A Cat Named Killer

google images

Tigers die and leave their skins; people die and leave their names. 
 ~Japanese Proverb




Call me fickle, or maybe just in need of diversity, but I have decided to change the name of my blog.  I have come across 3 other blogs with the same title, and I have a hankering to come up with something new. 
All my blog friends have become dear to my heart and inspire my mind, and I want to make you a part of my decision, so I am going to list all my ideas for names and ask that you comment and give me some feed back on what you prefer.
Here we go:

1. Planting Poems with Ink

2. Poems, Pens, and Kryptonite

3. Echoes of Hope

4. Whisper In a Hail Storm

5. Reflections of a Foolish Poet

6. Lessons=Poetry

7. Recovering Through Poetry

8. Your ideas are welcome (this is not a name) Laugh out loud

9.__________________________________

I look forward to seeing your thoughts and ideas.

Thank you dear blogger friends. :-)

 

Swift Bird

google images

Time is an old firmly rooted tree; we are the breeze rustling its leaves.
 ~Terri Guillemets

Time is a prudent yet swift bird
 that we all truly long to catch.
Though the feathers that it flies with
 carry it ever further beyond our grasp.
We rush awkwardly forward
as it touches back down upon a branch
and we reach out in a hurry
but still with a backward glance.
For no nets nor loaded guns
can catch this bird in hovered flight.
It tarries not for no beast nor human
as it takes each hour soft within the night.



Linking with dVerse for Mary's prompt "Time"



 

Spoon Fulls of The Moon (Magpie Memories)

Venus de Milo with drawers,1936,Salvador Dali

The Mag 157

(Now linking with #229 boy does time fly.)

"Venus demilo

In her half-baked shell

Understood the nature

Of love very well

She said, a good love is delicious

You can’t get enough too soon

It makes you so crazy

You want to swallow the moon"

~Lyrics of Jupiter written by Jewel

 

There are places hidden like drawers

 in a chest that only some will ever see

A thousand secrets of the great enigma

 that only one man can truly free

Inside each are longings sorted like bobby pens
 at the bottom of beauty's wealth

with different shades of gray and red

 that camouflage a woman's heart with stealth

for the hungers of love's deep wanting are contained

 yet they can be seen by the naked eye

as the beauty of longing and all it's charms

 spoon up the moon with just a sigh.

 

 

I have so many unfinished posts for Magpie Tale prompts that I started, but could not get finished before the following prompt started.  I hope it will be okay, but I have decided to link them in here and there on future weeks prompts, so that they will get finished and at least linked in the place they once belonged.  I am going to call them "Magpie Memories".  I probably have about 18 or so that I started and did not complete.  So this one is the first of many old ones to come.  Approval permitting of course.  Hope everyone has a wonderful week.  Thank you Tess.  Magpie Tales has been a wonderful inspiration for me. 

Life is a Passage of Grace

The Mag #228 Photo courtesy Tess

 

In life we all have an unspeakable secret, an irreversible regret, an unreachable dream and an unforgettable love. ~Diego Marchi

It is

an awkward

yet graceful journey

the trek that each man

treads in this life.  Where

the steps wind in different directions

but we all still head toward the same higher hall

Hoping for some joy and longing to be heard stepping ever

forward on steps our fathers forged. It is a passage worn with hardship

yet still remnants of the beautiful tapestry of life's estate.  

So climb it's steps with all your fervor and hold the banister how you dare,

for you will have to brave some falls if you are truly going to get somewhere.

A Place for Peace

google images


 linking with Poetry Jam for the "an impossible place" prompt.

Hope never abandons you, you abandon it. ~George Weinberg

It is strange how our view of things can change.  What once seemed like an impossible place for me to survive, has become a bearable place to linger that I can find refuge in and truly live.  I am not speaking of actual places nor shelter, I am referring to the mind and the stresses of life that we cannot escape.  There was a time when dealing with a grown child with alcohol and addiction problems would put me directly into a major panic attack.  I would be unable to calm my mind, and my peace was stolen like a timex watch left out in the street.  My mind would race with the chaos of dread.  All that could go wrong and all the worst that could happen danced around in my mind.  A ballroom waltz between peril and calamity.  They don't dance gracefully though.  It is an appalling sight where bunions get stepped on and all look on in misery.  Somehow, in the course of time and it's way of healing, I have learned to cope.  The deeds of another human dear to my heart are not internalized like my hand is the hand that pulled the trigger to a gun I never laid eyes on.  Things have improved, but when something does go wrong it does not have the same impact as before.  My mind is not at the end of a loaded weapon that can kill my peace with one bang.  It is not an impossible place to have any peace or sanity.  It is now a shelter with some peace and a warm blanket of hope that keeps my thoughts and cares warm. 
 

