Sad Tonight as Woman and (Mostly) New Yorker

Posted September 19, 2016 by ManicDdaily
Categories: news, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , , ,

img_4515

img_4516

img_4517

img_4518

img_4520

img_4521

img_4522

img_4523

img_4524

img_4525

img_4531

img_4532

img_4533

img_4528

Saved Maple Leaf

Posted September 17, 2016 by ManicDdaily
Categories: poetry, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , , ,

Saved Maple Leaf

The maple leaf found itself
in a dresser drawer.
It was not crinkled into
the plastic pin box,
which once snagged jewelry in a slice of sponge,
but now held only a small tooth
gullied by sienna.

It was not slipped
into the envelope of cut hair whose strands stuck together
as if still attached
at the roots.

It did not bind to the rippled chorus programs, flapped homework, rustle
of candy wrappers,

nor tuft in the ruffled kleenex,
wind around the purple crayon, nor nestle
in the slightly sandy scatter
of shells, each too small
to sound the sea.

No; it lucked into
a flattened smear of lotion (containing lanolin),
which (as is somehow the task allotted to sheep), shawled it
in a protective lawyer, so that its veins retained
their suppleness; its crimson its red.

Though, still, the drawer grew dead,
for reasons the leaf could not fathom,
even as it dreamed when sun warmed the wood overhead
of pancakes–
it felt a curious kinship with pancakes–until,

over time, the lanolin shedding
its fat, the leaf mourned
its pine life,
crimping painfully
as it remembered the chatter of the tooth’s
rattled box, and the touch that used to rifle
through the programs, searching
for a last piece
of that candy,
remembering too the proud “ooh”
that proclaimed the enveloped hair,
and the blue that would show there, in
the opening, some of the sky
fallen through.

***********************

Here’s a narrative poem of sorts for my own prompt on Real Toads.   The pic is mine, though the wood background not the raw pine I imagine for this dresser. 

Dear Mom (and Donald), Putin’s Not Really a Great Guy

Posted September 17, 2016 by ManicDdaily
Categories: Cartoon, drawings, Hillary Clinton, news, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , ,

***********************

My mom who is normally quite sensible about politics spoke quite favorably about Putin the other day, after hearing all the Trump hype, and also because she heard that he had learned German while working (for the KGB) in East Germany and thought somehow that this may have reflected a friendship with Angela Merkel.  ( Anyway, we discussed it all at length– some of which is recorded above!)  Thanks, poet friends, for putting up with these political pictograms.  

There are many beings probably stronger than Hillary Clinton

Posted September 13, 2016 by ManicDdaily
Categories: Hillary Clinton, Uncategorized

Tags: , , ,

 

***********

To those of you that have the faith, keep it!  (Sorry for the amateurish aspects of my pictures, the spirit is genuine enough.)  

9/11 (Villanelle)

Posted September 11, 2016 by ManicDdaily
Categories: 9/11, poetry, villanelle

Tags: , , , ,

20120912-013307.jpg

9/11

The burning buildings woke me from a sleep
of what I thought important, nothing now.
I ran hard down the smoking, crumbling street,

praying that my child was mine to keep,
dear god oh please dear god I whispered loud;
the burning buildings woke me from a sleep.

Some stopped to stare, all of us to weep
as eyes replayed the towers’ brutal bow.
I ran hard down the smoking, crumbling street.

North sky a startling blue, the south a heap
of man-wrought cloud; I pushed against the crowd;
the burning buildings woke me from a sleep.

I’d never complain again, never treat
with trivial despair–or so I vowed.
I ran hard down the smoking, crumbling street.

I’d change, give thanks—I saw them leap—
and begged for all the grace God would allow.
The burning buildings woke me from a sleep;
I ran hard down the smoking, crumbling street.

 

**************************

This is an old poem (approximately 15 years old in fact).  Am posting in memoriam and gratitude too, for the grace that I was allowed that day.

Pic is slightly newer, also mine, al rights reserved. 

 

Too Heavy a Freight

Posted September 6, 2016 by ManicDdaily
Categories: 55, poetry, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , , ,

golden-fishes-in-the-dark-sea-2006

Too Heavy a Freight

I tried to put our love
upon a scale,
but not wishing to be weighed,
it swam away, slipping on
slick fins, scales then only armor,
though too flimsy, oh mon amour,
to repel much ill.

Yet, how that brittle mail lightened
each swish-sway,
my sun, moon, hanging
in the balance.

************************************

55 word poem of sorts for Kerry O’ Connor’s week-end prompt on Real Toads, special bonus for poems inspired by the marvelous paintings of the Nigerian painter, sculptor and musician known as Twins Seven Seven, born Prince Taiwo Olaniyi Oyewale-Toyeje Oyelale Osuntoki (3 May 1944 – 16 June 2011) in Ogidi, Kogi State, Nigeria.  This painting is “Golden Fishes in Dark Sea.” 

Our Ursine Friend

Posted August 30, 2016 by ManicDdaily
Categories: bears, short short story, Uncategorized

Tags: , , , , ,

IMG_8024

Our Ursine Friend

Yes, she smelled.  When she moved, more than dust wafted, and though she seemed (from a distance) to lope with the grace of a scarf dangled from the neck of a woman who had never heard of Isadora Duncan, she was definitely a bear in close quarters, meaning Ming china had no chance, even stoneware a goner–

The good side:  our rotten lettuce had no grubs; no need for ant traps.

But here was the true boon–and forgive me if that word is overblown, overblow honestly the crux of this matter–in her onyx-eyed snuffle, in that padding dance of claw and matte, she brought out our fanciful–

We would all lie down on the lawn or squeeze together in the bed–she never minding the overhang–and the dark warm funk of her fur somehow gave rise to fairies in the brain.

it was as if her quills, dancing lightly along our sides–for her paws paced when she was sedentary–were pens for all they wrote in us;

and I would find myself telling tales of the imagination–storyboards made up of whole (if hirsute) cloth.  No more the veiled memories; forget the fathers, mothers, bosses barely disguised.

No, she allowed me to see in metaphor, even beyond metaphor,
and the humdrum of my heretofore gave birth to heroes on the run from rutabagas, villains fomenting fate, backdrops built from all manner of “olde” and new, and as I wove that bright-worded warp, she would grin with her sharp white teeth–

you too.

****************

A bit of a draft story for Real Toads Open Platform, hosted by the wonderful Kerry O’Connor.  (Also for Gillena’s prompt on megafauna, though too long for that prompt!)  Pic is one of mine; all rights reserved.