| Titania�s Promise Malicious sprite, darkly dancing, a shadow cast under the quicksilver moon. Oh yes, these shadows have offended. Spiky foxgloves stand and hiss. They whisper of falsehood and deceit from deep, rainbow-spotted throats. Beware, beware. Capricious Robin plays with truth, and breaks his toys. He knows his herbs and potions� houndstongue and hellebore, wolfsbane and rosemary, the bitter bite of wormwood� He serves his lord and master well. He made me a fool before my court. My ladies laughed behind their hands. He bathed my eyes in purple poison and made me love unwillingly. I wasted my favors on a hairy beast. My eyes were cleansed, I see truly now. Do they? I can wait, I shall bide my time. I can counterfeit a proper wife. In their arrogance they believe, that I, like some green willow, would bend my will so easily. Playful Puck, Oberon�s steward, Robin not-so-Goodfellow, Though it take me centuries, I will be avenged. |
| Waiting The cold brown earth melts and heaves, dries from the effort, cracks with thirst. And I wait for the first green leaves. The wind howls every night, it grieves the lost winter; this waiting time is worst. The damp brown earth swells and heaves. The last snow melts off the sloping eaves. On bare branches forsythia bloom first. And seeing them, I wait for the leaves. Squirrels scurry and dig like comic thieves, trying to retrieve food winter dispersed. Under their paws the brown earth turns and heaves On rough skinned trees a small spider weaves. Spiral buds are swollen, about to burst. And I wait for the birth of the leaves. I am the audience who perceives the play unfolds, eternally rehearsed. The soft brown earth swells and heaves. And I wait for the pale green leaves. |
| Too close Back away Too much Hide away Can�t deal Run away |
| Stillness before the motion Something warm hiding Below cool surface breeze. Silence, leviathan submerged An ocean of sound. Curious waiting In living for the moment. |
| Feel like writing. Can�t find the words. Rather, there are no words. No coherence. No thoughts. Only stray, unidentified emotions that in their delusion believe they should from a poem. A vine, a branch, right before it bursts into flower and fruit. A crabapple tree, twisted and maimed, burnt by the sun. Hardened. Soft wood inside, and tender leaves. Left unexpressed. |
| Magpie's Poetry Some of these are from my Creative writing class, others are random rants that fancy themselves poems..... |
Know Thyself. We are all cities, twisted and confusing, full of wide avenues lined with lights. And blind alleys, crowded with trash. We turn to search and get lost within, trapped in our dark corners. Know Thyself. We are all forests, Deep and wild, Pocketed with peaceful glades Full of violets. And dark groves, arched by dying trees. We wander through the bark encrusted columns, and lose our way. Know Thyself. I am a city. I search. I am a forest. I wander. Lost. |
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| photograph taken by Frank Thompson, Big Cove Tannery, PA.. Nov. 2001 Badlands National Park. |