Life Is A Homage

"Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to."

  ~John Ed Pearce

The Soul's Watering Can

Courtesy Google Images

 

Linking with Poetry Jam for the "Thirst" prompt.

 

To live is so startling it leaves little time for anything else.  ~Emily Dickinson

I am wilted and parched in places
 that the sun and man shall never see
 in my heart's garden of utter regrets
 that grow wild on the plenty of complacency.
  Pick the roses step on the orchids
 pull the weeds if you dare,
but please God water the deepest roots
 before my outer foliage becomes bare.



People and plants both must have water to live and in many ways are very much alike.  If you nurture the roots, the outer foliage is always more lovely.  The same is true for a human heart.  If you feed the soul with the fruits of the spirit, then the evidence is always seen on the outside as well.  What goes in has a way of bearing witness on the outside as well.  We can hide many faults within our outer armor, but some things just cannot be hidden.  We can starve the soul for a while but sooner or later the malnourishment is visible for the world to see.  The different is that the garden relies on man to feed its fold, and man relies on God.  Yet there is still another difference; God allows us the choice to accept Him or deny Him.  He is the soul's watering can, but only we can choose to pour it in.

The Voice of Reason

courtesy google images

linking with dVerse for the "dadaism" prompt

Reality leaves a lot to the imagination. ~John Lennon

Sometimes the wars of life drown out the voice of reason and peace.  Everything that makes sense becomes distorted, like an images reflection in cut class. So the revolutionary that lives within the spirit of every man makes his way out to the surface and speaks out and demands to be heard.  Here is my attempt at an abstract "dadaism" piece of writing:

My voice has been swallowed by a lion
whose roar is flying with fallen stars
where light and dark make love to silence
and beauty looks on in longing to be touched
yes yes life says
take the lion and the shark with 2 hands
hold on to the grievance
let go of the loss
give it to the opera singer
and then cover your ears
and sing
la la la la la la la la.

Over Again

photo credit here

Linking with dVerse~Poets Pub

for the "Shattering the world and rebuilding it" prompt

Hope rises like a phoenix from the ashes of shattered dreams. ~S.A. Sachs

It seems I have constructed an eloquent way to destruct my life over and over again.  An icon's crazy way of being fashionably late to the affair like one hundred galas before.  No need to bring a fur darling it's going to be a hot evening by the pool. I know how to get by in the weather with no coat.  Unprepared is my middle name and flying by the seat of my pants keeps my seamstress rich.  Fools 101 is a class I took twice in college it's my talent and now I have nightmares of missing it with my shoes on the wrong feet and my shirt on inside out.  It is deja vu that I discover over and over again.  Another string of bad decisions like bank robberies that catch up with me as do the police.  It all comes down to boundaries.  Where to build a fence and when to tear it down.  I always grab the bobbed wire trying to get the mud off my shoes as I make my mad get away.  Growing in one place is the way of flowers and trees, but I only thrive for a while and then I am scrambling for the latest new cure.  A relief from the disease of the discontent.  I strangle hope by the neck, but it still gives me breathing room and a chance to run ahead even though I shall return to it's side to try again over and over again.




My life has been a series of mistakes strung together like a necklace, that does not fit, but I hang it upon a wall for my eyes to look at everyday.  This is a dramatic exaggeration of my life, but I can say this:
No matter how low the place I have fallen, hope always reaches out it's hand and pulls me through the cracks of discouragement and helps me stand once more.

The Undressing of Pride

Sweet Summer, 1912, John William Waterhouse

The Mag #225






Love is to the heart what the summer is to the farmer’s year — it brings to harvest all the loveliest flowers of the soul. ~Author Unknown






Love unmasks pride's inner fold like the smoldering heat of summer undresses the day.
Layer by layer is unlaced and loosened until it's outer clothes are stripped away.
It reveals with each soft kiss the beauty that eyes cannot attempt to view
giving strength to the fallen yet a weak place that bitterness can escape through.
it's atonement is an anthem as it revels in the lovely moments of the here and now
where bliss lingers lost in the unknowing of yesterday's regrets no longer found.