THE FIRST DAY OF SPRING

Already!
Who flicks the magic switch
to turn on the buds jasmine
and pansies on the exact date?
Maybe it's the man in the moon
the one who chases you
up and down the street
makes the dogs howl and the
bath water swirl like a whirlpool
gurgling down the plug hole

Sunday
Centennial Park is blooming
New Monet and Matisse coloured plantings
blend with dark green sculptural spikes
finally, a gardener who is not colour blind
Grey fluff'd downy cygnets waddle between
their parents arthritic spindly legs to
the honking of geese wandering around
calmly at peace with nice humans who venture
out at this time of year on a car free Sunday
I wonder why the black swans are so polite
to the muscovy ducks?
An animal behavioural scientist provides
a slick explanation concerning the
pecking order of the food chain
The swans ducks and I laugh

Monday
Mad Hatters Tea Party
Artists get together
A cloud of primavera wafts
through the beautiful young people
dotted amongst a cornucopia of macaroons
fruit chocolate marshmellow roses and
chinese lanterns suspended from branches
Alices in Wonderland...a small Blackman frieze
at a long table under an ancient fig tree
Mangoes and black cherries are early this year
Someone placed a bunch of jonquils under my nose
kissed the nape of my neck in the late afternoon
It must be Spring

*Our warmest first day of Spring since 1863

For The Weekend...Tuck and Patti

From 'Tears Of Joy' Album

The Toreador Song

I wander lonely as a cloud
amongst the spittled flecked rant
of undisciplined and disconnected ramblings
I clasp my hands together in prayer and
with a squeeze and pump-behold-I produce
The ' Toreador Song '
Bass trombone interludes reminiscent
of a Scottish podiatrist I once knew
seemed eerily close by
Amazing appendages - hands
What better accompaniment to the 1812
(my next project )
than the rumbling of distant cannon fire
across the ocean

Counting Sheep

And did Clive Staple's sheep
head straight down the road
or vere off through an open gate
tied with tinsel and money boxes
when the shepherd was distracted
watching stars by night

Baa Baa Black sheep stepping it out
brandishing a banner
'THERE IS NO PLANET B'
looked behind and there was no-one there

Mary with her little lamb whose fleece was
white as snow gave it to Blake who served
it up as woolly pap for Sunday Service
and then lunch

Sheep may still safely graze
as long as they don't mind crunching on coal dust

Three Cheers For Poetry

" When the chips are down,poetry still works. Maybe this is because I am not a poet and thus don't have to envy the person who wrote what I am reading. When my third marriage broke up, though , and shortly after the phase where all I could do was sit at the dining room table ripping photos out of the 'Who Weekly' and making
silly post cards, I wrote a poem myself. Not some ghastly quivering lyric but a long
ferocious narrative satire in strict metre and rhyme. The struggle with form became an obsession the likes of which I have never experienced, before or since. Better than romantic love. I hardly slept for fits of maniacal laughter. Every time I turned over in the night a ridiculous rhyme would click into place and I'd have to sit up and turn on the light and write it down. Now I know why all poets are insane."

Excerpt from the feel of steel by Helen Garner

10cc Dreadlock Holiday

Summer
A silk stream of water
from a hose moistens
pineapple plants
wilted in deep
baked dry pots
car horns honk
tempers zeroed
patience blown

Maquillage

Stress to some
is exhilirating
producing a snap
of firecrackers
jumping jacks
bungers and rockets

Stress to others
is a wilted lettuce
badly applied maquillage
coloured smudges
donning a couple of chandeliers
wolfing down butterfly cakes
shopping for shoes clothes
everything

Why are shopgirls calling me darling?
Why did a complete stranger put an arm around me
in the fruit market?
Must be the makeup

ALL WE LIKE SHEEP

SPOTLIGHT SERIES

POW PROMPT 15
Here is an opportunity to find out what those lines or poems are about.This is not a critique forum. If asking a question about the poem, establish what you think it might mean first.
You will need to quote from the poem to verify your opinion.This is designed to curb
the smarty pants throw away line-ha-ha element in this group.
Looking forward to your enigmatic verse.

Memories
Thoughts of hot tea and buttered toast at the Hall
A glow of burning logs in the hearth
A broken lipped vase of rose buds trickling water
dripping on to a sparrow feather and gloss peach compact
A backdrop of dusty tulle curtains
Blue Boy on the wall
Scribbled rude caption'twaddle to maidens'

She brushes the silky cat hairs from her lap
Sits on the wobbly stool antique acquisition from the tip
Allows her icy fingers to do the talking
No promise of joy on this wintry morn
A frisson of fear girdles her heart
Back straight
Feet flat
She faces her opponent then strikes

School Days At St Trinians

I originally wrote this 30 word wordle for the Wednesday Prompt. Realised it is not suitable for a Spotlight Poem because it does not evoke questions.Pity, because I like this one better than the other I am going to submit. Once I learnt that Viv and Jinksy were old school chums from St Trinians I thought a poem was in order.

