Magpie-Tales on A Geek's Life

#81 - Winning

Wed, 23 Mar 2016 19:23:58 +0000

For Mag 309:

In the set of her shoulders and the glint in her eye- is the quiet reassurance of certitude; and of knowing.

That as certain as after day comes night, And with the wind comes chill, She wins…

In the end.

Dear Future Me

Mon, 07 Mar 2016 13:08:02 +0000

For Mag 308:

Dear Future Me, I wanted to tell you that whatever happens tonight- on the corner of L and Ninth; you will survive.

That this too, this sense Of worry wrapping itself like a wreath around your windpipe will pass, whether lost in the exhilaration of assent; or obliterated in the loud clang of a cataclysmic bang.

That this sense of free fall, of uncertainty gnawing at your insides will give way to the clarity of certitude; that the restful stillness of truth will triumph over the ambivalence of baseless hope.

#38 - The Returning

Tue, 09 Feb 2016 21:05:39 +0000

For Mag 305

Like a sentinel She casts her eye over the Sea. Those who have left-

A lost, fading blob. In her heart hides defiant Hope For their returning.

#24 - Dancing With (In) The Rain

Tue, 26 Jan 2016 18:21:46 +0000

---

She whirls to the rhythm of the rain. Her dance, light-footed - A pirouette - in step with the beat The light, gentle splatter of rain - Drops stopped in full flight By the chipped stones makes. As the night light catches The fringe of her costume She is no longer there. What we have is the after glow Of stolen re-memory - Of Peace and of repose And the calming lightness Of the patter of the Rain.

A Pilgrim's Prayer

Tue, 12 May 2015 05:00:00 +0000

For Mag 269 --- Here beneath The glow of your halo, Mother of God, With clasped hands And humble spirit I bow in supplication, Bringing a prayer For redemption, for Absolution from this Weight, this burden Of deferred hope.

The crash of thunder, Flash of lightning, Fire and smoke, Echoed across seven hills Is etched in my memory A callus chafed raw By this journey, This unceasing battle Of Self and Spirit Of good ambushed by doubt

Transmogrification

Wed, 06 May 2015 20:54:45 +0000

For Mag 268: --- The dinginess within cannot hide the beauty that lurks here, hidden beneath the patina of age and wanton neglect.

Haste hinders the unveiling of poise, of grace carved out of ugly rock, of error transmogrified* by intense, pregnant intent, into a towering edifice of strained sinews and abs chiseled to perfection.

This is no drowning Narcissus sinking into a murky river of swirling self indulgence; this is David, bare and broken saved by the master’s hand.

NaPoWriMo Day 10 - Stalemate

Sat, 11 Apr 2015 08:37:02 +0000

John Sargent, A Dinner Table at Night (1884) Source A t first you ask to talk, but B urning deep within is the burden of words, a C acophony of voices in your head, D riving despair like a stake into wetted E arth, a haze that settles in and just won’t shift. You

F ind a time and place to have the talk, you G o with the flow, tell it like it is, whilst H e squirms beneath the weight of I nnocence lost, guilt like a pall of smoke drifting in. He J okes about not meaning IT, but there is a K nowing that transcends the clarification of intent, that L ooms larger than any image words alone can paint;

NaPoWriMo Day 3- For Forgiveness

Sat, 04 Apr 2015 06:36:20 +0000

Forgive me if I disappear here, if like a dying Shooting star my flight expires in a flash of light, yielding To the encircling murk, this shroud that slowly stultifies.

Forgive me if my quivering lips neglect to tell my tale Of broken shattered things and distant pains that still remain And this unyielding weight; of things quotidian and unseen.

Why can’t skies have clouds and stars\* and enthralling moon light too? Why must a pilgrim find his way, on slippery pavements too?

#148 - Homeward

Mon, 17 Dec 2012 12:35:51 +0000

For prompt 148 at the Magpie Tales, a repost.


[![Andy Magee - homeward](/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/andy-magee-homeward.jpg)](/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/andy-magee-homeward.jpg)

Though tears like a river course down like rain, And your heart by cupid’s fiery barbs is rent. Although your cracked voice breaks out in wails, And hell with all its fury and fiends seem sent. Be still, Stay strong, you’ll make it home.

Though fear like a cloak your mind enshrouds, And rabid voices, your reasoning besiege. Though Night descends, your dreams to hound, And heart beats resonate to a symphony of rage. Be still, Stay strong, you’ll make it home.

Amnesia

Tue, 27 Nov 2012 12:55:25 +0000

For Prompt #145 at the Magpie Tales, and PawPaw, who left too soon.


His broken memory
no longer can relate
to her gentle touch-
Or the quiet reassurance
of her gnarled fingers
atop his wrinkled skin.
Or the long faded recollection
of the taste of smoked bush meat
chased down his thirsty throat
by frothy cups
of sweet palm wine.

He no longer can
remember the smell-
of moth balls – hanging
like a pall, around her clothes
a wispy cloud driven out
from before the eastward Sun
as it streaks across the sky.

But the dirty red chair
constant like the sun remains-
a signpost to a past
he can no longer reach
A place where once
Upon a Life there was a love
And a bond so strong
Though he barely remembers
He still can't quite forget

Far far landing...

Mon, 13 Aug 2012 17:57:29 +0000

For the prompts Far far landing on We Write Poems and Mag 130 on the Magpie tales


the distance claimed you -
seven rivers, seven valleys
and seven mountains too.

fuzzy memories,shadows
wrapped around browned skin -
like a caul - hide you;
till like a distant
shimmering mirage
you fade into the space
where sky meets earth
and where like a pilgrim
I have been drawn
by the call of the muezzin.

the old women
by the river tell tales-
of muttered blessings
of redemption, and of rebirths
where like butterflies
shedding their cocoons
we may arise in peace
on that far flung,
far far landing.