Hurricane Haiku

Ensconced in embrace 

Of Frette linens crisped white

Hurricane waiting

~

Grayed skies soak power

Draining all magnetism

All natural force

~

Playing cards slapping

Snippets of songs, sighs, curses

Father-son Sandied 

~

Static sentinels

Stutter staccato signals 

Beyond the patter

~

Manhattan island

In the roiling spilling sea

Torch woman watches 

Spun Sugar

A tiny girl twirls in a pink tutu 

Spinning like cotton candy into a woman

A little boy spins in laughing circles 

Faster and faster until out of the blur emerges a man

Small children wish for simple pleasures to come their way

Women and men leap the damaged portions of

The Way 

From the horizon of the Universe

A single clear voice calls

"Think" 

Of  the power 

bound 

in a single thread of DNA 

released within

the coalesced transcendent possibility

Of a collective commitment to the We of The Way

For each sugar spun child melting into men and women

Together

Bound Toward

Bound toward the filamented future

They travelled, the cheerful vagabond men the

Twirling castanet clicking women

Bound toward the filamented future

Stepping lightly over the damaged past

Journeying together a single shining

thread within the embrace of the 

Infinite ribboning  "Think" way 

Women and Men

Bound toward the filamented future 

Dancing o'er the horizon of 

The power of the connected 

manifested WE

Yet to be realized

Curling like a crested wave

Bound toward the filamented future 

Dr. Pearl Ketover Prilik

"Imagine" http://drpkp.com/

Blue Marble Chant

Simple Blue Planet by Atra Venatoris

All is connected all is one

Train hoots in early morning fog
Through meadows sheep grazing
Desert sands blow heat furnaces amazing
Sensibilities from burka to bikini
Wax poetic prophetic human

All is connected all is one

Butterfly sheds chrysalis crackling
Rhino tusk flash primitive attacking
Rhyme scheme and prose free verse and chanting

All is connected all is one

First blade of grass from seed dropped through fog
Lambs bleating
Sweat pouring
Bikinis neath burkas
Wrinkled newborn centurion

All is connected all is one

Seed floated into the earth
Shoot grows a field, sheep grazing
Train hooting in the fog
Looping as a seed floats on worn barren
Earth and begins again

All is connected all is one

Train vanishes into early morning fog
Lambs grow to grazing sheep
Sweat beads diamonded droplets
of dew
In the meadow where
sheep graze on verdant fields
sun blazing in the shifting desert
sands
A withered hand falls cold fingers splayed
Suckling infant grabs the breast with wrinkled fingers
And opens new eyes wide on
The blue marble

All is connected all is one

Spinning
As the train whistles
somewhere in the fog

A"chant"  Written for Poetic Asides WD/Pearl Ketover Prilik

The Gift

"May I recommend something?"

He face folded in origami wrinkles 

asked brightening 

As he reached toward the gleaming cabinet

Opened its doors and from the recessed shelter

Pulled the delicate thing into sturdy studied hands

"A perfect gift for love "

And there on a fan of emerald fern

Posed a perfect butterfly translucent

Wings shirring shimmered rainbows 

"It is not peanuts I know

The cost is dear but

I will guide you in it's care

And the score that will be 

released will lift 

you to soar forever more"

Moments before mayhem

Moments before mayhem 

It was a time of happening 

He was bright eyed in the cafe

Hands moving hotly over hers

They needed no Cabinet to guide them

It was a time of happening 

She would walk quickly in her sturdy shoes

On her tender slim ankles and he would

Be there to shelter her as the peanuts 

Exploded from under the fern where 

He had placed them yesterday

And her face would shine in radiance 

Of a score settled as the elephant so

Long ignored raised its trunk to blare

At the slivers of sparkled glass 

Falling like ice chipped fire rain 

It was a time of happening 

And her tender face luminous with purpose 

Passion and possibility 

Agreed to walk the irrevocable 

Path he fervently did recommend

As diners sat innocent laughing

About them and she fingered the

Plastics she would perfectly place

It was time for happening 

She nodded 

He smiled

Their eyes burning bright

In those mystic unveiled  

Moments before mayhem 

Osgood Crosby

Osgood Crosby

Hi Harry

I know there hasn't

been much happening 

lately but listen up

I'd like to recommend 

that you make it your

business to save Wednesday

of next week

Well of course I know 

you're still trying

to get the front wall up

from the latest hit we took

But that's just the point

Osgood Crosby.. What? 

mean "Who's Osgood Crosby?"

