peeking in I see
passion flow like bee’s honey
am I a voyeur?
.
9/30/2012
Sunday Lunch
 | ||
| It Must Be Time For Lunch Now, 1979, by Francesca Woodman Source Mag 137 |
Skewered, bound tight
and slowly turned over
a hot fire until quite done,
my tender heart is crusted
in dread. I know my fate, after all.
After I’ve been sliced and served,
you will greedily devour me,
taking your fill, then toss
the leftovers out with
Monday’s garbage.
***
9/29/2012
Free Verse
(Source: image by Firedrop, WikiMedia Commons)
erase all the lines
coloring outside the box
freedom to be me
***
Written for Haiku Heights - September Heights Day 30: Free
.
9/28/2012
Battlefield
that was one chirp too many
he’s in trouble now
***
Folks, I'm a bit under the weather, so I may not get around to read too much, but I'll be back.
Written for Haiku Heights - September Heights Day 22: Birth
9/27/2012
Let's Face the Music and Dance
Source: WikiMedia Commons (slightly edited)
too hard to achieve
women’s rights and freedoms won
9/26/2012
9/25/2012
A Great Place to Meet Guys
 | |
| Flying Down, 2006, by David Salle |
I stood looking at the painting and inwardly shuddered. Ugh.
I hate these art gallery things, especially ones showing modern art -- if that‘s
what this was -- but my friend Sherry had dragged me along.
“Come on,” she’d
pleaded. “It’s a great place to meet guys. Besides, the artist is supposed to
be great.”
The last thing I wanted to do was go out and troll for guys. Despite my better judgment, I agreed. Everything on TV was a
rerun anyway.
And now here I was, looking at the showcased canvas of this
so-called great artist. Was there ever a modern artist as good people say he is?
I had to question why a gallery would host a show of such artistic drivel, but
the answer is perfectly obvious. Money. People will pay outrageous sums for the
next Picasso or Dali.
That, of course, begged another question, one I was pondering
as I sipped my wine – at least the merlot was decent – and wondered: why did I come?
It was too late to change my mind, so I tried to find some redeeming quality to the art in front me. I was asking myself, what's with that bird, when the voice floated over my left shoulder.
It was too late to change my mind, so I tried to find some redeeming quality to the art in front me. I was asking myself, what's with that bird, when the voice floated over my left shoulder.
“Magnificent use of slipstream economics to punctuate
society’s dependence on media nourishment, wouldn’t you say?”
“What?” I swiveled
around to look at the source, nearly slopping my wine all over both of us.
“I said...” he began, and then grinned sheepishly. “Oh, right, I guess you
heard what I said.”
As I looked at the man behind me, I tried to erase the look of
incredulity that must have been painted on my face like that big smear between the bird and the girl with the naked butt in the
middle of the picture. The tall, sandy haired man wore a light jacket over his
plaid shirt and chinos. He looked like the last type of guy to utter such
nonsense about art.
Boyish charm. That was the first thing that came to mind as my eyes met blue eyes twinkling in a lightly freckled face. So cute. Remember
Sheriff Andy’s son Opie? Yeah, like that,
except all grown up.
“You, um, like
this?” I asked. I really wanted to ask if he were out of his mind but, I mean, look at him.
He laughed, and the angels sang. “No, not really, but don’t
tell the artist. It’s pretty ghastly, isn’t it?”
About then, I decided that I was glad I’d come. Really glad.
I made a mental note to buy Sherry dinner.
“Oh, thank heavens,” I replied. “I was afraid you were
serious.”
Tearing my eyes from his -- no easy job, I might add -- I looked at the
people milling around. “Is the artist here?”
“I think so,” he answered. He glanced around and then, with
a look of surprise, put a hand on his chest. “Wait! I’m right here.”
Oh, crap.
Fortunately, the man of my dreams has a good sense of humor.
And did I tell you how cute he is? Lousy artist, though.
By the way, Sherry was right. A gallery opening is a terrific place to meet guys. I did eventually buy Sherry dinner. She thought the food at the reception was great.
***
Written for The Mag 136.
