Weather...

My patio, a river...

Flooding, tornado warnings, thunderstorms, rain, flash floods, wind...Autumn is still being birthed painfully and messily this last day of October.  It's been summer-like here in the swamps...my tomatoes & peppers are still making although my Moonflowers have gone to seed.   My back bedroom is flooded, but that's minor compared to the damage in Texas from tornadoes and flooding.  

Found a cool read this week and it's free.  Also check the author's web site:  johnnybtruant.com

Check it out:  http://www.amazon.com/Universe-Doesnt-Give-Flying-About-ebook/dp/B005OMBTKY

Weather Channel

By Sheryl Crow

Sunny morning

You can hear it

Siren's warning

There is weather on both sides

And I know it's coming

Just like before

There's a black dog

That scratches my door

He's been growling my name saying

You better get to running

Can you make it better for me

Can you make me see the light of day

Because I got no one

Who will bring me a

Big umbrella

So I'm watching the weather channel

And waiting for the storm

It's just sugar

Just a pill to make me happy

I know it may not fix the hinges

But at least the door has stopped it's creaking

I got friends

They're waiting for me to comb out my hair

Come outside and join the human race

But I don't feel so human

Can you make it better for me

Can you make me see the light of day

Because I got lab coats

Who will bring me a panacea

While I'm watching the weather channel

Waiting for the storm

You won't want me

Hanging around the birthday pony

Even though it's just a game

You know we are the same

But you're the better faker

A Prayer By Marion - For Magpie Tales #291

                                  For Magpie Tales #291

A Prayer

By Marion

Now I lay me

down to pray;

I clasp my hands

in bright moon rays.

I close my eyes

as if in sleep,

draw in a breath, then

gently leap

into the arms of

of God above

and quickly rest

inside His love.

I lie here like a 

small child curled, 

encompassed in

His trusting word

of faith & peace

known simply by

those many souls

that to Him cry...

http://magpietales.blogspot.com/2015/10/mag-291.html

Fliverapp - Fun & Fabulous

One of the most FUN, informative, fascinating, free apps I have on my IPad is the Fliverapp.  It's a collection of lists about everything from books to poetry, restaurants, food, fashion, recipes, advice...you name it.  The sky's the limit...or not.  The lists are in multiples of 5 with space to add a link with a little comment section at the end.  It's simple and easy to use and therein lies the beauty.

I went a little crazy when I first discovered it and became a top 5 list maker...and the cool CEO & Founder, Faraaz Ahmed, sent me a little gift:  Fliverapp socks!!  As I told him in a thank you email, "I love the app and enjoy it even more than Pinterest.  Nobody at Pinterest ever sent me cute socks... They've just stolen years from my life that I'll never get back."

I highly recommend that you all try Fliverapp, even if it's just to read all of the cool lists on your IPhone.

I'd keep reading it even if they never sent me cozy socks!  xo

Beautiful Chaos By Robert M. Drake

        Beautiful Chaos By Robert M. Drake

           Black Butterfly By Robert M. Drake

Robert M. Drake began posting his simple, beautiful poetry on Instagram (@rmdrk) and has developed a huge following.  His fifth book, "A Brilliant Madness" is just out.  His poetry is pure soul and emotion...and highly addictive reading.  I have one of his books and can't wait to read his newest volume.

It's hot, dry, cloudy and muggy here in the swamps with rain predicted for the next few days as an after effect of Hurricane Patricia.  Everyone in the hurricane's path, please stay safe.

Support poets...buy poetry!!!!

xo,

Marion

"Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance." ~Carl Sandburg

                         My Autumn Rose...

Bone By Mary Oliver

Bone

By Mary Oliver

1.

Understand, I am always trying to figure out

what the soul is,

and where hidden,

and what shape 

and so, last week,

when I found on the beach

the ear bone

of a pilot whale that may have died

hundreds of years ago, I thought

maybe I was close

to discovering something 

for the ear bone

2.

is the portion that lasts longest

in any of us, man or whale; shaped

like a squat spoon

with a pink scoop where

once, in the lively swimmer's head,

it joined its two sisters

in the house of hearing,

it was only

two inches long 

and thought: the soul

might be like this 

so hard, so necessary 

3.

yet almost nothing.

