Tuesday, June 27, 2017

Black Satin (Blogophilia 18.10)

It is in all caps
Not the first, not the last
Not my monkey or hers
Knowing our own darkness
Faded memories of demons long past,
Still haunt

Tattooed Alice falling
Into a Dali landscape
Where up is left
And down leads to another dimension.

Blood is its avatar, its seal
Scarlet stains upon the face
A solid mass of contusions
Pale, faded roses on the black satin bier

Screen shout drawing the usual suspects
The “heroes”, The vampires
Agendas working against each other
Struggling against another iteration
Of power and subjugation
In a tango where both lead.
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Poe paraphrase: Blood was its Avatar and its seal -- the redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, -Masque of the Red Death
Pic Guesses: Pale Rose (in blog), Black satin (in blog), Faded, Mourning, Vampire (in blog), pastel,

Wednesday, June 21, 2017

Girl (Blogophilia 17.10)

Not really attractive
Mom hips, no tits
Bottle blonde
Over coke bottle glasses
Too much make up
Hiding broken promises
Scars real and not

Selling again
Never say never
Something lasting
Intertwined
Bull to her Bud
Riding into the sunset

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Topic (Never say never)-Kim Herndon
Pic guesses-Intertwined (in blog), Hearts in the sky, sky writing, Interlocking, Blue sky, Proposal, Love,


Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Oz in Wonderland (Blogophilia 16.10)

A woman in ruby red shoes
Out of place on the porch
Blue smock and white pinafore
Clutching a rabbits foot
Older than the hills, younger than a baby
Her story is to behold

Long ago In a wheat field
The storm blew, lifting her gingham skirts
High above the rainbow
A yellow brick road in the distance

But it was not to be
The slide formed
Past the pot o'gold she went.

Falling,
Falling
Landing with a bump
On top of a blonde haired girl.

"Oh, excuse me.
She said, lending a hand
Who are you?"
Brushing the dust
"Alice. " She replied
"I'm hunting rabbit
And, you?"
"Dorothy.
I'm running from an old maid."

Alice frowned
"Well, before you rudely dropped in
Honey Bunny went left."
Curious, Dorothy asked
"Is it true what they say?"
Alice smirked
"Much more to the story
Than officially told.
I wasn't so innocent
I was so bold.
Peeking in the looking glass, I saw the tail
I had to have him
Leaning in, I fell like a second story man
Down the tunnel I went
Out in the field
Soon I caught him,
But he turned the tables on me.
Tea and smoke
Donning fezzes from the hatter like Zoroastrian holy men
We found ourselves praying to Mazda on top of the Jabberwock
Nibbling on out bits until I saw spots.
We sang in joy
As the crowd looked on
Fez and fuzz became one as sleep came
When I came to
He was gone.
I was so blue"

As Alice finished, Dorothy smiled
She knew just what to do.
Pulling the blonde close, she found the Fez
Alice, she found the shoes
The rest was a blur
Fuzz and fez came apart
Replaced by courage, heart and brains
And a new rainbow raising them home

Dorothy smiles at the memory
It was the best night of their lives
She looks now over the Kansas prairie
While Alice cooks rabbit stew.

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Pic guesses: Second story man (in blog), Looked on (in blog), Peeping toms, Peekaboo, Long drink of water, wildlife, spotted, Leaning in (in blog), Peeking (in blog), Zoo,

Friday, June 9, 2017

Road Trip (Blogophilia 15.10)

