Postcard Poetry Fest: 8.19.13

The forests of the past blend, bend into the forest of the present, different trees, different weather, memories hopscotching across time and a poem arrives.

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Photo Credit:  google images

The hem of her skirt catches burrs

as she races from the field

mounded with red ant hills.

She Jumps over cactus,

hides under Ponderosa,

heart racing.

She remembers how others died.

He must not die.

C.J. Prince

       ©2013

Postcard Poetry Fest: 8.18.13

The forests of the past blend, bend into the forest of the present, different trees, different weather, memories hopscotching across time and a poem arrives.

Image

 

Photo Credit:  google images

The hem of her skirt catches burrs

as she races from the field

mounded with red ant hills.

She Jumps over cactus,

hides under Ponderosa,

heart racing.

   She remembers how others died.

   He must not die.

     

      C.J. Prince

       ©2013

Postcard Poetry Fest: 8.18.13

It does not matter, long or short, a poem shimmers beneath the surface and pops out an image, allows the listener, the reader to see something familiar or unexpected.

Image

 

Photo Credit:  C.J. Prince

She looks with peridot eyes,

the mistress of the lily garden

where emerald grasses sway

and orange sapphire tigers sing.

  C.J. Prince

   ©2013

POSTCARD POETRY FEST: August 17 2013

If you know me, you know how I adore feet.  I practiced reflexology for years in a medical office and I’ve knit more socks than you or I can imagine.  Feet are the root of happiness.  However, I have met many who hide their feet, who don’t want anyone to see them.  I could go on and on about this subject but this is a bit of background for poem # 17.

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Photo credit:  Michael C. Michaud google

If I were Cinderella—

Don’t look at me like that—

If I were—

Stop looking at my feet.

If I were Cinderella–

not that wimpy little victim

girl Walt Disney purified–

I’d be a real woman.

 

Okay, take a gander.

Examine my feet:

Perfect conformation.

Dancers would die for my arch.

Never mind, if I were Cinderella,

I wouldn’t take time with you.

  C.J. Prince

   ©2013

POSTCARD POETRY FEST: August 16, 2013

Gathering last month’s poems together and posting here is taking much more time than expected.  And here we are on the eve of San Geronimo Feast Day and I’m only half way through August.  Written in a flurry, decorated with a beautiful stamp and tossed in a mailbox to go flailing across the universe or maybe just down to Seattle, these poems want a more permanent home.  So, I’ll take my time and pursue this task.  Sweet dreams and happy days.

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PHOTO CREDIT:  Edmund Lowe

Rorschach In Her Belly

Bye, bye Bellingham,

she thinks, wraps Ganesh

in an old paisley scarf

from Goodwill.

Pigeon droppings scar

her battered VW bug.

She empties the rooms

of herself, what he’ll never

miss.  Her.  Her stuff.

Morning mist freckles

numb lips.

She will miss Mt. Baker

shining in the rear view mirror.

 C.J. Prince

   ©2013

POSTCARD POETRY FEST: August 15 2013

A poem a day is a great  opportunity to rev up your writing, grab images and find the gem in the mundane.  Here’s another one from August’s Postcard Poetry Fest.

martini glass with green oliive

“Don’t.”  That’s the first word

I remember…a voice from above,

Don’t doesn’t mean anything

if you’re eighteen months old.

Adults on the couch, laugh,

sip martinis.

I reach to the huge green olive

with a pimiento dot.

A finger wags.  I wait.

Sip. Sip. Sip.  They drink

and then a glass is lowered.

I snatch the shiny green treasure,

suck tart juice, bite into chilled olive,

martini juice runs to my elbow.

On Friday night’s they forget

the “don’t”s.

 

   C.J. Prince

©2013

   Bellingham, WA

POSTCARD POETRY FEST: August 14, 2013

This poem came from a prompt to write a poem as a want ad.

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WANTED

Insomniac seeks light sleeper.

No snoring, snorting or hawking.

Must read Chaucer.  No Virgos.

Meet me at the lake on the cusp of midnight

Where black swans circle

Under Northern Lights.

Moondancer77

  ©2013

      C.J. Prince

Bellingham, WA