Picasso's Eye

Picasso's eye is lodged

in the sugar maple,

like a scuttled vessel

brooding in the limbs.

It no longer dispenses

late night wisdom,

early morning insight,

from the perch outside my room.

The all-knowing stare

becomes reluctant

under chlorophyll eyelids,

dark spring rain.

My psyche's new caretaker

scries wet kisses in leaves,

with flop of roses,

gentle thrust of trees.

tk/March 2015 

Sumptuous read by R.A.D. ...

Join Magpie Tales creative writing group

With Feathers

I balk at gestation,

swallow stagnant,

rear back, eyes wild

as a startled horse.

Maybe I'm hungry,

or just thirsty,

or the stars are tossed

like a handful of jacks.

Your kitchen seabirds,

content in their flowers,

hang as a reminder

not to gallop,

that hope is a thing―

so coo, forage frequently,

toss in a couple of clams

and call it chowder.

tk/March 2013  

Thanks to the talented R.A.D. Stainforth for reading this poem.

Faun, Horse, and Bird, 1936
Pablo Picasso 

Join Magpie Tales creative writing group.

yes, pablo, i'm listening

I don't believe in accidents. There are only encounters in history. There are no accidents. 

Pablo Picasso 

I said they always come in threes. Thursday I randomly added Picasso's otherworldly Woman With a Helmet of Hair, 1904, to my sidebar and stated in Manor Macro that I had a bit of a crush on Pablo Picasso. Friday morning, I saw an article on Picasso's Weeping Woman: The Life and Art of Dora Maar by Mary Ann Caws, pulled the copy from my little library shelf, and added it to the leaning stack on my desk for another read. Friday afternoon, on my weekly ritual trip to the thrift store, what was in my path, but a big beautiful framed print of Picasso's Mother and Child, 1921, for $18. Perfect, since I collect mother and child images. Okay, Pablo, darling, what are you trying to tell me?

Beach Memories and Mr. Kaye

The Bathers, Pablo Picasso, 1918

We hit the sunny beaches where we occupy

ourselves keeping the sun off our skin, the saltwater

off our bodies, and the sand out of our belongings.

.....

Erma Bombeck

I love this painting by Picasso. It conjures up memories of our family

trips to the beach when our children were young. It is so soothing

with nothing to do but to listen to the gentle roar of the waves and

spend the morning searching for the most beautiful shell. These

thoughts also bring to mind a cute little poem I loved as a child by

Dorothy Aldis.

The Picnic

We brought a rug for sitting on,

Our lunch was in a box.

The sand was warm. We didn't wear

Hats or Shoes or Socks.

Waves came curling up the beach.

We waded. It was fun.

Our sandwiches were different kinds.

I dropped my jelly one.

And since our discussions on Fred Astaire the other day led to the
subject of the sweet and charming Danny Kaye, who stars in some
of our dearest Manor favorite films like White Christmas, The Court
Jester, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty and The Pirate and the
Princess, I couldn't resist including this priceless beach picture!