Magpie Tales #41 Poem Clocking

Steady heartbeat in the bright late morning light.
Chimes bring awareness like a meditation bell:
wake up, wake up.
Reliable hands move, point,
sooth my tedious mind,
mark my course on life's time line as firmly as a stick of charcoal.
On lonely days this grandmother wraps me in her shawl and hums.

Without man's infernal measuring device
what would we have?
Infinity.

Photo courtesy of Willow and Magpie Tales. Read more prose and poetry using this photo as a prompt here.

Click to hear me read my poem. Recording done via my digital camera video selection. This is not intended as a video. Just an audio. I aimed the camera out the window.

Magpie Tales # 40 third fragment of a fable

Summary:An unnamed heroine has been trapped in a castle and is trying to find a way out.
"Let me out, " I whispered to the guardians. I tempted them with the wad of dollar bills I carried in my skirt pocket. I danced. I sang. I told a joke. The mirrors merely reflected back my inadequacy. In frustration I......(ending of segment 2)

knelt on the cold, tile floor, then eased into a child's pose in supplication. My confused thoughts whirled.

A cold breeze encompassed me, a sweetness like honey filled my mouth. The words"be yourself, not a reflection," filled my mind. I sat back on my heels, my hands in prayer position, my eyes closed. When I opened my eyes, I no longer saw my reflection, but greenery, a stream, a path into the woods. The doors were slowly swinging open. The child had returned. She smiled at me and beckoned once again, then ran into the trees.

Slowly, I stood, no longer as spry and quick as I once was, and walked through the portal into the light, the fresh air. "Wait," I said as I began to follow the child. "I am slow." A wisp of light drew me onward. The pit patter of feet.

The autumn forest filled my senses, the rustle of leaves, the whisper of squirrels gathering their winter stores. The smell of decaying leaves. Now and then a bird cried, a laugh sounded. And then, silence. The single path became many paths. One to the north, one the south, east, west and more. Which path had the child taken?

I raced from one spot to the next. Began to walk the northerly path. Returned and took the southerly path. How to chose? Disconsolate, I sat on a fallen tree and sighed. I felt weary. Alone.

After a time, the sun shifted. I saw a glint in the grass. And there I found a necklace. Here, here is the path. I looped the necklace around my neck and hurried on.

read part one and part two of this fable if you wish.

read more Magpie tales based on the necklace photo here.

Photo courtesy of Willow, the hostess of Magpie Tales. Thanks Willow.

Charlotte's Web retold

Get thee to a monastery
Wilbur.
These babies are mine!

Magpie Tales # 38 All I Have to Say

Many years my bones have lain here among the roots.
Their tangled nerves, where they have penetrated
my wooden shroud, brush my face.

The worms, the ants, the gophers
keep me company in my long sentinel,
tucked tightly into the grit.

Above, scoundrels topple
the witness to my name and days.
Cries of glee mock that soon embracing fate.

Do not be afraid, I want to say.
It is not what you think, this long journey.
This fling into the universal void is not dark, but light.

Magpie Tales untitled fragment #2 A Fable

drew on my sweater and slipped my feet into my sandals. My room was on the top floor of a tall tower. The stairs descended in a narrow spiral. The steps were old and worn from the many feet that descended before me.

Down, down, down I crept. Impossible to hurry. Somewhat dizzying. Think Jimmy Stewart in Vertigo. When I at last reached the foyer, immediately I faced myself. Two doors made of large mirrors stood sentinel. The guardians at the gate.

I ran my hands around the wooden door frame, searching for a knob. Nothing. I pressed my hands and then the full force of my body against the mirrors. Nothing. Unlike Alice, I could not find my way through the glass. No surprise. I had tried to leave at least 10.5 times before and never found the magic words or key to unlock the doors.

I stood back and stared at my self. A thin, gray-haired aging hippie dressed in a patchwork skirt and black turtleneck that had lost its spring. Cloisonne earrings dangled against my cheek, my face looked haggard and pale. The small rose tattoo on my left ankle was barely discernible.

"Let me out, " I whispered to the guardians. I tempted them with the wad of dollar bills I carried in my skirt pocket. I danced. I sang. I told a joke. The mirrors merely reflected back my inadequacy. In frustration I......

Scroll down to read the first fragment of this fable. Click here to read other Magpie Tales written using the mirror photo as a prompt.

Magpie Tales untitled fragment

I cant remember how it all started, it was so long ago. I simply know I awoke one day and it was as if I wore blinders. All about me was darkness, I seemed to be in some great stone structure, a castle at best. A prison at worst.

I arose from my cot and flung open the heavy wooden shutters. My eyes blinked at the light. Below, I heard a thunderous sound, as of waves upon the shore and from the trees the sharp call of some mysterious creature whether bird or beast I was not certain. My impulse was to slam shut the shutters and retreat again into the dark, safe and unknowing. Silent and self-absorbed.

But as I looked below onto the barren ground I saw a child, dressed in white with long, russet tresses. She was calling to me, though her words were carried away on the wind before I could capture them. She beckoned and then turned away, running as children will over the hillock and toward the forest beyond.

I sat for a moment on the edge of my cot and pondered. And here it was. Simple and clear. Would I choose the dark comfort of my chamber or would I face the challenge of the light and the child calling me. Would I clamber down the narrow wooden stairs and draw open the heavy brass-studded door. I was not one to make hasty decisions, but soon the child would be out of sight if she was not already. Perhaps impossible to follow. I drew my fingers through my hair, rubbed my face roughly, and……..

this is not complete in itself but perhaps the beginning of a story. Forgive the language but I am reading The Historian. Such language is catching. See more Magpie Tales written using above photo as a prompt.

Whirl

dedicated to Blue Sky Dreaming and her accepting autumn series

WHIRL

First, a Hansa yellow morning sky
then, on the drive home, a rainbow.

The too sweet taste of Pistachio meringue.
A whiff of fear.

Hair falling to the floor, snip, snip.
Rustling leaves drifting: a gypsy whirl.

This birthday gives pause. This one.
Both feet in autumn now.

What was thought known is now unknown.
I am solitary, banished, exiled.
Bare and thin, my branches face the chill.

Your winter fire will warm me.

Read more writing on this week's theme at Magpie Tales.