Boy fingers the silk peach girdle
underneath the white tulle petticoat
A frisson of joy erupts from his heart
The maiden on his lap brushes his cheek
with rosebud lips soft feather tips of a sparrow
wing portents of promise
Raindrops trickle down the window pane
Logs glow and burn in the compact hearth
on this wintry morn at the Hall
An accompaniment of tea cups wobble and rattle
on the table to whispers sighs and breathless panting
" Who is responsible for this rude twaddle?" shouts the teacher
Jinksy's hand shot up." It was Viv, Miss Pommeroy!"

Lawrence Gladeview

Remember young Lawrence of the salted and manicured sideburns from RWP? Lawrence has just had a poem published in the literary magazine " Young American Poets " titled 'Maturity'. which is sort of an ode to facial hair.It is worth a visit especially if you like quirky,humorous, avant garde, original poetry.
Lawrence is one of America's very cool talented young poets.The fact that Lawrence is DDG is completely irrelevant to my promoting his work on my blog.I am only interested in talent (she lies ) Congratulations Lawrence.
http://beatnikprose.blogspot.com

Something Extra For The Weekend

Imagine doing this!

Haiku Splashes

warm breath steams my specs
I trudge in the deep thick snow
my gloves covered in crunched ice

what is this white death
devoid of colour and warmth
devil's dry on ice

snowmen in striped scarves
unfriendly spooky and stitched
stare vacant and fixed

I

a minnow astray
in a shark's pool out of depth
out of swing kilter

am shadowed by dreams
of pointy umbrella leaves
in sad dream spun nights

of sunshine and palms
of sea spray and mango trees
please please take me back

Something for the Weekend

Do Not Try This At Home Alone

POETRY ON WEDNESDAY POW PROMPT 15

POW PROMPT 15
Tne 30 word wordle is displayed on Man Ray's famous photo.You vill use all of zee vurds and you vill not vinje and vine (Barbra Seville)
This is the first of the SPOTLIGHT SERIES

The SPOTLIGHT POEM requires you to answer questions about the meaning of your poem
and its origin.If the subject is one you do not wish to discuss best not submit it for a spotlight poem.Please be mindful that this is not a critique exercise.

I understand that most of us do not wish to explain or analyse our work. I am opposed to this concept in theory as individual interpretation can be just as valid as the poem's intention. And, of course the more imaginative you are the more off course and wild your interpretations can be. However just occasionally to satisfy the curiosity of certain poets (Viv) I thought it would be fun to know the intention of the poet and how wildly off course our interpretations may be.

Before asking the questions you might like to state what you think the poem might mean to see how connected or disconnected you are to the original poem. For those of you who like to write or read cryptic poetry (Francis)this should be fun!

Spanish Afternoon

POW PROMPT 14
POETRY ON WEDNESDAY
Well it is here anyway.

A SPANISH AFTERNOON

A senora sits quietly contemplating
the still life of mediterranean colours
aubergine grape purple red peppers
mint avocado and parsley green
spanish jewels amongst lace and daffodils

Senora sits chopping onions for the gazpacho
drizzling golden olive oil from the glass bottle
Antonio's velveteen eyes shine up at her
through the avocados
He moves magnificently in little leopard sweeps
around the dance floor his hand pressing firmly
flat against her back in a fandango tango

She sees Lorca's huge violet coloured mosquito
and hears a hundred crickets castanet click OLE
Her eyes sting with spanish onion tears
She pours herself another sangria
Antonio whispers' pienso en ti siempre '
singing Ay Ay Ay Ay with white hot passion
on this Spanish afternoon in Sydney

Cancion del Mariaci

It must becoming fairly obvious that I am fond of Antonio Banderas.
Any look alike Banderas poets are more than welcome on this site .
Literary prowess is irrelevant.

Federico Garcia Lorca

Debussy - In English
by Federico Garcia Lorca

My shadow glides in silence
over the water course

On account of my shadows
the frogs are deprived of stars

The shadow sends my body
reflections of quiet things

My shadow moves like a huge
violet- coloured mosquito

A hundred crickets are trying
to gild the glow of the reeds

A glow arises in my breast
the one mirrored in the water


Mi sombra va silenciosa
por el agua de la acecia

Por mi sombra estan las ranas
privada de las estrellas

La sombra manda a mi cuerpo
reflejos de cosas quietas

Mi sombra va como immenso
cinife color violeta

Cien grillos quieren dorar
la luz de la canavera

Una luz nace en mi pecho
reflejado de la acequia

Spanish Lesson