Not The Rockefellers

Image: Helen Ward via Magpie Tales It's always a sight at the trattorie when wild city critters make a scene crumbled cake, candelabras chaos and weasels in starched collars paper crowns, rumpled nightgowns won't someone turn that racket down? reptilian wait staff spin and slither a tortoise brings breakfast in time for dinner but there... in the midst of all the clatter a honey badger pot scrubber for whom the noise doesn't matter he keeps to himself, he doesn't care doesn't give a whit about the whole affair he sticks to his task, gets it done then leaves the city moon for the country sun Rene ~ April 28, 2013

she was beauty ripe golden, delicious in a place where life has teeth and apples are hard to come by she was the siren in the salty song of the lobsterman and sunrise on the tip of an artist's brush she was a slice of time come of age here, on Monhegan until, without signal she was gone painted into myth like the hermit of Manana Rene ~ April 21,2013 For Magpie Tales "Fools stand on their island of opportunities and look to another land. There is no other land, there is no other life but this." - Henry David Thoreau Image: Monhegan's Schoolteacher, Jamie Wyeth, 2004

bed headed dandelion sunshine freckles spill out from  hole-in-the-bucket  cereal bowl daydreams tripping on shoelaces  winding gloriously green eyed  and untied jungle vines tangled up and tugging fists full  of nobody's home  knock knock jokes giggled  to a  monkey playing matchbook  love songs on a tinker toy  piano close your eyes and sing along unbelievably  off key    into the stracciatella  cirrus sky let it go kick out all the tent pegs and let it flow  Rene ~ 2013

before the time of the city sun and the inescapable pull of its undoubtedly righteous and mighty shove we knew by sense the swell and flow of the seasons we stuck our fingers in the wet soil and felt the curve of the earth Rene~April 14,2013 For Magpie Tales Image: Spring, 1935 by Kuzma Petrov-Vodkin

such a grand old fear that one  the empty page unlit by a new moon fresh times  of dark realization of who and what we truly are we are  holes furiously burned into blinding white paper that no amount of wine prayer,charm or pleading fill so we fuck we fuck to favor our gods and kill our darlings We fuck to free worlds ! worlds like wheels spinning 'round and 'round great expectant moon sanctuaries built on body heat and dirty work we fuck for the thrill of pearls charmed from snakes and silk purses we fuck  for letters from unfaithful muses we fuck for one more midnight enjambment  one more  psalm of inspiration in a keening fuck moan  Writers. Fuck. Rene~2013 Woman With a Towel, 1898, Edgar Degas via Magpie Tales For 100 Word Song This week's prompt "Dirty Work" by Steely Dan For the love of our words We are fools