Stalking Leo
I give you a love of cakes for the
necromancy gathering. It will help concentration when boredom with the
bones overcomes your usual enthusiasm for anatomical drawing.
Dear
Leonardo, I cannot compete in your world. I have stalked you in the
market place, watched you buying up the little singing birds in order to
set them free from their caged oppression.
I am aware that for
you illuminating walls and blank pages with your vivid imagination, is
for you sufficient. I may be charming in my own way, but in this fickle
universe I am aware of my limitations.
These funny
days can blow my mind as I follow you, skulking secretly I observe the
boys surrounding you. Your adoring satellites, some hopeful, some
anxious, but most as insightful as me of your needs. We all remain
engaging, respectful.
With less of a free reign whilst
shopping in the market place today, I was abruptly brought to that
unworldly conclusion: I love your hands more than your mystical spirit.
Those hands, which will produce and paint the exquisite. That will be
your permanent gift to history. It makes me smile to imagine the
future joy this will bring. And my smile, dear Leonardo, is very
mysterious.
One day we may meet.
The copyright of this post belongs to Valerie Anne Rule
Friday, 28 February 2014
Thursday, 27 February 2014
Gold
It begins with golden curls, golden tresses. The
obsession with all things golden hued starts with hair. Wild curly
locks, impossibly tiny ringlets, never combed, for all the world like
sheep’s wool. But the colour….oh, the colour!! Henry remembered his
mother’s hair, all saffron and shine, easy to spot when he was lost as a
boy. Look around, there she was, a golden beacon shining just for him.
He
fingered the ridged lipstick in his pocket, his last gift to her, one
she’d scolded him for buying, yet flushed with joy upon opening. Never
worn, always insisting it was too bold for everyday; she’d save it for
the Opera.
One day, she’d say, one day we’ll go. Yessir, all dolled up, girl needs a gold lipstick filled with red to splash on.
Gold Bold Gold Cold Hold Mould Meld Mold Told Rolled Fold. Folded.
Folded
in on herself a year ago and he’d had to go. Time to move on, couldn’t
stay where they’d laughed and supped, eking out a living. He moved
around all the time, doing odd jobs, looking for a place to settle, a
warm hearth, a safe drawer in which to store his golden memory, safely
tucked in its yellow velvet pouch.
The copyright of this post belongs to Lynn McCarty Hillston
The Gift
The
Gift
“I
give you a charming character,” bestowed the dainty fairy, her
smile a sunshine of pleasure.
The
sweet baby lay in the peace and tranquillity of her silken cot.
“I
give you the gift of love,” gushed the next fairy.
“I
give to you the gift of concentration,” pointed out fairy number
three,
“Can’t
do with being fickle,” she added, popping a luscious fig into her
delicate mouth. She walked off into the sunshine.
Suddenly,
through the heated haze, appeared the uninvited fairy. She pointed
her mystical wand at the cot and whispered, “I give you the gift…of
insightful and engaging comedy – you shall be FUNNY!”
She
winked and smiled and then, on cue, the beautiful baby loudly burped
and trumped!
The copyright of this post belongs to Komal Patel
Sunday, 23 February 2014
Whitewash
As
you whitewash the walls
you
demand that I am opulent.
Spreading
your arms wide
behind
you a black shadow grows,
wings fanned, it steals up and out.
"You
are harsh!" you caw, pop eyed,
tenting
your hands to stop my flight.
With
your roof over me
I
am slain by the redundancy of hope
and
weep. You sing, "You are mine!"
Obscured
by your timpany of percussive notes
I
grow, I straighten.
Strong
and limber like a Poplar in the breeze
I
jettison you for tastes new. To search
for
a season of cherries sweet and round.
The copyright of this post belongs to Moira Cormack
Friday, 21 February 2014
Fortress of a Thousand days
Fortress of a Thousand Days
Today I have been up here five hundred days, it is beyond wish fulfillment. When I began the protest, I imagined it would last a single day, street protests being frowned upon by the State Authorities in this part of the world. When I first climbed up my tree, the peach blossom was bursting in the balmy spring sunshine. Sunshine so watery but so welcome following deluged vats of winter rain and flood.
Once up here in my tree, I surveyed the park with equanimity. No one else had climbed as high as me, and it was only because I had always loved scaling buildings as a jump artist that I could do it. I suppose the ant like people far below were jealous of my fortress, as they gradually realized ground protest was futile. Whereas I, like a latter day Tarzan with my good health and ladle full of optimism, ruled supreme in the canopy.
It is September now and the autumn winds are getting up; the park is emptying of children and mothers, and most of the landscape has been denuded of trees.
The Authorities will probably get their way and build the shopping mall, but until my own special tress is felled, I will sit tight. I may yet reign for a thousand days.
