Worms never scared me never turned me into a girlie-girl. I loved them – their twisty curly bits that swirled J shaped hooks off the end of my finger. I loved that they lingered and lounged wrapped around my thumb. Earthy jewellery. Nature’s ornaments. And they were also damned useful for fishing.
Mama thought everything changed after he was hit by lightning. He swore off the weed, dismantled the still, turned away his fleshy needs, and steeled his will. Now he wiggles his fingers and flexes his arms, and drapes himself around the neck of this favourite guitar – Daddy’s entangled and strung out in love with its song. But he says a vice by any other name is still just a vice, but he reckons there’s no harm in being drunk on a song. . . Written for Miz Quickly’s Prompt Day: 19 “Wish you were here”
18 April is Poem in Your Pocket Day, and I’d like to share one of my favourite poems with you. It’s an engrossing tale by Charles Dickens called “The Song of the Wreck”. For more info, pop over to Miz Quickly’s April Prompt blog.
THE SONG OF THE WRECK By Charles Dickens
The wind blew high, the waters raved, A ship drove on the land, A hundred human creatures saved Kneel’d down upon the sand. Three-score were drown’d, three-score were thrown Upon the black rocks wild, And thus among them, left alone, They found one helpless child. A seaman rough, to shipwreck bred, Stood out from all the rest, And gently laid the lonely head Upon his honest breast. And travelling o’er the desert wide It was a solemn joy, To see them, ever side by side, The sailor and the boy. In famine, sickness, hunger, thirst, The two were still but one, Until the strong man droop’d the first And felt his labours done. Then to a trusty friend he spake, “Across the desert wide, O take this poor boy for my sake!” And kiss’d the child and died. Toiling along in weary plight Through heavy jungle, mire, These two came later every night To warm them at the fire. Until the captain said one day, “O seaman good and kind, To save thyself now come away, And leave the boy behind!” The child was slumbering near the blaze: “O captain, let him rest Until it sinks, when God’s own ways Shall teach us what is best!” They watch’d the whiten’d ashy heap, They touch’d the child in vain; They did not leave him there asleep, He never woke again.
From whose knot did you untwine, unstitch and untie, unravel from your vine of thread, scarlet as poppies on a battlefield, vermillion love, lost red button staring back from the snow. . . . Written for Miz Quickly’s prompt: Day 17 “Found Objects”
There was this brass bull that I once rubbed for luck. Just the once though. The right horn only, as rubbing the left emptied your heart of love, as if, but the right one was polished to flashes of stroked affection. And there was this girl who waited tables nearby. Selma Siri was her name. That girl, my-my, she was no polished bull – she was rock hard and gave nothing away when you rubbed her the right way. She had a throaty sewing machine kinda laugh that needled a bit but we loved Selma Siri’s pretty name. . .
We played hopscotch
on the cobbled lanes of Seville;
old worn stones still echo
a tapping touch of steel heeled shoes,
sounds that pound hearts
to a fluttering flamenco spin. There
we danced scarlet passion for our
daily bread, broad Picasso splashes
from evening’s butterscotch sky,
and we sought life’s delights
on the cobbled lanes of Seville. .
Miz Quickly’s prompt Day 15: Listen to a short piece of instrumental music. Listen to it several times, and then write a poem. I listened to Carmen. All of it. I love it.
Photo is from Wikipedia, Seville.
A long slow cry filled the air with thick grey soot, the train still many miles away, soft bosomed terrain carrying its call through hills and vales, a plain clear note carried on the wind. Hear its long complaint
at another junction, another dusty lane where journeys ramble through fields of yellow grain, red dust and sky-high stalks of corn. Our ears strain to the tune of the Burlington Northern. So strange
that our childlike hearts jump; we’re unrestrained by the shrill of the engineer’s call, his sweet refrain to our adventurous want to travel this strange lineal sound through summer sun and winter rain.
Over there . . . . . . there is a dragon And there . . . . . . a tiger and a monkey But here I sit . . . . . . a rabbit dripping, . . . . . . oozing luck – Such a lucky rabbit – Rub my foot to see! . . . Written for Miz Quickly’s Prompt for Day 13 http://imprompt.wordpress.com/2013/04/13/april-13/