Posts Tagged ‘magpie tales’


Image from Magpie Tales


I saw her on the busy street
a warrior of the new era.
Picture perfect pretty,
clearly at the forefront of all that is new.

Her deer-like eyes
so perfectly innocent!
Stunning in every single way.

Before her freshness and beauty
I froze in time,
turned to stone,
stopped to admire.

Hey, bitch! What are you staring at?
she shouted with a sneer,
and flipped me the bird…

If I’m going to keep up with NaPoWriMo 2016 while working (as I now finally am able to), I need to stay ahead of the game. This is for Magpie Tales, and Mag 311 – and something I’m clearly out of my depth writing (more street poetry than rhyme and meter). Hope it makes sense, and if I do have a chance I will also write to prompt for day 4 later (since I liked the prompt).



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Mag 309

I sense that you don’t trust me,
that you don’t believe I’m real.
That you don’t think that what I show
is truly how I feel.

I sense your deep set scepticism
and I feel all your doubts,
but, honey, if that’s all you have
then what are we about?

If you won’t ever trust me,
never take me at my word,
you won’t believe a thing I say
over anything you’ve heard.

If you cannot look in my eyes
and trust what you can see,
then, honey, there is no more ‘us’
then it’s just you and me.

More practise, I suppose… Magpie TalesMag 309 inspired this one. The look of doubt on that young girl’s face is just priceless!


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We’re on the cusp of summer and spring is painting the trees with its’ special green brush strokes. Fragile and luminescent, a new season with all its’ colours stand before us. Tonight the fires of cleansing will be lit, burning away the sins of a long dark winter. When the ashes cool tomorrow a new generation will feel entitled to the world and a future they won’t think anyone else ever imagined. All hail to the young!

Me? Well, I’m old and tired. In quite a few ways I’m far less than a spent ink cartridge, only filling in half the letters on the page you’ve tried to print. The one you sigh at on a Friday and vow to have replaced by Monday. And I watch the world turning, once again…

Another year gone… Another thirty or so poems exorcised… Another lot of ‘crap, I didn’t get around to reading all of their poems today, will they still read mine?’ or ‘are we all not just going around in one big circle of patting each other on the back…?’. Another few days of ‘no, I can’t write anything today, I have nothing left to give!’ and a few ‘I just have to stop writing now and go to bed… But just one more!’.

The world is green with fresh leaves, with fresh wonders and annoying kids with their sense of entitlement, but the only promise I can make for the upcoming twelve months – as the choirs around the country are singing ‘The winter rushes down from our hillsides’ – is that I’ll try to enjoy the moments I have. And I’ll try to be here again, maybe even before next April?

I’ll try to stay alive. For some of us, that’s really all you can ask.

Hardly a poem, and as it’s not written to prompt I doubt many will read it, but that’s OK. It’s April 30 and the last day of NaPoWriMo 2015. It’s also Walpurgis Night in Sweden, and in about an hour bonfires will be lit to burn winter away in the tradition of spring and drunk teenagers. I have a few regrets over the past month. Poems I didn’t get to read. Poems I read and couldn’t get myself to comment on. Poems I outright didn’t like and the ever-present thought of ‘why can’t people just read what I write because they like it?’. And I shouldn’t have thought that.

I want to thank everyone who’s been around to read and comment over the past month, as well as the websites I’ve used for inspiration, mainly Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Mindlovemisery’s Menagerie and Magpie Tales, but also The Sunday Whirligig and of course NaPoWriMo. I don’t know if I’ll be back tomorrow or if I’ll be back next year. I don’t know if I’ll ever be back. But I want to thank all of those people who’ve actually spent time reading my scribbles and commenting. I’m sorry if I haven’t returned all the favours…


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Image from Magpie Tales

You cannot see me, I am not here
I change my colours when you are near.
Like a snake I shed my skin
and you’ll never see what lies within.
I mirror your reflection
I mimic your style
but you won’t know
what I hide inside.

Turncoat, chameleon, call me what you will
my inner self is hidden still.

I haven’t done a Mag challenge for a while, so this is for Magpie Tales and their Mag 266. I will also make this my entry for NaPoWriMo 2015 and Day 19. Only another eleven to go this April!


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Mag 262

The time had come too quickly
after a day of fun and games.
A day so filled with laughter –
a day without any shame.
But the time had come and now
they really did have to part.
He had to go his way,
and hers was a different path.

They knew it would be over,
their day out in the sun.
A day so full of laughter,
a day so full of fun.
The end was drawing nearer
with each single step they took.
Their hearts were beating heavily
as they shared that final look.

At a clearing in the forest,
in the end it came to pass.
And they held hands, together,
to make the moment last.
One ultimate embrace, and with it
one kiss to say goodbye.
He slowly drew her closer
and she tried hard not to cry.

The time came all too quickly
after a day of careless fun
and here they stand together,
now frozen in the sun.
Today no one remembers,
just how it came to be.
How lovers dreading their parting so,
turned into a tree?

Their skin a little rougher,
their hearts so dead and cold,
but somehow they are joyful now –
together – though they’re old.
For this is love forever,
unmarred by space and time,
in a world that for most people
has no reason and no rhyme.

I wasn’t going to do this, but I couldn’t resist Magpie Tales Mag 262 and the above photo. *sigh* Only one poem a day – doctor’s orders! ;o)

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Not to be Reproduced by Rene Magritte, image from Magpie Tales

You may look, you may look,
but I’m never to be seen.
From within, looking out
hiding in the evergreen.

You may search, you may search
but you never will find me.
Tucked away, out of sight
high up in the tallest tree.

You may call, you may call,
but I’ll never answer back.
Mute my voice, not by choice
vocal cords now withered black.

You may write down my name,
but you’ll never really know.
I am safe, on my own
where my feelings never show.

How, you say, do I know
that you never will find me?
How could you, when indeed
there is no one here to see?

For Magpie Tales and Mag 224.

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Image from Magpie Tales, Mag 222

The bitter taste of medicine
the rampant side-effects
the dizziness of withdrawal
makes me wonder what is next?

If this is to make me better
if this is to make me good
if this is who I should be now
am I doing what I should?

The bitter tears of failure
the mood-swings off the charts
the raging, clawing craving
and the numbness in my heart

If this is what real life is
if this is who I am
if this is how my brain should work
I don’t want it, no Sir/Mam!

The bitter taste of medicine
with its’ rampant side-effects
the horror of withdrawal
makes me wonder if I’m next?

My muse is still hiding from the effects of new medication, so this – rather stilted – attempt is my frustrated response to Magpie Tales and the Mag 222 prompt. At what point should we just accept that we are flawed and try to live with the pain of it, rather than drowning ourselves in medication? And at what point can we finally lift the stigma of mental illness?

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