Sunday, April 20, 2014


Daffodils under;
lace flung reckless to the cold,
bare green splayed.

What are you wearing?

Blades of grass act as informants;
buds heed innocent faces,
pretend to be plastic.

Winter is high on the lash;
sends April running to the lavatory,
licks speed from her hand.

I kiss. You stay kissed.

It will melt soon enough;
every bit squeezed, drowned,
trickled down, murmuring.

tk/April 2014

R.A.D. Stainforth enjoys a glass of wine...contemplates April...

*photo: Finland, 1968, by George F. Mobley

Thursday, April 17, 2014

Throwback Thursday, then and now...

Way back to the pixie cut bangs and sundress. My mother kept my hair cut very short. It was stylish then, I suppose, but I dearly craved a pony tail. So much, I clipped a sock on the back of my head, just to see what it felt like when I skipped around. Maybe that's why I enjoy doing stuff with my hair now. Chopsticks. Clips. Pencils. I still skip, when no one's watching.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Jealous Cat

Make noise.
Lots of jangle.  Bang.

Strut about.  Headbutt
Protected only by persistence.

Phone.  Splat of postie's drop.
Arouses more than catnip.

Dinner.  Feign disinterest.
Hope for eager pitch.  Sale.

Evening fare coaxed.  Bowled.
Listen for full exhale.  Then?

Lap is occupied.  Go.

Curl the coat.  Sleep.
Dream unused lives. 

tk/April 2014

R.A.D. Stainforth calmly considers a pussycat: 

*The King of Cats, 1935, Balthus

Sunday, April 6, 2014


O! claustrophobic air
apparent and busy in the sun.

Dust hangs in waves of spring,
a universe from the bliss of nowhere.

What fallen star, what robin,
what powdered sooth plays a second chance?

Follow flotsam to the horizon,
cross the bridge through gathering cloud.

Inhale motes and flutter-boats
the balm of dusk explodes a single sigh.

tk/April 2014

Sexy read by a springy R.A.D. Stainforth...