Alice showed up late to tea
Mad Hatter ran away
the Red Queen’s off her meds you see
The solitary card was played
Tweedle Dee and Dum are gone
The magic pill was way too strong
and now the drink has spilled about
and all the partygoers flown
there’s nothing left of Cheshire Cat
his grin the last to pop
teapot broken, chairs are listing
table on it’s top
so go now Alice, better run
Find the hole and climb back out
the looking glass was made of ice
and if you stay then frozen too
no happily ever after
no second glance, the choosing done
there’ll be no other chapter

The End

(inspired by the photography of Ginger Cook)

golden molten rays of sun
slip down between the boughs of green
her dragon sleeps curled at her knee
his wispy smokey snoring plays
a bass line to a melody
heard only in her mind and struck
by urgency she dips her quill and scratches
out a tuney tale as forest folk creep
closer still and curl up in the shady dale
and wait for storyteller time
and as she lays her feather down
begins to read they bob their heads
then dance and weave around her rhymes
and as the ending fades away
they slip into the shadowed gloom
the dragon wakes and winks and blinks
the story ended far to soon
but teller hides her parchment well
a hollow in the hawthorn tree
next to a stream so cool and clear
where dragon, deer, and sparrow drink
and rest, a merry tale to hear

photo credit Tommy Stone

You wouldn’t think it
would you?
Seeing the flame of sky
streaking the blue with the heat
of dawn,
that the cold reaches pale fingers
down to naked trees
and even the fish nod
in the frigid deep,
dreaming of jumping
for fireflies under a lazy sun.
Not for now.
You stand on the shore
shivering in the frosty glow
before trudging back
to warmth
and morning coffee.

I discovered that three days of no electricity, cloudy gloom and a house that doesn’t get about 65 degrees F is about my limit for nice. The fourth day I am mostly whiny and bitchy. There are many still with no power and groups from other states working in the cold to get things fixed. Trees down all over town, homes and cars damaged by falling limbs. People liken it to a tornado but there is a huge difference. Tornadoes kill people and I’ll trade broken trees and holes in roofs for that any day. Still, prayers for all who are still living in the cold dark. It was 18 here last night and supposed to be in the 20s tonight. We were blessed to have a fireplace but this has decided it for me – I will never own an all electric home again. We were so much better prepared when we lived in the country and had a gas stove and hot water heater and a wood heater in the living room that would heat most of the house.

the clouds are not
just in the sky
they’re in my head
and in my eyes
and cold is living
in my heart
my bones about
to shake apart
frozen fields
and hardened ground
stinging air
frost makes a sound
a buzzing like
electric lines
while all that lives
lies still and pines
for warmth of sun
and light of day
but winter stays
and stays
and stays

The photo is taken in my back yard this morning but the poem was actually inspired by a photo taken by Ginger Cook – I recommend her photo blog http://gingersfunkyphotos.blogspot.com/

Ginger graciously granted permission to add her photo so here is the picture that started the shivery poem!

Hay Bale With Ice taken by Ginger Cook

when darkness hides
and shadows fall
and I am sinking under
like nightingale
I will prevail
stillness breaks like thunder
open my throat to find
the note
an answer filled with wonder
she sings
I sing
and in the dark
the harmony goes on
till morning comes
and darkness gives
once more to find
the dawn
oft times it’s not the melody
that causes us to linger
for God is busy on this night
and sent to me
a solitary singer
fearful now I close my eyes
the song comes sweeter still
perhaps that is her mission
when sight would fail
and faith be dim
it’s time to stop and listen

The rodeo girls are bright
With their glitter and big hats
Big hair and the turquoise purse
Zebra striped flower
Decoration
What was she thinking
Rhinestones and denim
The queen sucks frozen latte
Through a red straw
Mama in her spandex
Nursing the finger
Burned on the curling iron
Omfg the little one repeats
Horse giggle as mama swats her
While daddy wonders how he will pay
And pay and pay for all
The pretty little horses

Photo Credit Timmie McEachern

rooted deeply
in the faith that morning will
come again
trees dressed in evening black
bear witness
to the last shine
as sunset smooths ripples
on blue taffeta
and the sweet blush
fades to shadow
clouds of peach and lavender
fan out on pillowed stars
moon waits patiently
for her turn to dance

in the greening of the morning
the cleaning of the dawning
sky is clear and cool and shining
with the promise of the timing
all your tippy toes slip happy
down the wooden dock still damp
with night dew, draws you
to the end, the edge, the very rim
now sit and dip the toes in quick
and bait the hook and take a look
the sun tipped ripples hide the fishy
perch await the bait and fate will
still your hand you hold the pole just
at the top and sit as sun creeps high
and higher, why you sit, the fishing just
excuse for sunning, stunning way
to spend a morning, thinking, floating
like the glitter on the surface
there’s a purpose – just to think
to sink into the depth and swim
inside a dreaming mind behind
your shaded eyes, to sit and let
a wandering synapse where it will
until it finds an island home
and given time, you birth a poem

you speak to us
in the language of silence
in the sparkle on bright water
you spread just enough light
to blend blue into deepest rose
gently brushing the edges
like eyelashes on cheek
like fingertips reading the sky
love letter to a world
that badly needs rest
you ease us into sleep
with a last sigh
echoing down the canyons
of meteorites and stars
navigated in gravitational dreams

image credit Tommy Stone Moonlight

image credit Tommy Stone Sunrise

to see a moonlit pool of light
turn darkness diamond white
unfettered by the velvet cloak
of shadow on a dreamless night

to see a joyous sunrise
as though it were the very first
to look upon quiescent pond
from deep the sun would burst

my heart when dark would sing the moon
and take it’s rest from labors’ way
then thankful leap above the clouds
soar peaceful through the day

Tommy is taking part in a photography challenge – a photo a day for the month of March using a theme word. The word for today was “gratitude”

Sunrise Up Close Tommy Stone

I would close my eyes
one last time my wish
for the last sight to say farewell
is but a sunrise to know
the world will go on
sweet fire and water
as the moon drowns in a chill lake
her pale sorrow buried
in tree shadow
the edge of dark slipping
further away
as sun takes her place
warming my skin
the soft glow through
closing lids
as I say goodnight
to the morning

Tommy Stone Monochromatic Sky 3

stirred to an angry swirl
of wind blown rage
that strips leaves from trees
and sends the birds wheeling
on currents not of their choice
holding on to the branch tips
that scrape clouds raw
I am the storm
riding the crest of a front
driving rain into the ground
madness lashing out
from behind a sky that is
sinking lower by the minute
until I have washed away
leaving nothing but puddles

Photo Credit Tommy Stone

If ever proof were needed
the darkness should have heeded
for even as the sun goes down
now mostly hidden by the ground
of other lands and other towns
the smallest flicker cuts the black
and rises far beyond the trees
and though the clouds would freeze
and space encroach upon the day
a flaming sky gives argument
sun has the final say

Photo credit Tommy Stone

as though to show
a small regret
the east reflects the rosy set
of western rays that slip
horizon deep
a gentle sleep
a blush of night
as indigo begins to go
around the pond a fond
farewell to light for just a little while
where water meets the sky
and shyly hides beyond
the silken clouds
a parting gift, a shift
from brighter busy times
now slower rhymes
invite the ears and eyes
surprised by glory
not a shout
but whisper

The pond sits quietly
in the lap of the shore,
at rest from the days work.
The lilies pillowed on their pads
rocking gently, watched over
by a lullaby moon.