Mag #218

Magpie Tales is a blog “dedicated to the enjoyment of poets and writers, for the purpose of honing their craft, sharing it with like-minded bloggers, and keeping their muses alive and well.” Each week, it offers an image as a writing prompt.

Mag 218. (Go there to read what others have written in response to this prompt.)

chair-with-the-wings-of-a-vulture 1960 salvador dali

(Chair With the Wings of a Vulture
1960, Salvador Dali)

Let’s hear it for our deities–
winged or haloed,
hanged or throned.
We want them to watch,
care, punish, save –
need them to blame
when tsunamis rise
and when bread doesn’t.

Mag 217

Magpie Tales is a blog “dedicated to the enjoyment of poets and writers, for the purpose of honing their craft, sharing it with like-minded bloggers, and keeping their muses alive and well.” Each week, it offers an image as a writing prompt.

dog sofa

Mag 217 (Go there to read what others have written in response to this prompt.)

Your Perfect Spot

There is no better place
than this untrained oasis,
where medieval fancies
embellish instant facts,
urging the mind to weave anew
what lies, shelf-dormant,
among the dust.

Here your best friend waits
in rumpled comfort
for your return from silence
to the lively clatter of clutter ,
the ritual engagement with
the antics of digital cats.

Mag #216

Magpie Tales is a blog “dedicated to the enjoyment of poets and writers, for the purpose of honing their craft, sharing it with like-minded bloggers, and keeping their muses alive and well.” Each week, it offers an image as a writing prompt.

Mag #216. (Go there to read what others have written in response to this prompt.)

Finland 1968 George F. Mobley

Finland 1968 George F. Mobley

It is foolish to think you can fool April
with bright balloons and colorful plans,
gatherings of eager hearts.

April still knows snow, disdains
the hopeful smiles of children
who wait in vain for sunny play.

Rain is April’s message, prolonging
the held breath of May, promising
only a fool’s failure to remember.

Mag #212

Magpie Tales is a blog “dedicated to the enjoyment of poets and writers, for the purpose of honing their craft, sharing it with like-minded bloggers, and keeping their muses alive and well.” Each week, it offers an image as a writing prompt.

Mag #212

My Bed by Tracey Emin

My Bed by Tracey Emin

Depression

It descends
without warming,
squatting on your chest
like the demon it is,
the weight of its message
holding mind hostage,
the detritus of being
rising like a moat around
the bed where you lay
beleaguered by fear.

almost the best time of the year

The best time will be summer, when the vines are loaded with tomatoes and beans and peas and, hopefully, the couple of exotic edibles, the seeds of which I planted in March and the seedlings of which I planted today: peach/mango/melon and cucamelon.

With my bum knees precluding any dancing or even minor walking, gardening seems to be the best exercise for me, and I, along with the rest of the family worked up a good sweat today — they tilling and enriching the garden soil and planting some seeds; I tinkering with the little shade garden plots and tending my seedlings. The little orange birdhouse (upper right of photo, below) that my daughter made last year from scrap pieces of wood in the cellar, has just been taken over by a pair of Carolina Wrens.

The Northeast is a marvel-filled place to live this time of year.

the readied vegetable garden behind the bank of glorious spring blooms

the readied vegetable garden behind the bank of glorious spring blooms

basil, parsley, sage, dill, garlic scapes seem to be doing well; some tomato seedlings are iffy, but I haven't given up on them.

basil, parsley, sage, dill, garlic scapes seem to be doing well; some tomato seedlings are iffy, but I haven’t given up on them.

the little shade garden by my little porch is overrun with Creeping Jenny -- but that's just fine because I keep moving some to other parts of the yard that are bare

the little shade garden by my little porch is overrun with Creeping Jenny — but that’s just fine because I keep moving some to other parts of the yard that are bare

the prettiest part of the yard is always the Japanese maple and the Buddha statue

the prettiest part of the yard is always the Japanese maple and the Buddha statue

I took the photos with my new LG Optimus G Pro from AT&T. I figured I’d treat myself with the money I’m saving by not having to buy cat food and litter any more — and also not having the expense of dance/exercise classes because of my bum knees. One door closes, another door opens.

life reaches

Some 25 years ago, a friend gave me a clipping from her Wandering Jew plant that she had grown from a clipping a friend had given her.

I have moved this plant with me through a half-dozen moves since then, and it continues to grow in several pots around this house. It’s a survivor, thriving on minimum care. And periodically a tendril emerges (sometimes after years of compact dormancy) to reach for light and something to hold onto.

I think of it as having an “old soul” and a “young heart.”

Ronni Bennett, my elderblogger friend over at Time Goes By would disagree with my using the phrase “young heart. But I am partial to metaphors.

And my spring-reaching houseplant is an inspirational one for me.

Seducing Spring

It’s not even 20 degrees outside, but I’m sprouting a sweet potato vine on the kitchen windowsill. By the time Spring is really here, I should have a hearty vine that I can keep rooting from cuttings. And then I can hang the vines in a basket outside my window. If I keep rooting the cuttings, I can hang a basket indoors all year.

I need something to plan toward, look forward to — something other than the solitude of a long cold winter.

Views

All kitchens should have windows
double wide, Windexed clear
if not into sunny vistas at least
into frames of sky

beyond a stand of trees bordered
by day lilies in clumps, maybe
a lilac bush or two, certainly
a bird feeder busy with wings and

morning light. Not to mention a deep
indoor sill where seeds sprout green
even when winter shrouds the pane.

(elf 2003)

this wild life

That’s what we are, an official Wildlife Habitat, as the sign on the picket fence announces.

Birds abound. This morning I watched a Baltimore Oriole flit in and around the Mulberry tree than hangs over the shed. It was the first time I’d ever seen one of those. Of course, the feeders and suet cages attract all kinds of birds, and Cooper and other hawks frequently sail overhead, watching for edibles lurking in the woods behind our house. I am particularly fond of the Grackle who comes to the feeder outside my window where my cat keeps watch. (I finally put up a baffle that seems to work for keeping the squirrels from eating all of the bird food.)

In addition to the neighborhood rabbits, we have two (at least) resident woodchucks whose burrows are under the shed (in which lives a silver-dollar sized spider). My daughter took this photos of the largest woodchuck in mid-chew. There is a new baby this year, and we watched it timidly exploring the back yard this morning. The giant hostas seem to be very hospitable to the daily caravan of chipmunks who make their careful way several times a day to gather up what crumbs the birds have left behind.

There is a downside to all of this wildlife. We’ve had to choose between a beautiful climbing rose bush (that actually bloomed both red and white roses this spring) and the woodchucks (who ate off the the leaves and flowers). The wild woodchucks won.

My grandson spends his days investigating ant colonies and identifying various flying objects. Summer moves in lush and lingering, and we are hopeful that the fence will keep the critters out of our vegetable garden. And that’s about as wild as life gets around here.