Heroic Pink

There is a brave new shade;
coming flush of innocence 
made complete. Color 
stretched globally, wielded 
with a twist; juicy mix 
of wicked and meek.

Archetype hues conquer 
celebrated softness, embody 
giving and release. Rampant
sunset, blush without apology; 
semi-divine pink 
of Amazons and queens.


tk/December 2014


Excellent read by R.A.D. Stainforth...in a slightly different venue...

Shoot

Dusk is recommended

for modest petticoats.

For best light, wait for the sun

to leave its comfort zone.

Capture rhapsody

in more pixels than God.

Press your head against the earth.

Feel the rhythm.

Coax summer percussion.

Join the conga.  Be seen on the street.

Peonies wear long-stemmed heels.

Ants pluck them tom-tom pink.

Look deeper than June,

past chlorophyll and bees.

Stop searching for color.

Think dappled things.

Roses strut runway red.

Shoot them in monochrome.

tk/June 2014


R.A.D. Stainforth steps out of his black and white world for a lovely summer read:  

Join Magpie Tales creative writing group. 

Insouciance

I leave the bed unmade―

toss the duvet to the floor,

leave it, rumpled and quiet,

along with my mother's hysteria.

The unholy mess coddles tomorrow

with pillow whispered yes.

I have slept with you for years―

pink menagerie of primitive art,

socks lost, one at a time,

in fanciful fruit-spilled sheets.

There is not my side or yours―

I stretch out in the center. 

tk/March 2014 

Lovely contemplative read by R.A.D. Stainforth...

Join Magpie Tales creative writing group

*"My Bed" by Tracey Emin

Chrysalis

Shadows settle brown-eyed,

The Moth and the Lamp, Cesar Santos 

warm-palmed;

cocoon discarded

in yesterday's cobweb.

Remove the horn-rims,

inherit the bookish gaze,

the soft porch bulb

of a summer night.

Watch the onslaught

of the pink moon,

breathe star-scattered

through the silent spots.

The mottled skirt

holds brunette blood;

unlike the skittish sister,

who butterflies sunshine like toast.

tk/September 2013 

Many thanks to the talented  R.A.D. Stainforth, for reading this poem.  

Ides of March

March Morning, the Scioto River 

On this Ides of March eve, I contemplate change. In the original Roman calendar, March was, very appropriately, the first month of the year. By this time, snow has melted to pre-spring neutral. I adore everything winter ... the snow, fresh cold air, woolly clothes, and the comfort food that goes with. But this year, even I am anticipating green. I have a new-found appreciation for all things pink. It's still a bit on the chilly side, but I have a window open in the Willow Manor kitchen, and a big bunch of pink tulips. I may even take the Christmas wreath off the front door, in celebration.

peonies

ants peel petals from

miniature cabbages

soft peppermint pink

Raindrops on the first peony at Willow Manor...

they're so early this year!