missing glory

photo by Elena Kalis via Magpie Tales
she was light and magic, springtime laughter woven through her hair
i found her world cluttered and noisy, a place where logic frowns
ambushed, my heart leapt when i heard a bird call, her breath of life

she was a singer of hymns, a joyful, patient sentinel
i was a snare drum, ready to snap at the skip of a beat
i now find myself leeching to the choir, waiting on her voice

she was my cloudship, an ocean, a free spirited ticket to ride
i gnawed away at my tether, she became my new life line
i hold, needing like a child, the loose end of her crimson thread

Rene ~ 2013
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monhegan

she was beauty ripe
golden,
delicious
in a place where
life has teeth
and apples
are hard to come by

she was the siren
in the
salty song
of the lobsterman
and the sunrise
on the tip of
an artist’s brush

she was a slice
of time come of age
here, on Monhegan
until, without signal,
she was gone
painted into myth
like the hermit of Manana

Rene ~ April 21,2013

For Magpie Tales

“Fools stand on their island of opportunities and look to another land. There is no other land, there is no other life but this.”

– Henry David Thoreau

Image: Monhegan’s Schoolteacher, Jamie Wyeth, 2004

the beckoning

it started out well enough
toast and jam, and ring a ring o’ roses

but then, out came the lanterns
shining, burning the daylight down to grey

my soul tugged, called to duty
to learn every little world wonders name

what is it that makes them so
these truths beg to be witnessed every day

do you not see what I see?
a lamp in every laugh, cough and footstep

irresistible journeys
forgive me, as I must be on my way

Rene ~ March 24, 2013
For Magpie Tales

Image:
Not to be Reproduced, 1937 by the Belgian surrealist René Magritte

the dresser

Venus de Milo with Drawers, Salvador Dali, 1936

i’m the keeper
of your
trinkets
your dirty little
secrets
your moustache
wax
your un-pressed
slacks
just bring it
here now
all your
holy psycho
laundry

i’m the honey
in your
locket
the hamper
for your
pocket
bureau
of your
shame
strongbox
for your
flame
yeah babe
come on
stuff all that wicked love
into me

call me Aphrodite
or Venus more politely
a cocoon
for your treasures
chiffonier
of your pleasures
fill me up rightly
with cocktail
stirrer charm nightly
i laugh when you tickle me
i call you
daddy

i’m your
lover
your
junk drawer
your
doctor
your
drunk whore
your
casket of faces
your
keepsake oasis
go ‘head
and file me
someplace where
you’ll find me
i’ll be ready
and waiting
for the turn
of your key

Rene ~ February 24, 2013
For Magpie Tales

memories of a young poet

“November Lace” ~ Photo by Rene



marble notebook in hand
she slipped away 

from the fray
unnoticed
up
to her childhood room
through
the bedroom window
and onto the rooftop poetic:

” she sat 
arms hugging knees
surveying life,
the leafless trees
spindly branches claw the sky
scratching for sun,
to heaven they cry
psalms of wisdom,
strength and grace
woven in November lace”
 
the air felt good
against her flushed cheeks
a beautiful sunset
was now in progress
she was thankful for this
she was thankful
for finding her peace
she belonged
right here,
right now
to this moment


Excerpted from “November Lace” by Rene
Rene ~ February 9, 2013

For d’Verse Poetics “Meeting The Bar-Mining The Memory”

french toast

Image: PublicDomain.com

God, man
It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone whistle in my kitchen
It’s quite the delight
Ahhh…you made coffee
And you’re making french toast!
You are a saint
You gotta fiddle with that knob on the left rear burner
Like this
It’s a pain in the butt sometimes
Personally, I think it just likes the extra attention
Mmm…your ear smells like cinnamon
not fair, man, that…
not fair at all
your ass looks better in my sweatpants than mine does
I now have to kill myself
After I eat a loaf of french toast, though
You want some orange juice?
freshly squeezed…somewhere
Tell me, again
Why is it we never were?

Rene ~ January 5, 2013
For 100 Word Song
The song prompt was Dan Fogleberg’s
Same Old Auld Lang Syne

This is my spin on the classic

thirteen

Image: public domain images

i don’t believe in
superstitions
they only breed
unholy ignorance
can’t no rabbit’s foot
could ever fix

i don’t find trouble
in fearsome digits
when there are
way too many
demonic idiots
that have me counting to
six
six
six

i ain’t skeered of
crossin’ black cats or
tippin’ toes ’round
every street crack
to keep my mamma
upright

and i’m never one
for cussin’
when i’m given
a bakers dozen
12 + 1
is perfectly fine

good things
for me
it seems
always happen
in
thirteens
i don’t know
what else there is
to say
i guess i’m lucky
lucky
that way

Rene ~ January 1, 2013
Happy, Lucky 2013

For d’Verse Poets Open Link Night
Week 77 ~ Happy New Year!