Not The Rockefellers

November Lace, 2009, Rene Foran It was nearly 90 degrees in that cozy little kitchen the smell of home cooking had attached itself to every molecule of every acrylic holiday sweater her every effort to help prepare the feast was waved off and redirected to the family room where a stony, silent, football viewing Mt Rushmore occupied the couch, a loveseat, and three folding chairs she wandered down  to the basement where she was years removed from the circle and miles behind the conversation so she drifted along searching where was her world? where was her piece? where did she belong? she slipped away  from the fray unnoticed up to her childhood room through the bedroom window and onto the rooftop poetic: " she sat arms hugging knees surveying life,  the leafless trees spindly branches claw the sky scratching for sun, to heaven they cry p...

Venus and The Sailor, 1925, by Salvador Dali via Magpie Tales I'll dip you over the edge of the universe breathless then stare you down like Brando catching then dropping you in time enough to fall clinging breaking free then chasing you down hiding in chains a fugitive on the run seeking willing to give it all up you're nothing more than a shiny  thing glistening after the tango as i leave hungry heart of a hunter forever wanting more © 2013 - Rene

i was a carpenter's dream you never could shut up about that i was more than just geometry you didn't own you lacked the tools and sense to figure that out hormones and swelling glands navigating your every move yet you bothered with me when I couldn't even stand myself if only i could have changed my breasts or cut away my ethnic nose maybe our conversations could have gone somewhere instead of falling flat like your idiotic punchlines i was always the straight man in your perfect, curvy world forever waiting for the hook to yank you back truth be told behind the forced laughter you had no idea that I didn't mind Rene ~ September 2012 I was just feeling like a "big for her size" 14 year old this morning... And this is the havoc I chose to wreak on the planet. It's a little thin after the hook brings you back part... Work in progress. I'll flesh it out a little more. Maybe. If I feel like i...

Fernand Léger, Breakfast, 1921 join Magpie Tales do you dream as I do of love sudden and shocking eliciting the chatter of teacups feverishly thrusting into heated debate can you find a moment as you brush by me and onto your routine to take me, breathless, to the beautiful we once knew Rene ~ September 9, 2012

I want to eat your words roasted and dipped in a balsamic vinaigrette then lavishly tumbled in sesame seed crumbles I want to eat your words I want to smoke your dreams rolled up and lit in a big fat cigarette I would deeply inhale every pretty little herbal detail I want to smoke your dreams I want to drink your intentions straight with no chaser in a blue collar bar I'd pave over well that ribbon of highway to hell I want to drink your intentions I want to have you for dinner with some sugar snap peas and a nice Chardonnay I'd lick clean my dish even have seconds if I wished lookout I'm gonna have you for dinner Rene ~ June 2012 A little Magpie fun Image credit: Klaus Enrique Gerdes

Photo courtesy of Tess Kincaid for Magpie Tales I always end up at Gate of Heaven after the pub, but before dinner drownin' in liquid amnesia it's safer under the oaks away from them and selfishly envious of feckin' Able Moore. Lucky bastard, dying like he did war hero, soldier, saint not a livin', sufferin' forgotten, faceless sonofabitch bummin' cigarettes from snot nosed brats at the Seven Eleven Remember me? I didn't always run and hide on the Fourth of July pissin' myself in terror Tell me Don't you goddamn remember me? I don't feckin' care if you don't But oh my Jesus, don't you forget to remember me, Able when I come into your kingdom don't you dare, man don't you goddamn dare Rene ~ November 2011 Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is often suffered silently. Click here for more information.

photo by Chris J. Chambers sailing paper boats under german opera skies autumn aerialists dive splashing down  into gray blue eyes i tug at my wool cap the wind picks up a ride how i hate to be alone after the beautiful goodbye Rene ~ October 2011

Photo by Rene  how divinely you dance around the thread smiling, barely breathing spinning secrets and angelic half truths into silken veils without so much as a ripple every vowel whispered swallowed up and held smartly, tightly in your hot little grasp a carrot dangled over a bear trap heart Rene ~ October 2011 Google Images Inspired? Please visit Magpie Tales and submit your own take on  the above photo prompt. Be Creative!