Fish Fish

This photograph was taken by Sue Baker Wilson near her home in Katikati, New Zealand. Does it inspire a haiku or perhaps a short verse?? If so, post it in a comment.

Pris

Hurricane Dennis Update

Storm Update: The hurricanes are starting earlier this year. I'm in South Florida. East Coast. It looks now as if Dennis will go up the Gulf side and miss the state, but the Keys already are in warning and Miami, an hour and a half south of us, has been warned of tropical force winds today.

Here in the greater West Palm Beach, we've had wind gusts off and on and forecasts for heavy rains and thunderstorms. There are still signs down here and there from last year's storms and many trees gone forever. No fun living along a hurricane's track. I'm pulling for the people in the upper Gulf states!

Thinking of our English friends!

He thinks he can bring down
all giants with his slingshot,
so he tamps powder tight
into bombs nightly, recites
a litany of hate as his evening
prayer, tells himself all who
are not him or like him
are evil, laughs while
the rest of the world mourns.
This terrorist...this hero
of Dante's Ninth Circle.
His feet are already ablaze.



For all victims of terrorism everywhere,
and, most especially, our English friends, this day.

Scheherazading Rapunzel--posted earlier but removed and revised.

(recasting an old fairy tale)

My hair has grown to the ground
waiting for the one with the ruby
tongue, his hands weaving false
promises into the empassioned air, but

four empty summers have passed by now.
Another man stands underneath my window.
He has caught my tears with his fingertips
and kissed them, tossed me fresh rice cakes,
lathered with honey, as a treat.

Hair finally within reach, he
hesitates, begins his climb.
Do I cut my Repunzel braid? I ask,
and wait faithful in this tower forever?

His eyes light like black opals
as he draws near, bidding me,'say yes'.
A redbird circles his head.
I think of Beth's blood and her
loveknot, her highwayman dead
on that ghostly galleon-lit road.

I know that death can come from
loving flamboyant, sweet talking men,
but Mother told me to always believe
fairy tales do come true.

I'd rather opt for this new tale, Mother,
than one filled with unraveled promises,
dwarfs, or a toad that wants kissing.

I set my scissors aside, toss
out my wedding gown; it billows
among the clouds. Yes,
this one will be my faithful Scheherazade,
my mongrel to bay at the moon with.

From My Window Redux

I belong to a yahoo World Haiku Club Multimedia group. Members of the group come from all over the states, including Hawaii, Japan, Australia, Canada, and more. We post and comment on haiga. Recently, a member thought it would be fun to post views from our windows, with at least one shot including a portion of the window, itself, so we could catch a glimpse of each other's everyday world. She's collecting them on a page to share.

If you click HERE, you'll see views of my front yard after a rain, during a rain (it rains a lot in Florida!) and my backyard, as viewed through the panes of my French Doors.

If you'd like to share your own window view, post on your blog and leave a comment with the URL.

Featuring Didi Menendez-Mary Brown Eyes

Sweet Mary Brown Eyes

Mary bought herself new running shoes
Mary bought herself three new DVDs
Mary bought Smirnoff orange flavored vodka
Mary drank two glasses with crushed ice while she watched the first DVD
Mary put her new running shoes on
Mary put Crosby Stills Nash And Young Best Hits on her Sony
Mary listens to Judy Blue Eyes
Mary does not understand the Spanish at the end of the song
Mary was born in Cuba
Mary knows how to speak Spanish
Mary does not shove her language to degree earned non speakers
Mary knows that sometimes they totally fuck up the language
Mary lets them
Mary does not understand Crosby's guajiro
Mary says hey it is like what Silliman was trying to say about Coolidge
Mary says ala Bandstand, its got a good beat and I can dance to it, I?ll give Coolidge a 7.5 Dick
Mary prefers to dance to Bukowski
Mary runs harder when the do do do do do do do do at the end goes full swing
Mary runs underneath a mango tree and starts to run backwards so she can see how well hung the tree is
Mary could jump and dunk for a mango
Mary turns around and keeps running
Mary is not addicted to alcohol
Mary has been addicted to the internet for 10 years
Mary wants to reach out and touch him as if he were a mango
Mary rewinds Judy Blue Eyes
Mary listens to it's getting to the point, I am sorry, Sometimes it hurts so badly
Mary must cry out loud
Mary is lonely
Mary keeps listening, don't let the past remind us of what we are not now
Mary keeps running


For Prissy

(the italics mean I took from the lyrics of the song Judy Blue Eyes by Crosby Still Nash and Young's lyric)

Thanks for the poem, d. I love it! Readers, check the cafecafe link to the right for the main blog didi manages. Many good poems there, reviews and announcements.

The Exhibition

My collaborator is away, but I thought I would display this one until he comes back and we make a final decision. This is about 80 percent size. To see it full size, click HERE to go to my site page.

Geoff took this photograph near his home in Yorkshire, England.

Pris

Florida Sky

Seen over our 'winter' months...

Independence

I'm directing you to a poem on my site today since it has animation and music. It's one I wrote last year after watching the Boston celebration. I spent six years in Boston and watched the Pops celebrate, complete with cannons, during those years. One year stood out in memory. I was with the man I lived with in the Commune, my first marriage over. I was giddy with love. The stars were out. The night was magic.

So many years later, watching it on tv, those days were a distant memory. Click HERE to see the page. IE blocks music sometimes so you may have to allow that to hear. If you feel more comfortable going into IE and visiting the page directly from your browser, the URL is http://www.poeticinspire.com/independence.html

Here's to the English. If they hadn't gotten us so mad we wouldn't be free:-)

Pris

Thirteen

One person, commenting on my haiga a few posts down featuring a photo at an 8th grade dance, asked which one was me. I took the photo. So....here I am at 13. My hair's in a pony tail. No, I'm not half bald:-)

The Clark Coolidge Debate continues......and continues.....

A few weeks back, Ron Silliman devoted a six page (printed out) post slapping me on the wrist for not appreciating the poetry of Clark Coolidge. It seems that post has reveberated around the web. Read HERE for more. Find the small link among others under the first larger link list entitled 'A WDS Tribute to Silliman' for a take off on Silliman's original post. (Clark C is still coming up on the Silliman blog--see my links to right--in a post two days ago).

Is there some reason we are not allowed to not like Clark Coolidge?? Were I to say I didn't like green cars would there be such a rukus?

Pris

Hop-skipping through time

Ashes

You arrive home
to this house, this brown
suburban house, made of crushed
autumn grass and old bottles.
I wonder if you'll notice that
the ghost in the chair isn't me,
but you rush out to play with
the dog, tossing indifferent
red and blue balls to the horizon.

The ghosts asks how your day was,
spreads lips to a grin, pretends
stones still can beat as hearts
before dying.

Ash pile at your feet, but you
don't see your trail til
you turn, and vague memories
drift of days when a flame once
roared high in your fireplace.

Powderpuff

All the rain has brought out the blossoms on my front yard powderpuff tree. I planted this tree twenty years ago when it didn't reach to my waist and here it is now, so beautiful.

Pris