poetry

Goblin Market

dadsshoes

“Watch out for those boots,” Mitt warned Keef as they approached the Goblin Market. “Don’t you remember what happened to Lizzie’s sister Laura?”

 

“They’re a reminder of the goblins,” his friend conceded. “They’ll stop at nothing to sell us their poisonous fruits.”

 

It’s odd,” the former continued, “How such ugly little fellows can make such an enchanting pitch. It just goes to show how delightful a charm the fruits can have.

 

They went on along their way, strolling past the local graveyard and mental institution. The goblins, in the background, continued their irresistible, incessant chant, determined to entice the locals.

 

It’s time, yet again, for Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers . Follow the link for an explanation.  Courtney Wright has supplied this week’s photo prompt.

 

 

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Irrevocable Transformation

Humpty Dumpty’s a metaphor

 

Fallen from the wall

 

Past is gone forevermore

 

No return at all.

 

Adam and Eve’s Apple 

 

Imagined as an egg

 

Pandora’s Box, of course,

 

Works just as well.

 

I’ll see you soon.

 

Between now and then

 

Think of some more.

 

 

It’s time yet again for DVerse Poets Pub

 

Today’s Quadrille #53 is a 44~word poem, written by each of us, including the word “egg”.  Kim is our Fearless Leader.

 

 

 

 

 

Novel Mode Of Transportation

Why are you staring at that car in the air?

O do you think it is somewhat abnormal? 

 

O it does not matter, no, nor do I care

 

For my manners are so very informal.

I try to behave with a casual flair

 

And I shan’t freak out aloud as a storm’ll.

 

Unlike the other fuels, so tried and true,

 

Balloons, you see, at least are something new.

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This is my very first attempt at Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie

 

It’s also my very first attempt at Ottava Rima

 

Photo credit goes to Vincent Bourihon.

 

 

Porphyria’s Cat

kittenPorphyria’s cat had always been quite concerned about her latest beau.                                                                                                     “I don’t care what any of you say,” he told his friends. “I just don’t trust this creep!”                                                                                                                                                      One particularly cold, stormy, windy night, his suspicions were proven right.                                                                                       After having lit the fire and gotten comfortable she sat next to Lover Boy. The gorgeous blue~eyed blondie, who had always been the object of his narcissist obsession, fell prey to his sadistic side.                                                                                                                                                                           The cat was quite stunned.                                                                                                               “I can’t believe it!” he gasped helplessly. “That moron’s strangled my beloved owner.”

 

He gazed at the deranged scene.  The lady’s dead body, and her maniacal boyfriend, sat side by side.                                                                                                       

The cat couldn’t imagine what to do. His heart was broken. Overwhelmed with disbelief that such a horrid spectacle could possibly be met with such equally intense silence, he trembled helplessly. Amazingly, the fire went on crackling, the clock continued ticking, all was as before. 

 

Don’t they even know what’s happened?” he pondered. The very air was overwhelmed with complete madness as the killer just sat there, smug in his obsessive selfishness. Smiling, even laughing, he truly knew how to break a cat’s heart. 

 

Here’s yet another attempt at Flash Fiction For the Practical Practitioner

 

 

 

I got the idea to write a story based upon Robert Browning’s poem,  “Porphyria’s Lover”

 

Photo credit goes to Morgue File

Role Models

John, Paul, George, and Ringo,                                                                                                       

 And St. Gabriel Possenti 

.                                                                                           .                                                                  I’ve read biographies of them                                                                                            And they’ve come to life in front of me.

 

Role models are often like that,

 

Prone toward transcending time and space.

 

Those who appear to be mere names and faces

 

Often tend to be the trickiest that way.

 

Yet again I’ve made an attempt at DVerse Poets Pub

 

Today’s poem is about Heroes, Super Heroes, Super Powers, etc.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                                                                     

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tanaga

Cold panic grips the senses.

Past, Future, behind Fences.   

Seen through distorted lenses. 

Left Alone, nothing cleanses.                                                                                                             This is my first recent attempt at poetry. Tanaga is a Filipino form of poetry I’d never heard of before this afternoon.

                                                                                                         

art and life

Ralph was to be married in a few days. To help him relax, his best man Sam took him to his favorite hangout so they could read poetry for a while.

They found the Norton Anthology of Victorian Poems and began reading.

First they read Tennyson’s “Locksley Hall”, a tale of a soldier jilted by his old girlfriend, now a wife and mother, whose parents can’t stand him. Throughout the poem he wallows in bitterness.

They then turned to Robert Browning’s “My Last Duchess”. The Duke’s widowhood was self-inflicted.

“Is it always this way?” Ralph asked, anxiously pondering his decision.

This week’s photo prompt was provided by J. Hardy Carroll. Friday Fictioneers is our weekly attempt at writing a one hundred-word story, with the help of our fearless leader, Rochelle Wisoff~Fields.

let the sun shine let the sun shine in

Is springtime at last approaching?

My hitherto forced grins

Are becoming more spontaneous.

Now I can come out

Of my shell again

And face the world.

Not cut out for winter,

I fall in love

With each vernal outburst.

 I wish it were permanent.

Join us for quadrilles in  dverse   forty.four.word poetry.

 

an enigmatic good-bye

Perhaps I should have told him

Or at least made something up.

         I’ve met another man, joined the

Dominicans…  O it’s too late now.  He’s

          right  here.   I must make haste.

 My heart is broken but at least it’s all over.

 

magpie tales

kathe w

bjorn

c hummel kornell