plunges,magnifying
endorsing the wild world.

Who is to say Safari or fish ?
hunger casts off
forsaking even his written words;
slashing bait for flung lines,
this far sighted hunter
was hunted too-

Mag 90,11/8/11

    After doing a rub of the gravestone she got up from her knees.Stretching all her muscles like a cat from top to bottom; she reached down into her knapsack and pulled out the spray for setting charcoal and pastels.
   "Moore" ran through her mind slowly- trickling over her memory like a stream over stones...Was it Margaret Moore ? She wondered and looked all about to see if there was any detail on the family plot .
Ahh- M. Moore with the dates- it could be-
   She finished waving the paper lightly to dry it before rolling it.  Hmmm- The woman who had taught her art class way back when-? She stood staring down at all the grass and leaves.
What had she said - Something on that last visit, about translating art, combining it with writing...and how she was even considering putting it to music, though she knew no notes really; had no training in it....
   "Wow," She surprised herself saying it aloud.Gathering her things,she smiled. Time to start reaching for other connections. Ways to expand.
   She turned in a circle. Like these trees all around, their branches reaching up and out to the sky and one another.

Sunday160, 11/6/11

Sunday was going to be a turkey processing day-
A morning conference happened,
too many alarming priorities & limited time !
Execution are delayed : two weeks.

Flash Fiction 55: 11/4/11 North by East

Many green and brown leaves
still clung on the trees,
The weather churned
up the coast
blanketing most
in heavy white, wet and ice;
That wasn't nice to
the trees or the wires
most snapped and expired.
Days upon days
people were glazed by
the sun and a haze
of no heat, water or fire!