Osgood - you remember 

the cabinet maker with 

those soft eyes and hands

Yes the guy with the long

hair and sandals

Yes, that one

He IS good with a crowd

Anyhows he agreed to come

It's not important 

how he agreed - 

The thing is he agreed to 

appear at the cafe

Yep, he's going to give 

a little talk on how to 

 

build 

sturdy shelter when the wolf

comes howling through town

Yes, by all means bring Fern

she always does a good job

passing peanuts and acting the guide

So, we can score the interest on each 

possible scammable face  

See you then, 

Good Buddy

Too long in the wild

Too long in the wild

There in the bushes 

careful, careful see the face

on the right cheek there's a tiny

score that's where the knife

yes, he used a knife to guide

them to "do their job the right way"

I hear them kids lived on peanuts

Don't even know how a grown person

could handle that kind of treatment

But those Harrisons were always 

a sturdy lot

Sssh, quiet that there is the little girl

she takes shelter in the cafe sometimes

sneaks in somehow after closing

I don't know how I just

know that one morning I

opened a cabinet 

and she was curled up in there

for all the world like a wild 

creature 

I would recommend if she comes

toward us that we just slowly

back away

She's been in the wild too long

To be trusted 

No Umbrella Needed

A brief note on a notable young talent before my poem "No Umbrella Needed" 

Introducing a nature photograph by Sophie Palmer

As we all know photographs are a wonderful accompaniment to our writings.  

Today I would like to introduce the work of a young photographer Sophie Palmer

who captured this particularly appropriate photograph last year when she was ten,

yes, that is correct, ten-years-old.  To a young woman with a wonderful eye.  

Thank you for sharing your vision  

Welcome Sophie Palmer

"Raindrops on Grass" by Sophie Palmer
daughter of Alexandra Palmer aka The Happy Amateur 

Rain Drops On Grass by michele walters

Enhanced Rainbow -Barb Ver Sluis

No Umbrella Needed

They didn't take an umbrella to play

They were five and six, boy and girl

Running knee deeper into the lapping lake

On a bright sunbathed day

They didn't take an umbrella

Did not inherit the excuses of their families

For why they should not play together 

When lightning cut the sky and thunder clapped

They joined wet pruned fingers and ran through 

Lapping water past the shore to 

The oak tree in the grassy center, their haven

Under low reaching summer full oak leaves, they 

Sat close, bumping bodies for warmth, half laying- leaning against 

The sturdy thick trunk and then

Vowed with a pecked kiss to

Meet again 

When they were grown

On this same day

Vowed to bring no umbrella despite the weather

And smiled in satisfied sighed silence

As rain spattered the lapping lake

And light-shifts lifted the clouds

As a falling shimmering sun fell quickly

And they rose and ran through the wet grass

Laughing

Home with hair slick soaked

They were five and six, boy and girl 

No umbrella needed when the rain falls
Diamond droplets of pittered-patter-pleasure

Wonder

Wonder *

She was just past three - she could remember that easily because it was AB - "after brother" - who was sleeping in a portable crib in the kitchen with her mother. She was sitting in the living room on the couch in the curve of her father's side - on the record player there were six small crimson records - Tchaikovsky's violin concerto - she sat with her eyes closed as the last record dropped feeling the music pound in her chest, her father's breathing a rough humid wind across the very top of her head. They sat together held in the bubble of sound and breath. She kept her eyes closed as he had asked her to do and let herself feel. She never knew what caused her to break that promise and at the very climatic crescendo of the violin reaching beyond the orchestra into a whirl of crimson passion she opened her eyes. Just for a moment. Just long enough to see a single tear making its way slowly down her father's cheek. She watched this single tear holding an entire concerto that she knew would play on for a life-time.