.
Pirates Ahoy!
(Image by Nico Cavallotto, Flickr)
avast, me hearties!
Davy Jones yields no booty
high seas adventures
***
Written for Haiku Heights - September Heights Day 26: Paperboat
.
9/24/2012
In Her Dreams
jungle adventures
her genetic memories
the lioness stalks
***
Written for Haiku Heights - September Heights Day 25: Sleep
***
Written for Haiku Heights - September Heights Day 25: Sleep
9/23/2012
Ripped from the Headlines
(Image sources: freedigitalphotos.net and freestockphotos.biz)
born to privilege
clueless, blind to poverty
human bankruptcy
***
Written for Haiku Heights - September Heights Day 24: Paradox
.
.
***
Written for Haiku Heights - September Heights Day 24: Paradox
Note: My apologies to Haiku Heights participants from outside the US. With the current political battles raging all around us, this is very much on some of our minds.
.
9/22/2012
Entrechat
(Source: WikiMedia Commons)
Nureyev with wings
lifting twirling pirouette
nature’s tour de force
***
.
* Entrechat is a ballet move that is performed in the air.
Written for Haiku Heights - September Heights Day 23:
.
9/21/2012
9/20/2012
Old Glory
First Flight of Old Glory
(Source: WikiMedia Commons)
.standing tall and fine
she waves proudly to the crowd
9/19/2012
9/18/2012
Narcissus
The Awakening
(Photo credit:
www.freedigitalphotos.net)
www.freedigitalphotos.net)
Lonely, depressed, the old man took to
riding the subway.
Moving aimlessly in the company of
strangers
was preferable to sitting aimlessly at home alone.
The rocking soothed, as he sat worrying
the sore spot
on his heart with the gnarled fingers of
yesterday's pain-
ful memories, dreading the empty
tomorrow still ahead.
The train rumbled on and on through
the night,
announcing each stop with a squeal of
pain. His eyes
were drawn by the lights that
flickered by in the blackness
of a tunnel, but it was their
reflection in the tears
coursing the pale, wizened cheeks
beside him
that caught his eye instead.
She brought him back, that old woman
hunched
against the glass of the window,
dragging him
from the brink of his own misery by the sight of hers.
from the brink of his own misery by the sight of hers.
Though she'd always been there, weeping,
he never heard her over the whining in
his head.
He'd never noticed how loudly self-pity
played.
Without thought, he reached out and
took her hand.
As if a phonograph needle had been lifted, the
dirge in his head stopped.
.***
Linked in at dVerse Poet's Pub
.
9/17/2012
9/16/2012
9/15/2012
9/14/2012
9/13/2012
Revelation
(Source: Styleite and various other)
mum always knows best
“be sure to wear clean knickers!”
Kate’s YouTube moment
***
Written for Haiku Heights - September Heights Day 14: Revelation
and linked to Haiku Friday hosted by LouCeeL
.
***
Written for Haiku Heights - September Heights Day 14: Revelation
and linked to Haiku Friday hosted by LouCeeL
.
9/12/2012
9/11/2012
9/10/2012
Wicked
sinful gooey lust
devilishly delightful
totally divine
***
Written for Haiku Heights - September Heights Day 11: Divine
.
9/09/2012
Hot Chili Pepper
(Image: detail from
Birth of Venus by Raoul Dufy)
Birth of Venus by Raoul Dufy)
hot latin flavor
salsa rhythm pulses red
9/08/2012
9/07/2012
Sparrow
a guilty pleasure
every father’s nightmare
one glance, women melt
(photo source: deviantArt.com)
***
Written for Haiku Heights - September Heights Day 8: Render
.
9/06/2012
Olga
(Photo: Patrik Giardino for The New York Times)
leaping, fleet of foot
floating through ninety-plus years
true inspiration
***
Written for Haiku Heights - September Heights Day 7: Agile
The Incredible Nonagenarian: Olga Kotelko was born in 1919. She holds every track and field world record for her age group, 90-95 years, sometimes beating the record of someone decades younger. This lady is definitely agile and very inspirational.
.
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