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Weekly photo challenge: One

A walk in the park
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Some day when life’s edges unravel
go bravely without a backward glance
memories implode cascading in
aromas of apples and croissants
unmade beds siestas “Closed at Noon”
treasures once so carelessly exchanged
tucked into a beaded evening bag
for a stranger to rediscover
dust off at some future antiques fair
reminding passers-by that affairs
have a way of coming to an end
heaven forbid that steely scentless
state reserved for others less loving
one day when we part it will be a
good-book-waiting goodbye a walk in
the park where we’ll leave regret behind
like a roses on our favourite bench

Hooked

Daily Prompt: Simply Irresistible

Tell us about the favorite dish or food that you simply cannot turn down.

Photographers, artists, poets: show us TEMPTATION.

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My something delicious
is marshmallow fishes —
those pink and white squishes
that bend to my wishes.
They dirty no dishes
(don’t even need tissues).
Look them up in Confucius,
who lists things auspicious.
They melt me like kisses
and dissolve sticky issues …
But they ain’t too nutritious.

Nothing beats blogging

Daily Prompt: Playtime

Do you play in your daily life? What says “playtime” to you?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us PLAY.

For me, the best fun’s not found in playing with our pup
cycling through the Cradle of Mankind
walking the dogs down the dragReading Book
taking a horse for a hack
surviving Scrabble or
even swimming. For
me, nothing beats
blogging but
a good
book.

Let it be

Daily Prompt: A Bird, a Plane, You!

You get to choose one superpower. Pick one of these, and explain your choice:
•the ability to speak and understand any language
•the ability to travel through time
•the ability to make any two people agree with each other

Photographers, artists, poets: show us POWER.
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Communication is the key:
one super power that unlocks three.
By shedding light it would show me
future and past, and possibly
help individuals to agree
and travel through time collision-free.
Then East and West might let it be.

Best friends

Daily Prompt: Love to Love You

What do you love most about yourself? What do you love most about your favorite person? Are the two connected?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us LOVE.

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I love that I am little
because you lift me up
I love that you are wiser
because you show me the way
Perhaps one day you’ll need me
as I now depend on you
to keep shadows at bay

Flying Visits

Daily Prompt: Come Fly with Me

Share a story about the furthest you’ve ever traveled from home.

Photographers, artists, poets: show us TRAVELS.
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The furthest I’ve been away from home?
I think that this deserves a poem.
My Buddhist friend gives me a smile
“The eternal present’s not a mile
away” he says “You’re always here
and now.” (We share another beer.)
But measured geographically
the furthest I have ever been
might come as something of a shock
to those of you who read this blog.
[Clue: wearing flowers in my hair,
I bought myself some wind chimes there.]
Not Shanghai, Perth or Timbuktu,
not Auckland, Rome or Kathmandu,
not Ireland, Wales or Edinburgh,
Québec, Toronto, London borough.
The furthest I have ever been
away from home was plus sixteen
thousand k’s from OR Tambo
(Joburg airport) in a jumbo.
Those rusty wind chimes I still own
came all the way from Chinatown,
not from the region of Beijing,
just genuine San Francisco bling.

Intense!

Daily Prompt: Intense!

Describe the last time you were surprised by the intensity of a feeling you had about something, or were surprised at how strongly you reacted to something you thought wouldn’t be a big deal.

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I am home.
Look! Familiar flowers
suddenly far too vibrant
to cram into
my astonished lens.

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Our lane

Finally closed to cars, our lane

lets down her hair

for the birds

Lane

Hope

Less sparrows left to fall

Less bees to buzz

Still students writing verse

Fall and Spring

This final poem is based on Spring and Fall by Gerard Manley Hopkins, which appears below.

 “to a pensioner”

Margaret, are you celebrating

that the bushveld’s heart’s awakening?

Grasslands, like some angel’s gift, your

old bones must cast off, can’t you?

Ah! As your thoughts grow longer

And reminiscence warmer, stronger

Every day, you’d like to cry

For each new shoot of grass you spy;

Yet you can’t weep, and don’t know why.

Now it matters what it’s called

How else could you tell the world:

All the joy that you have had

All you’ve done, the good, the bad.

It’s their happiness you’ll die for,

Your children’s children that you smile for.

” to a young child”

Margaret, are you grieving

Over Goldengrove unleaving?

Leaves, like the things of man, you

With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?

Ah! as the heart grows older

It will come to such sights colder

By and by, nor spare a sigh

Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie’

And yet you will weep and know why.

Now no matter, child, the name:

Sorrow’s springs are the same,

Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed

What heart heard of, ghost guessed:

It is the blight man was born for,

It is Margaret you mourn for.