The copyright of this post belongs to Valerie Anne Rule
Today I have been up here five hundred days, it is beyond wish fulfillment. When I began the protest, I imagined it would last a single day, street protests being frowned upon by the State Authorities in this part of the world. When I first climbed up my tree, the peach blossom was bursting in the balmy spring sunshine. Sunshine so watery but so welcome following deluged vats of winter rain and flood.
Once up here in my tree, I surveyed the park with equanimity. No one else had climbed as high as me, and it was only because I had always loved scaling buildings as a jump artist that I could do it. I suppose the ant like people far below were jealous of my fortress, as they gradually realized ground protest was futile. Whereas I, like a latter day Tarzan with my good health and ladle full of optimism, ruled supreme in the canopy.
It is September now and the autumn winds are getting up; the park is emptying of children and mothers, and most of the landscape has been denuded of trees.
The Authorities will probably get their way and build the shopping mall, but until my own special tress is felled, I will sit tight. I may yet reign for a thousand days.
The copyright of this post belongs to Valerie Anne Rule
Saturday, 15 February 2014
Eavesdropping
Eavesdropping
Why did he take her hand?
I watched in fascination as the couple walked away. I felt compelled to follow. Furtive and soft limbed in my disguise of an elderly gentleman. My bottle of elderflower cordial left behind on the park bench, even though I had spent my last zloties on it, the bottle was cumbersome and I desired freedom of movement. Travelling light , “Ascribe greatness to my God” was the tune running through my head as my lips like a harp began to move with the rhythm in my brain. Following at a stately lick, my soft boots, so worn and loose like snakes in the grass, padded on and on.
The spring snow left stains on the red leather, and as I approached stealthily I heard the woman say “I’ve sold the painting – there will be buns for tea”.
I wish I was invited.
The copyright of this post belongs to Valerie Anne Rule
Why did he take her hand?
I watched in fascination as the couple walked away. I felt compelled to follow. Furtive and soft limbed in my disguise of an elderly gentleman. My bottle of elderflower cordial left behind on the park bench, even though I had spent my last zloties on it, the bottle was cumbersome and I desired freedom of movement. Travelling light , “Ascribe greatness to my God” was the tune running through my head as my lips like a harp began to move with the rhythm in my brain. Following at a stately lick, my soft boots, so worn and loose like snakes in the grass, padded on and on.
The spring snow left stains on the red leather, and as I approached stealthily I heard the woman say “I’ve sold the painting – there will be buns for tea”.
I wish I was invited.
The copyright of this post belongs to Valerie Anne Rule
Thursday, 13 February 2014
It begins
It Begins.
It begins again.
Each time I step inside the tunnel it begins.
The terror, stalking me like a bluebottle fly, eventually maggoting down into my subconscious and eating away at my flesh; cleaning my bones white and smooth. Now, like the rumble of a dandelion clock, I can hear the exquisite solar wind rushing like blood through my adrenalized veins. This tunnel, this darkness, this eerie solar silence.
The universe is disintegrating like the dissolution of a wishing tree, and I am hurtling through space in my tunnel of steel and magma. My light wishes are blowing away in the wind, the solar wind that is eternity within this vast space.
The silver genie granted me three wishes, the silver rocket is propelling me through a matrix of dreams. It’s what I always wanted, to fly. A memory: the reflection of dancing shoes in the puddles of my childhood. The fulfillment of my tangerine dream.
I am sending my daily message to earth now, as I always do after the instrument check. Today I say “Weather here – wish you were lovely” that will make them smile and clap.
As of today I have been up here for five hundred days, it is beyond a wish fulfilled.
I am singing as the meteor hits.
I am dreaming.
I am ecstatic.
So…it begins and ends.
The copyright of this post belongs to Valerie Anne Rule
It begins again.
Each time I step inside the tunnel it begins.
The terror, stalking me like a bluebottle fly, eventually maggoting down into my subconscious and eating away at my flesh; cleaning my bones white and smooth. Now, like the rumble of a dandelion clock, I can hear the exquisite solar wind rushing like blood through my adrenalized veins. This tunnel, this darkness, this eerie solar silence.
The universe is disintegrating like the dissolution of a wishing tree, and I am hurtling through space in my tunnel of steel and magma. My light wishes are blowing away in the wind, the solar wind that is eternity within this vast space.
The silver genie granted me three wishes, the silver rocket is propelling me through a matrix of dreams. It’s what I always wanted, to fly. A memory: the reflection of dancing shoes in the puddles of my childhood. The fulfillment of my tangerine dream.
I am sending my daily message to earth now, as I always do after the instrument check. Today I say “Weather here – wish you were lovely” that will make them smile and clap.
As of today I have been up here for five hundred days, it is beyond a wish fulfilled.
I am singing as the meteor hits.
I am dreaming.
I am ecstatic.
So…it begins and ends.
The copyright of this post belongs to Valerie Anne Rule
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