“Mommy. Are we there, yet?” The voice had just a bit of a whine to it.
“Not yet. We still have a little bit to go.”
Kathy reached into the bag at her feet. Out came a bottle of water. She offered it to Emily.
“Thirsty?”
Brushing a fly off the pale arm, the little girl replied, “No, thanks.”
Kathy opened it up and took a swallow, then offered it to Jimmy behind the wheel, who finished it in one long glug.
Emily looked out the window. These country roads were boring. Miles and miles of grass fields with cows here and there. Some of them had ponies, but even then they just stood and ate. They probably pooped, too. But the car was moving too fast to see that. It also meant they couldn’t smell it, either. Good. She remembered the school field trip to the zoo. It stunk bad. Cows and ponies probably smell bad, too.
Around a curve, an abandoned log cabin stood next to the road. The windows were all broken and the door was missing, which made it look like had a face. It looked so cool. It felt like it was talking to her.
“Ooh, look at that old house, Daddy. Can we stop and see it?”
Jimmy was irritated. “No, Honey.” He said. “Aunt Pam is fixing dinner and we don’t want to be late.”
“Oh, O.K.” She knew not to say anything else.
What was the house’s story, she wondered? Everything had one. You just had to look to see what it was. Was it like the Gingerbread House where the old witch was waiting for kids to turn into sweets? She liked sweets, but she didn’t want to be one. Or was it like Red Riding Hood’s Granma’s house, with a wolf to eat you up? That would hurt. She thought about asking again to go back, but that would only make Daddy mad.
On the seat next to hers was a lined tablet. There was a piece of sticky tape on the top of it and Mommy put a pencil there. Drawing was fun when there was nothing else to do. A sketch of a house with a hole in the roof soon appeared. She added a cow, a horse and a stick girl at the door. She couldn’t put in the red hair, though. The crayons were packed in trunk for when they got to Aunt Pam’s. Coloring would have to wait until they got there. The eyes became so heavy.
*****
The pony’s fiery mane matched her own. The green t-shirt and polka dot short was replaced by a long white dress, like a princess would wear. Galloping across the golden meadow, the old cabin was perched on the ridge above her. It looked lonely and lost. With a light tug, the pony stopped at the steps of the porch. Standing still for a moment, a smile grew from ear to ear for she could hear the spirit breathing inside. With a turn, she dismounted and came up to the first stair.
“Mr. House, may I please come in?”
There was a faint rumble, wind in the broken glass.
“Who wishes to disturb my slumber?”
She stepped back, almost tripping over the hem of her skirt.
“My name is Emily. I saw you from across the field and wondered what your story was.”
A chuckle like sound came from the doorway.
“My story? Little girl, a few times I have been around that track. I have no story. A man built me some moons ago. It took him a season and a phase to finish. The spirits of six trees make my walls and floors. All of them cut from across the field from which you came. The Man took care to form me and make me tight against the rain. After he was finished, he brought a wife and they raised three red haired little girls.
This revelation delighted her.
“Like me?”
The porch almost smiled.
“Yes, very much like you. It is serendipity you have arrived and blessed me with your company. They were such sweet things, playing games here on my porch, then following their Mommy down into the field to feed the cows. And, yes, they do poop. But I never thought it was that bad. It kept the grass fed.”
The little girl giggled.
“In time they each grew to be as beautiful as the wife. Younger men came and claimed them for their wives one by one, and I would weep at their leaving. I kept hope they would bring their own children to play on my porch. But, alas, they never did return. It wasn’t long after the youngest left the Man and Wife took ill and died. Do you know what died means, Little One?”
Emily became thoughtful and silent for a moment.
“Kind of like when Granny, my Daddy’s mommy, went away?”
“Yes, like that. I have been alone since. Some of the neighbors say the Man and Wife are still in here in spirit, as ghosts. How I wish. Even when they fussed, it was a lovely sound. It’s lonely here. A few people have come by. But only to be mean by scratching my walls and breaking my walls. You don’t look like that kind.”
“No. My Mommy and Daddy told me to be kind to everyone, even they aren’t kind to you. They said it was a seed that would grow as long as you tended it.”
“That is a good lesson. Remember it...”
****
“Sweetie, wake up. We’re here.” Daddy kissed her forehead. “Was it a nice nap?
Emily rubbed her eyes.
“Yes, Daddy. It was. The Old House did have a story. It was built long ago...”
“Hold on to that thought, Honey, and you can tell me after we eat. I can smell the barbecue from here.
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Topic (Country Roads)-Kim Herndon
Pic guesses: Golden meadow (in blog), field (in blog), lost (in blog), roll in the hay, grass (in blog), harvest, homestead, house

Thursday, June 1, 2017

Atlanta Traffic (Blogophilia 14.10)

The topic this week is “So many road blocks
 
OK, that naturally bleeds into one of favorite topics, Atlanta roads. Oh, this town is special. Not many places can claim their expressways catch fire and burn to the ground.

Add one homeless dude, a rolling molotov cocktail and improperly stored pipe and this is what you get.
This is just the latest of the fun. 
 
3 major interstates intersect just south of the state capitol,and they are under construction, all of the time, 24/7. Orange barrels and “temporary” barriers as far as the eye can see. And not just inside the city, but for a 50 mile radius. Because of this experience in constant concrete, the road above was rebuilt in 44 days (the cost hasn’t been fully revealed). You spend your commute time staring at the bumper before you and hope the one behind is paying attention. Nothing worse than being part of the four car insurance seminar blocking traffic.
 
Then you have I-285 (also known as the Perimeter), which acts as the de facto castle wall to area. 8-12 lanes of asphalt with two speeds, parking lot and 100 mph. Places are described as “Inside” (ITP) or “Outside” (OTP), depending on which side of the wall you are on. You can guess where the snobs are. 
 
There isn’t neatly laid out street grid, like other cities. That would have been too easy. The road network is best described as a spiderweb laid out by Dali and painted by Picasso. The spider as an artist has never been employed, really. Roads, originally Native trading trails, radiate out from an intersection known as “Five Points” following hill ridge lines, with very little cross connection. Street names change with no rhyme or reason and dead end at railroad tracks. Panhandlers are at every corner, tapping tin cans to get your attention. 
 
The best known joke about the city is Peachtree. Yes, there ARE 28 different streets with the word in the name. Some of them run parallel, while others are cross streets. They go north, south, east and west. It’s better to use the Waffle House method to give directions (go to the corner with the WH and turn left, then pass two more and turn right...). Or, if you are in the Northwest suburbs, use this to guide you.
The only chicken you can see from space.
(Maybe we should be called “The Chicken City”. You can have your chicken sandwich Political (Chik-Fil-A), Historical (Paschal’s), Old Fashioned (The Colonnade), or just normal (Zaxby’s), the whole town runs on fast food and soft drinks.)
 
You would think this chaos would drive people away. But people seem to make money here.
 
And in this world, it is what counts.

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Topic-Dahlia Ramone
Pic guesses: Dali (in blog), on the wall, Sound of Silence, Cartoon, Warhol, surreal, contrast,