Posts tagged ‘prompted poetry’

July 17, 2011

one stop poetry photo challenge

by jhon baker

saw this image on a friends blog and it immediately struck me as something I should write about.

 

early childhood/ late summer life

modern Mona Lisafound you

standing backyard, hiding from

the boys teasing your name

around the corner.

 

the image of Plath or Sexton,

 

and sometime

dancer.

 

but here is what I want from you:

follow though

burn their eyes out,

kick their balls so hard they’ll think of you

fifty years later.

then go

go

go

be someones little girl again

and wait for branches to untie leaves

and wither in fall

before you stop dancing.

 

– Hoc Scripsi

 

 

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March 16, 2011

Magpie #57 – spontaneous from prompted poetry

by jhon baker

wanting the birds to sing in winter,

I stoop to pet a plant
inadvertantly knocking over the light fixture.

I miss every painting I’ve ever sold.

 – Hoc Scripsi

Image Courtesy of Magpie Tales #57

March 1, 2011

when life….

by jhon baker

Hopefully you get sugar and water,
hopefully there isn’t too
much blood
on
the
dance floor,
but
you’ll probably just learn to suck on a lemon for a long time.

February 7, 2011

Magpie #52

by jhon baker

 from across the street

we’ve sat across one another for years;
you, always green
me, always gray.

I sit and wonder about
the trimming of your lawn
about the condition of your bath.

how we’ve stood through better times.
but it is not proper to discuss these things
until we’ve grown at least this old.

 – Hoc Scripsi

image courtesy of Magpie tales #52
follow the link and discover others –

a few earlier Magpie efforts…

Magpie #51
Magpie #50
Magpie #47
Magpie #46
Magpie #44
Magpie #43
Magpie #42
Magpie #41
Magpie #41 a different one
Magpie #37
Magpie #36

February 4, 2011

Magpie #51

by jhon baker

I’ve never fallen to my knees
     and prayed to God;
tumbling on loose cobblestones
in old town squares,
I’ve spilled coffee over my shoes
but not often new ones.

perplexed but not quite daunted
or reversed stretching out at the frailty
     and being only man among men,
     poets.

2.
walk with me,
though I do not walk so much as sway, pitch
or stagger.

walk with me,
though I shall be muted, scarcely
swinging my arms at the sides.

walk with me,
though hell I walk, ancient seraphim
in ash and agony.

walk with me,
though hell is too wide for eidetic
narrative.
 
– Hoc Scripsi

image by Tess at Magpie Tales #51

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