Not a Selfie

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self-portrait, Francis Bacon 

Not a Selfie

The Pope takes selfies, or allows someone to take one 

with him smiling among the eager young.

Today you don't hide behind a camera but relish your face

among other faces 

for all to see.

You and me, we hide behind our masks

While we grin at our camera faces,

Selfies we show the world,

without really showing

who we pretend to be.

Wasn't it easy then, to snap someone else

while our faces are hidden

and expressions mute

behind an old camera face. 

© Gerry at Strummed Words

Pre-Christmas

photo from The Guardian, Eyewitness

Clouds grey and cold

spawn birds in 

waning light on a colorless beach,

 wing flashes of

grey metal,

their wing winds cool on my fingers.

Graceful images
presage the warmer colors of Christmas. 

© Gerry at Strummed Words

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Wings

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from Magpie Tales

Wings unfurl, then fold again,
A blossom opens to sudden sunlight
Its petals fall one by one,
Sundered by the season.

But this angelic dream lives on in
floating mists of memory that flash
intermittent but constant.

Her red lips mirror the images aloft
Her eyes see beyond the pale sky's
shimmering response.

© Gerry at Strummed Words

Bleak Hill

photo by Mark Haley 

Rugged path, uneven steps

mark this dry bleak hill,

The cool air freshens my face
and quickens my breath,
a healthy walk
before the onslaught of welcome rain.

-Gerry@ Strummed Words


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Immortal

painting by Andrew Wyeth 

A god, a thing of marble and stone,
wants to raise leg  and thigh over the seat
of the monster machine with its eye
like a moon piercing the night.
But he fears flesh, terror, a rush of
blood to brain and fever to brow.

Which immortal seeks to become a man
even for just a moment of speed,
high feelings, a chase on a thing of metal
and steel? When he can stand
forever stonelike and invincible,
standing tall over the land?


- Gerry @ Strummed Words

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Magpie Tales: My Locked Heart

Charleston Farmhouse Door 

A heart above a metal lock

beats on, knowing full well

there is no key and the lock

is broken.

-Gerry@ Strummed Words

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A Conversation of Birds

Waking, Walking, Singing, in the Next Dimension? 1979 by Morris Graves

I have spoken to birds as a child, 

inviting them from their high perches

to land nearby where eyes

could see what my ears received, 

songs and messages that flew

through the air, its creators hidden in foliage

thick with green leaves of camouflage. 

And as an adult, I have heard them talk to me,

often in reprimand as in their dimension,

I rearranged their order and routine.

The poignancy of their sharp messages
of my flawed perceptions
was my genuine surprise.

- Gerry, Strummed Words

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The Conscientious Gardener

Lighthouse Dandelions by Jamie Wyeth 

  

A sea of dandelion starfish

 crawl on blades of green glass

and shine before the crisp silver blade

of the conscientious gardener.

- Gerry, Strummed Words

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The Other Side

Young Woman Picking the Fruit of Knowledge, 1892 by Mary Cassatt

'Neath stirring apple blossoms

I come to find my true self,

The other face of my coin.

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Night Moves

Woman With a Towel, 1898, Edgar Degas 

Night Moves

I am moved by silence and the quiet

night that brings no sleep.

In the shower, water gliding down

  arms and face,

A soft wrap of white around

my waist

prepare me for a feast

where I alone will dine.

A dash of pepper, cumin, oregano,

 rice wine and more

over long strings of transparency,

Noodles that shimmer sensuous

in a cradle of soup.

Refreshed and fed by
the silence of the night,
 After all this, I may sleep.

-Gerry@Strummed Words

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In the Kitchen: Just Havin' Fun

Between Heaven and Hell, 1989 by Jacek Yerka 

Between chaos and inevitable peace
I take eggs and ham for us each
for our Sunday Easter break fast,
A stirring that should not hamper
my making a delicious repast.

The pastoral view on my left
keeps me grounded, while the cleft
of dark clouds from the scorched earth
on my right wonders if it's worth
my frantic search for an inbetween.

I'd rather look through the clear window
than step through that yawning space so near
to my back door. I think I'll have to stay in,
between heaven hell, in my own kitsch in.

-Gerry@Strummed Words

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Facing Forward

Not to be Reproduced, 1937 by the Belgian surrealist René Magritte

I watch myself facing forward,
Turn my back to the past,
Veil my features from those
who watch behind me.

I would not have you peer
unwanted, into face and eyes,
those windows of the soul
misted with a mystery

I will not share.



 -Gerry@Strummed Words

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Reflections: Poetry Jam

Reflect

My face in the mirror of your eyes

Comes back to linger,

 memories

Time gone by, an evanescent future.

Your views of broad blue waters

Outside a glass of wide recall,

deep dwellings

That run over my own warm seas.

- Gerry@ Strummed Words

for Poetry Jam 

The Artist and His Muse

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Faun, Horse, and Bird, 1936 Pablo Picasso

Horned beast, the half-man,
Part bird, part horse,
The artist describes
His muse.

A beast looking to the ground,
A winged creature flying through the air,
A four-footed animal neighing in the wind,
The artist complete. 

Or does he ponder life, the world,
and not himself, in all it's aspects?


- Gerry@Strummed Words

Origami Haiku

for Haiku Heights theme, Origami

A red flower folds
Bright pink petals in a curl
Nature's artifact

-Gerry@Strummed Words

Sea Haiku

Meal Beach, Burra Isles, Shetland by Robin Gosnall 

Sky in sea water
Sparkles over blue and green
Warms my summer heart


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A Clenched Fist: Magpie Tale

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photo by TheFoxAndTheRaven 

A song, a smile and she
opened her heart,
only to have it snatched by
a dark raven intent on a steal.

Why, oh why?
The hollow hurts where once
there was harmony
with a clenched fist.


-Gerry@Strummed Words

Magpie Tales: All My Secrets

Venus de Milo with Drawers, 1936, Salvador Dali

All My Secrets

My mind, my heart,

my gut responses, my breath,

even my angled knee.

All you want to know

is here, half hidden,

though I had hoped to shelter

inner parts of myself covered

in marble, white and cold.

But you can find my essence

with a pull on soft handles

that reveal all in parts.

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Magpie Tales: This Old House

Wind of History by Jacek Yerka

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This old man, he played one,
He played knick-knack on my thumb;
With a knick-knack paddywhack,
Give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.
(origins of the song are unknown, from Wikipedia)

This Old House

This old house, it felt old

Dark and lonely and too cold,

Like a wind tossed ship on a dreary sea

It is no home or refuge for me.

- Gerry@Strummed Words