*This little flash of fiction was written quickly for De Jackson's Sunday Prompt at Flashy Fiction (http://flashyfiction.blogspot.com/2012/10/wonder.html) which is a great deal of fun ... always... This week the prompt was as the little piece is titled "Wonder" and the motivation written by De was as follows: 
Remember that wheeeeeee! feeling of experiencing something thrilling for the very first time? That wow of discovery? The whoa! of wonder, as nature reveals something so strange, or beautiful, it takes your breath away? Recapture one of those moments now, and pay careful attention to perspective and voice. Who is being wooed by wonder? How old is he/she? Who else is in the scene? And what happens next? 

One Way To Get To The Head Of The Line...

Flashy Fiction

One Way To Get To The Head Of  The Line...

One moment she had been standing behind Mrs. Glouchester's ample rear covered in yards of a mini-print of what had to be thousands of bunches of posies. She had just gotten onto the end of the long snaking line slowly slithering toward Mr. Harrod's lemonade van. Mr Harrod was one of her father's best friends, who usually used his van for shampooing rugs, except for these ten days in August when it was time for the fair and he became the the best lemonade and lemon-ice maker she had ever met in all her eleven years. One minute she was standing there almost tasting the icy lemonade and thinking maybe she would get a lemon ice too, seeing as to how it was so particularly hot, and the next, well those posies on Mrs. Glouchester's bottom spread out into a whole field and there was a buzzing in her ears like a swarm of bees but the funny thing was, there weren't no bees, and even funnier was that she had gotten to be looking up at a circle of people calling "give-her-air-give-her-air" and the sky was this bright blue, the clouds puffy and white just the way they were in one of them picture post-cards and best of all Mr. Harrod himself was kneeling on the grass, holding a cup of lemonade, telling her he had called her daddy, and she was alright and to just sit up real slow and have a sip whenever she felt ready.

Willows Work

Yellow Rose by David Wagner

Willows spent all that day perched on the crust

of a coming rustle - mending, mending

Keeping several stitches beyond the unbearable 

Refusing entrance to the unthinkable 

Mending mending in the fever summer the

brittling  petals on that last rose of summer

Mending, mending 

before a premature piercing frost fell in icy sheaths 

Rendering any charm powerless

Willow spent, all that day bent over her work

Needle flashing in the sunlight - drops of crimson blood

On soft fingertips 

Until it was done 

and there in the lowering shimmered sunslant

watched 

that almost lost last rose of summer explode 

in brilliant blossom as

Willows wept in sweet summer showers

Some SUDDENLY Poems

2. 
   
   Suddenly it comes and not on little cat feet

   It won’t
   I can’t
   It probably
   Was something
   Invented
   By
   Men
   Nothing
   Nothing
   Just
   slapping
   Skin on skin
   Skin in skin
   Ugh
   Ceiling staring
   Pillow face breathing
   Skin slapping
   Slap , Slap,
   Ridiculous

   A little warm
   A little odd
   What??

   WAIT!!
   OMG!

   Reply
3. PKP says:

   October 3, 2012 at 11:39 am

   Back later to read …. ROBERT -BRILLIANT TODAY,
   
   
   
   

   1. PKP says:

      October 3, 2012 at 11:48 am

      One Vein

      One night as dawn neared
      At the keyboard a single vein
      Popped in stark relief.
      I feared
      What was this? what could it be?
      Silent shouting I rushed to the lavatory

      Held that hand above my head
      Heart pounding with catastrophic dread
      Watched the blood drain
      From that pounding prominent vein
      Sighed in relief that I might just
      Be late-night writing insane

      Returned to keyboard, calm, to type again
      And watched the vein pop hit with chagrin
      No dread curable disease was with I struck
      Just fallen into aging symptomatic muck

      Reply
   2. PKP says:

      October 3, 2012 at 12:44 pm

      
      

      Humanity

      Rising from the rank
      fetid muck n mire
      blinking innocent stands

      or

      rising from the sea
      flung upon the sandy shore
      separate sentient

      or

      from the sparkling
      myriad mass of creatures swimming
      one stands on the shore

      mhmmm you get the idea
      the words are not quite there
      and I am out of here

      back later to read
      enjoy the day
      slowly
      suddenly
      fully

      

      Reply