Beside me

the gray sea

was opening and shutting its wave-doors,

unfolding over and over

its time-ridiculing roar;

I looked but I couldn't see anything

through its dark-knit glare;

yet don't we all know, the golden sand

is there at the bottom,

though our eyes have never seen it,

nor can our hands ever catch it

4.

lest we would sift it down

into fractions, and facts 

certainties 

and what the soul is, also

I believe I will never quite know.

Though I play at the edges of knowing,

truly I know

our part is not knowing,

but looking, and touching, and loving,

which is the way I walked on,

softly,

through the pale-pink morning light.

The Panic of Birds By Olena Kalytiak Davis

            Photo from Google Images

The Panic of Birds

By Olena Kalytiak Davis

The moon is sick
of pulling at the river, and the river
fed up with swallowing the rain,
So, in my lukewarm coffee, in the bathroom
mirror, there’s a restlessness
as black as a raven.
Landing heavily on the quiet lines of this house.
Again, the sun takes cover
and the morning is dead
tired of itself, already, it’s pelting and windy
as I lean into the pane
that proves this world is a cold smooth place.

Wind against window—let the words fight it out—
as I try to remember: What is it
that’s so late in coming? What was it
I understood so well last night, so well it kissed me,
sweetly on the forehead?

Wind against window and my late flowering brain,
heavy, gone to seed. Pacing
from room to room and in each window
a different version of a framed woman
unable to rest, set against a sky
full of beating wings and abandoned
directions. Her five chambered heart
filling with the panic of birds, asking: What?

What if not this?

_________________

Write Now

I wrote my first poem at age 14 with a cartridge pen.  It was a love poem and the start of a lifelong love affair with ink pens and poetry. I wrote for 20 years with Schaefer Cartridge Pens (still available at Hobby Lobby).  They're the pens on the right.  My best poems were written with the red one in blue ink.  Then I discovered German made Pelikan Fountain Pens. (On the left.) They're the best pen I've ever used.  The green Pelikan pen is a wide nib highlighter.  I highlight in advance reader copies of books that I get from Amazon and authors to review.  It's a blast to use.  I'm glad I saved and splurged on the Pelikan pens.  I plan to pass them down to my grandchildren.

There's also my little pink Japanese Tasche cartridge pen...It writes sweet Haiku.  xo

"You can't write poetry on the computer." ~Quentin Tarantino

When dragonflies leave

At autumn's first appearance---

Butterflies appear!  ~Marion

A Letter in October By Ted Kooser

                     Autumn at a camp in the swamp. (Photo from Google Images.)

                                              My Catfish and a new friend. ;-)

A Letter in October - By Ted Kooser

Dawn comes later and later now,
and I, who only a month ago
could sit with coffee every morning
watching the light walk down the hill
to the edge of the pond and place
a doe there, shyly drinking,

then see the light step out upon
the water, sowing reflections
to either side - a garden
of trees that grew as if by magic -
now see no more than my face,
mirrored by darkness, pale and odd,

startled by time. While I slept,
night in its thick winter jacket
bridled the doe with a twist
of wet leaves and led her away,
then brought its black horse with harness
that creaked like a cricket, and turned

the water garden under. I woke,
and at the waiting window found
the curtains open to my open face;
beyond me, darkness. And I,
who only wished to keep looking out,
must now keep looking in.

---

'A Letter in October' from Weather Central (University of Pittsburgh Press, 1994), © Ted Kooser 1994

___________________________________________________________________

Wish You Were Here, Keith

A good, kind friend of mine who died of AIDS in the 1980's.

I miss you every day, Keith...  

WISH YOU WERE HERE

Pink Floyd

So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue sky's from pain.
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you to trade
Your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
And how we found
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.

--------------------------