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 Apr 2014 Mary McCray
betterdays
early morning,
with
cup of kenyan blend.
i step outside,
to meet my day.

all soft,
misty drizzle.
cocooning the view,
to the koi pond
and slick driveway.

stepping stones,
are
soft wet coins
on greenback lawn.
dewed and glistening new.

the last
of the snapdragons,
weep in bright tears
of beauty.
the portulaci
have closed their
faces to the world,
to await the
returning sun.

in the pond,
the koi swim,
and glide
like solar flashes
caught while bathing.
bright moving wonder
on the colourless day

and as i watch
the surface becomes
hypnotic as water drops
create ring,bisecting
ring, bisecting ring.
concentricity,
most exquisite.

the smell of jasmine
eucalypt and coffee
mix and mingle with
exhaust and salted iodine.

sound is muted.
birds, whisper this morning.
even the kookaburras call,
in stuttering short chuckles.
the sea, so close, is but a murmur, a chinese whisper
on the frail wind.


the small grey cat,
comes to sit with me
nose, aquiver,
ears swiveling
to and fro.

a pause before,
harrumphing
and stalking
back into the
dry, cosy, warmth.

i soon follow....
leaving the day,
to it's softness.
napowrimo day 6
prompt write a poem of what you see hear and feel
outside your window/door
(paraphrased)
 Apr 2014 Mary McCray
betterdays
i could see her
then my thoughts
bloomed like
flowers, bright orange poppies
wonderous bright and  i go
and whisper love to
her hair still mussed by sleep
my mind all, raddled perceptions, and  in
moments like these their
ability to wear clothes
of polite deception dies with
stark naked truth gleaming no
shining through to the west
horizon, the wind
blows my deception to
the eastern most point of my love and  iron
rust,red and magenta  notions come out
with joy to play the
sun colours and creases
early morning clouds, they blush in
deference to her ****** beauty the
sun hides, she shines brighter this **morning
napowrimo day 5
prompt: golden shovel.
poem used Janet Frame's  "her thoughts"
agolden shovel is a poem created by using
another poet's work as the ending word
in each line. i have highligted this by using **bold**
this is my first attempt at this difficult form
 Apr 2014 Mary McCray
betterdays
small blue cat
curls up on himself
back to the world

content to
dream big cat's dream
safari

where he is
lion tiger leopord
extraordinaire.

he mreowls,
twitches and then starts,
hunting prey,

takes time, stealth
and skill patience, too
as he sleeps,

he stalks, stares,
the little blue cat.
dreaming still.
day four "napowrimo"
prompt - write a lune or a couple(this is my first attempt@ this deceptive form)
thanks to Mary McCray for
directing me to the following site http://www.napowrimo.net/
 Apr 2013 Mary McCray
Wang Wei
In a happy reign there should be no hermits;
The wise and able should consult together....
So you, a man of the eastern mountains,
Gave up your life of picking herbs
And came all the way to the Gate of Gold --
But you found your devotion unavailing.
...To spend the Day of No Fire on one of the southern rivers,
You have mended your spring clothes here in these northern cities.
I pour you the farewell wine as you set out from the capital --
Soon I shall be left behind here by my bosomfriend.
In your sail-boat of sweet cinnamon-wood
You will float again toward your own thatch door,
Led along by distant trees
To a sunset shining on a far-away town.
...What though your purpose happened to fail,
Doubt not that some of us can hear high music.
 Apr 2013 Mary McCray
Nurse Joy
Siberian morn..
Benumbed by the frigid gusts,
the Winter is here.
liquid air is every where
the cracks, your lids, my sinews
a floating seed, can't find the
need to ever settle down
if there were snow, I wouldn't know
or care to check the flurry
it's summer and it's winter now;
the sky is in no hurry
Waves long for shores
Foaming for touch
Lusting for howl of wind
For night falling to knee’s
Of silence

Only in these thinnest moments
Do I find myself missing you

Lover of guilt and thorn
Girl dressed in abandonment
Singer of arias in the key of
Death
A broken cord
Hanging in dissidence

I was not listening soft enough
To make out the resonance of tears  
Beneath the vibrations of moans

This is not another memory I will let bloom
As a black rose wishing it was white or read



       This is just to say
That we loved like the bottom
Of the ocean
Reaching upward with
The tremble fingers of the sea
WIFE and servant are the same,
But only differ in the name :
For when that fatal knot is ty'd,
Which nothing, nothing can divide :
When she the word obey has said,
And man by law supreme has made,
Then all that's kind is laid aside,
And nothing left but state and pride :
Fierce as an eastern prince he grows,
And all his innate rigour shows :
Then but to look, to laugh, or speak,
Will the nuptial contract break.
Like mutes, she signs alone must make,
And never any freedom take :
But still be govern'd by a nod,
And fear her husband as a God :
Him still must serve, him still obey,
And nothing act, and nothing say,
But what her haughty lord thinks fit,
Who with the power, has all the wit.
Then shun, oh ! shun that wretched state,
And all the fawning flatt'rers hate :
Value yourselves, and men despise :
You must be proud, if you'll be wise.
 Apr 2013 Mary McCray
Ryan Unger
There was this guy Bart that I met in Prague,
Told me his girlfriend lived down in a bog.
“She’s big and she’s green, with long yellow fangs,
And seaweed hangs off of her head like green bangs.

The first time I met her she bit off my hand, and spit it out next to me into the sand.
The next time I met her, this guy Bart he said,
“If she bites you again, I’ll cut off her head.”

Well this time she bit off my leg, and she even ate Bart,
That’s when I decided that I had to start,
Thinking of ways to get rid of this creature,
So I hobbled to town to talk to the preacher.

“It’s love that it need!” he beamed at me,
“Just show it some love, and then you’ll see.”
So to the bog I went with love to share,
Bart’s girlfriend came out, and greeted me with a stare.

I shouted at her, “I came to share love!”
And offered her the preacher’s precious white dove.
Well she snatched up the dove, broke it in two,
Threw it aside and said “Now onto you!”

I turned to run as fast as I could,
But was bitten in half like an old piece of wood.
My final thought before I had died,
Was that love had solved nothing, the preacher had lied.
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