Not The Rockefellers

Image via Magpie Tales Alma she, the practical godmother  of re purposed filled lives did so, not out of fad or fashion or deep cosmic guilt but rather frugality borne out of horse drawn necessity with Alma one was never allowed to simply "be" a spoon could not just stir a kettle had to do more than just boil one trick extravagances had no business in her business for Alma "just doing your bit" was an unforgivable sin and a grotesque waste of limitless talent she eschewed the flock trotted superhighway and blazed her own way in inventive fashion the future sewn and soldered  formed from  whatever she had on hand waiting to be reborn and twisted  drifting from the past Rene ~ July 2013

whoever can speak  without disturbing the peace  whoever can walk without stirring the past  whoever can listen without divining wisdom whoever can love without embracing scars whoever can think without considering the future cannot ever truly  entirely be Rene ~ July 2013

you gonna eat that? the rest of  that stuff you gonna  leave that? on your plate you gonna  wrap it up? take it home  'n stick it in the fridge you gonna  eat that? or  give it to me? Rene ~ July 2013 a little Friday fun Have a great weekend everyone 

sit down... yes, you... do that... sit down you're gonna write sumthin'... no jokin' hoboken this is happening... stop with the candy crush you've been stuck for a month on level 65 fuck five year olds laugh and point so just cut the crap and write... about what? write about what you know... what the hell do I know? you know about ants... little bastards! ants found my candy stash "they came in  through the window dove in my trash crawled over my table like miniature trucks  then chewed up my sunflowers heartless little fucks always runnin' somewhere busy little freaks can't wait til they go under in a few more weeks" Well I wrote something  yeah. you did... what'dya think of it? Good... Just good? Yup... I don't make mountains out of anthills... Rene~2013

my love  runs on banana peels and deadlines  scribbled on toasted origami matchbooks  then tossed  in a junk drawer until crunchy it's an acquired taste Rene ~ July 2013

image: Andrew Wyeth ( via Magpie Tales) before we became slayers of giants  conquerors  of brave, new worlds we were frozen trapped,  inside blocks  of Carrara  wanting willing to risk everything for a chance the right to be higher,  mightier, divine free Rene~July 2013

not feeling so  much  of a  muchness anymore I can't  fake the connections I won't have the  discussions my  thoughts outdated  my  words a dead language  rabidly  stabbing at  tabloid typos am i losing  you? writing with red ink  on the arms of my t-shirt buy  the milk or pay the rent  Rene ~ 2013 

Potatoes photo by Agustin Berrocal  this fire a cradle under a waning moon for rockets  pulled from the earth and kissed Midas gold by smitten Gods, peasants and spangled stars this fire ritual fuel for launching cowboy sunrise revolutions Rene ~ July 2013

Public domain image via vintageprintables.com the day i found my ways i caught myself in a tangle tightly twined  around a forkful of  spaghetti from a can't  just pullin' the wool  over easy under the radar love, life, and my pursuits; a hapless sock thread ensnared by a tack on the threshold  unwinding, revealing a novice habit trail from door to table, to chair, to bed just livin' but barely breaking a sweat  smokin' a bowl of dead ends Is that all there is? Peggy Lee, blinked lookin' for  high bars in low places forcin' a smile, though her eyes ordered a double some things are better left unsaid but winked at?...hell yeah I caught your act, you charlatan  I say, strippin' off my socks  I know your ways You ought to play  out in the mud in your good shoes  maybe, someday Finally Rene~July 2013 For 100 Word Song The song prompt was Patti Smith's

Supermoon, New York, Julio Cortez via Magpie Tales I look at that moon like it's another quarter slipped in  the smiling notch of  my bank book i can hardly lift  all that hope i make gravy wells in clouds for all my crazy dreams but my champagne heart has beggar's  arrhythmia and i stubbed my toe  on a horny back toad how them golden slippers ever gonna fit me, now  go an' howl down a mongrel rainstorm up that yellow brick road  Rene ~ July 2013 For Magpie Tales

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