Bad Spelling?

A picture is worth a thousand words... BUT...

An out of place plaice
had a sneer on his face
as he swam through the murky deeps
Though his spelling, I fear,
was the worst in his year,
still his spots made him oddly unique-
for he used them to count
to ginormous amounts,
and became a mathematical freak!

For Tess and Steven Kelly at The Mag

And here I apologise to any visiting Mag addicts, for I've just managed to enter myself a second time on the link list, after adding the rhyme to my original wordless wonder, idiot that I am! These senior moments are the very pits...

Twister? Not for the tongue!

Satellite picture;
cyclone approaching landfall.
Batten down hatches!

This week's Mag must have got my head in a whirl, or twisted my eyesight! Thanks Tess. :)

The Beacon

Lighthouse Dandelions by Jamie Wyeth

I dreamed of a lighthouse, lit by the sun,
but the dark clouds hovered near-
threw a vivid and menacing shade on a hill
whose atmosphere filled me with fear.

Stark rose the seed heads, as from the grave,
the gold of their petals long gone,
and their skeleton bodies reached up to me
as I stood apprehensive and wan.

My dreams sailed rough seas all that night long,
storm-tossed on turbulent waves,
till a beam from that lighthouse lead me to shore
and I knew, as I woke, I'd been saved.

Written for The Mag  with thanks to Tess

Yearning

Always the head turning,
yearning for the unattainable,
out of reach star.

A bizarre unspoken plea
we see in the eyes
as the soul espies a far horizon
enlivened by possibility.

Curiosity nurtures
future dreams,
seeming to enthrall
all who are captured
by the rapture of expectation.

Inspiration came from the Mag 167 thanks to Tess and Mary Cassatt. 

But Oh, my goodness! Now Ada has discovered my yearnings -  I shall be in the dog house for sure...Hang on...I do believe Beloved has decided to pinch my arty endeavour, and join the fun here this afternoon. Well, wonders will never cease!

Well, Well!

The title beneath this illustration which IGWRT's Kerry O'Connor provided a link to today, reads thus :-

Cadmus prepares to slay the pitiless reptile who had killed his poor companions.

Strike me down with a feather! Oops - no! Not Cad must prepare to slay a dragon, after all. My eyes played tricks on me. Thank goodness for that... but now I need the story...hmmm... that might take some time. I'll be back...

 Play Time

The local Am Dram players, rehearsing in a wood,
were all dressed up in togas  (my, what a load of freaks)
but their play was due to open in but a few short weeks.
It was about a dragon, that Cadmus, if he could,

had to catch, then kill (politely) and then repeat  (twice nightly)
But the props man wasn't ready. " How can I find a way
to make a dragon in that time? Let alone one you can slay!
It’s giving me a headache - I tell you all, forthrightly!”

They held a special meeting, the cast, the crew, the boss,
and put their heads together, pooled their D.I.Y ideas –
their brains were working harder than they had for many years-
“We’ll do it if it kills us, we just don’t give a toss!”

At last they had a brainwave- papier mâché, wire and string
should make a framework, all in bits; that was just the start.
They then worked out a cunning plan how it would fall apart
then be put back together! Oh, ‘twas a wondrous thing!

So my namesake, trusty Cadmus, was as happy as a king.
The play was great. The theatre was fully booked each night
 and the dragon fell and rose again – it was an awesome sight.
BUT at the last performance, the dragon it took wing …

and was never seen again. That’s MAGIC!

Brown Study

From a selection of artworks by Chelsea Bednar comes this Abstract7, which suggested to me a great sense of longing for home. So I wrote this - 

In a far country
a stranger's understanding
dispels loneliness.
Then realisation comes -
home lies within one's own heart.






I trust my attempt at a Tanka fits the request made by Margaret Bednar at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, to capture the emotion in the picture.

Out Of Hibernation...

...I come, for a while at least, to answer the Toad Call of the great outdoors... or any other outside...  thanks to Peggy Goetz at IGWRT's. Perhaps the cold has got to me, for all I could come up with was this...

Outside is not in.
The thin
edge
of the wedge
is felt
when snows melt
and wet
is met
coming in from outside.
Occasional land slides
can mean
houses lean
towards the 'in' of the Earth.
They decrease in worth,
fast...
The last
thing a house needs
is to be inside earth like a seed.
It will not multiply,
but stultify,
possibly rumbling
while crumbling
towards impend-
ing doom. The End.

Apologia?

Friday gives us the chance to put 55 words together for G-man, so this morning as I was searching for a subject, what came to mind but the one little word 'Sorry', which can be one of the hardest ones to say, but one of the best to use!  I've had so much practice in saying it to Ada, that I thought some others of you may have found a new way to deal with the problem... Give us a clue?

How many ways are there to say “Sorry!”
to leave behind heartache or anger or worry?
What flowers or chocolates may do the trick
to smooth the rough edges of some hissy fit?
If you have the answer, please tell me at once-
I’m sorry I’ve managed to be such a dunce –
Please forgive me?

Bookworm Paradise

Central Library, Manchester, U.K., by Robin Gosnall

Oh library, great library
you make my heart beat faster;
you're full of words of wisdom
spread out for me to master.
With my precious ticket
waving in the air
I can own a little bit
of every book in there...

My eyes eat words for breakfast,
chomp knowledge into chunks
of easy, bite sized pieces
when its time for lunch.

A volume here, a volume there
will fill my tum for tea
with recipes, or pictures,
as I gobble what I see
in my imagination...
and all of it is free!

So I'm a happy bookworm.
Leave me to browse in peace
among this paper paradise -
may its glory never cease.

Written for Tess at The Mag,

Aftermath

We had a new year's party; guests came from far and near...
but now it's time to clear the mess, and look what I found here
beneath the coffee table! A glass containing dregs of beer
by a saucerful of ciggy butts as dead as the old year!

Photo by R A D Stainforth

'No Smoking in our house, please' the signs were very clear.
But people still ignored them, or so it would appear,
for twitchy nose and gimlet eyes both made me stop and peer
until I found the culprit whose reek of fags, I fear,
was oh, so overwhelming, it killed my festive cheer!

See more options at The Mag 149, where Tess gave this nudge to our creative juices...