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Sunday, 20 October 2019

CONFUSED PERSPECTIVES



The Sunday Muse #78

The Sunday Muse is with us once more. Thank you Shay for this interesting prompt.
I had to look twice, then thrice . . . 



Today's image is called "The Architect"
and is done by 
ERIK JOHANSSON.
Visit him at
https://www.erikjo.com/


CONFUSED PERSPECTIVES

Crumpled paper on the floor,
Attempts at logic by the score.
The architect is 'stretched' it seems
To make sense of his house of dreams.
It works alright until the roof,
And then he thinks, "Another goof!"
Two inside walls, a desk, a floor
Would make some sense with two walls more.


This would solve inside dimensions,
With him inside, with great intentions.
Just like a confused and frightened fly
He tries and tries to work out why 
The roof he's drawn looks just not right
No matter which angle meets his sight.
Two more attempts end in crumpled paper.
Just as he thinks, "I'll end this caper".


"Eureka! he shouts, "I believe I've got it
"All my attempts 'til now were not it.
"I know now how Archimedes felt
When he to science his theory dealt.
The roof is strange, I've drawn it wrong.
The length is short, the width is long.
In fact they are drawn out the wrong way
A 90% turn should work out okay. 


Then the perspective should work out right.
And not to onlookers be a confusing sight.




Eddie Bluelights
20 October 2019



To reach The Sunday Muse, please press HERE





Monday, 7 October 2019

THE CALAMITOUS CELLIST



The Sunday Muse #76

I am a little late to the party this week, but better late than never.
Something a bit different this week.

Thank you once again Carrie, for another thought provoking prompt.


"The Weight of Groans" Photography by Julie de Waroquier
Click here to see her website


The Calamitous Cellist


Clothing catastrophe cruelly causes classical concert cancellation. 
Cross, celebrated cellist curtails concerto composition, collapsing catastrophically, causing considerable concern.

Confidence curtailed, confused cellist, colouring copiously, cannot continue cello counterpoint, capitulating, categorically ceasing countless creative crotchets. Curtains!!! Crisis!! Crumbs!!

Cackling, cheering, criticising crowd cautiously claps, cello covers cellist's crushing chagrin, causing constant consternation. 

Chivalrous, compassionate conductor cleverly covers crying cellist, ceasing continued confusion, concocting comforting consolation.







Eddie Bluelights 
7 October 2019



Press HERE for The Sunday Muse.





Saturday, 7 September 2019

I AM A MAN EATER


The Sunday Muse #72

Getting my teeth stuck into the latest prompt.

Thank you, Carrie





I AM A MAN EATER

Fear not little girl
You are quite safe with me
I eat just men and boys, you see
So my menu's not got thee.

So do not speak too lowly
And make sure your hair's not short
Or I will get so hungry,
And will kill you just for sport.

For I am just a man eater
And I leave you girls alone
And not eat you piece by piece
And not chew bone by bone.

I may still look ferocious, 
And show a tooth or two.
But if they're inside my muzzle.
They will not you bite or chew.

But if you punch me in the face
Instead of kissing me
I might forget just what I am.
And have you for my tea.



lol


Eddie Bluelights
7 September 2019




To reach the Sunday Muse press HERE

Sunday, 1 September 2019

A CLOSE BRUSH WITH DEATH


The Sunday Muse #70

Thank you Carrie for this challenging prompt.
Give me a petty face and I always try to summon inspiration, so here goes.



A Close Brush With Death

Photography by Ali Falak Image Source


We thought you had gone,
To abandon this last remaining Earthly coil,
To flee this light into an unknown darkness, awaiting all.
You whispered Adieux from those sweet and gorgeous lips.
As that most unwelcome reaper grimly tightened his grip,
Too soon and far ahead of his appointed hour.
We shed our tears of sadness as your vessel sailed away,
Or so it seemed to us at that most dreadful hour.

Yet a flicker of life fought a stunning rearguard action.
You refused to obey all those cruel ropes tugging at your soul.
A hint of colour brushed across your lovely face
And life was again breathed gently into your soul and spirit,
Our heartbeats grew stronger to match your rejuvinated pulse.
And we wept with joy as we once more saw those open beautiful eyes.




Eddie Bluelights 1st September 2019





To reach the Sunday Muse please press HERE



Once again, thank you Carrie


Thursday, 15 August 2019

A MYRIAD OF CICADAS


The Wednesday Muse

Hosted by Toni at Kanzensakura


Thank you Toni for this most interesting of prompts.
Until yesterday I did not know what a Cicadas is and I duly researched them on the net. There are 3000 different species, their life cycles are by no means the same. One particular species struck me, having a life cycle of 17 years, there is another of 13 years, but some are annual, and others biannual. I hope the accompanying video is playable all round the world because it is fascinating.



But first to the writing.


A MYRIAD OF CICADAS


They come in legions at their appointed hour,
Multitudes, multitudes like grains of sand upon the shore.
They emerge from the darkness of the earth by night, in unison, 
As if commanded by the grand master of their universe.
Legions, thousands, multitudes, numbering like the stars in the heavens,
All marching into the light of day,
All with the same endeavour after their enforced imprisonment.
Seventeen years, deep beneath the ground as nymphs of the night.
Solitary, root sucking, waiting as if forever for their call. 
They hear it and respond as one for their goal, a festival of life,
A vast orgy of the skies, they move ever forward for that reward.
They are greeted by hungry, cruel mouths, awaiting their feast of plenty, the like their eyes have always been denied.
And still they come, replaced by more and ever more fat grubby nymphs, for that great encounter.
They climb into the trees, high, and ever higher and pause to find a friendly leaf.
They rest and cling to that leaf and by daybreak cast off that hideous outer shell, still clinging,
To emerge as beautiful winged creatures of delight, 
The female waits for loud calls to mate, and she has her pick from males of plenty.
Again, but now as wnged creatures, they are but fodder to cruel and hungry mouths, 
Yet these mouths are silenced as all are gorged and full in plenty.
Still more replace them as they find a partner, if for just for one brief treasured moment in time.
Their love affair is but fleeting and their job is done.
Eggs are laid and when hatched migrate to safety into the ground,
And their parents wilt, wither and die, such was their lifelong task.
The hungry predators will never feast again like this,
For this mass emergence will be denied to the forest for yet another seventeen years.







* * * * * * * * * * 

Not a poem as such because I wanted to convey a lot of information.

Gosh 17 years of solitude, then when a chance of some fun comes along, you die before you get an encore.
Makes you wonder if it is all worth it . . lol



To reach The Wednesday Muse press HERE.

Saturday, 10 August 2019

MAMMA, I HEAR THE SEA


The Sunday Muse #68

Thank you Carrie for this interesting prompt.
It prompted a bit of a 'tear jerker' response, so I advise a box of tissues.

Photography by Edouard Boubat

Mamma, I hear the waves breaking gently onto a shingled shore,
The sea speaks to me and tells me all our hidden secrets.
Like the times I paddled and it gently kissed my feet,
And cooled me on those hot lazy sunny afternoons.
The times I ran and splashed all along that boiling, frothy surf,
When the air resounded with my laughter and the seagulls swooped and smiled.
It held me gently as I swam ashore that kind and unkind day,
It picked me up and helped me with its loving tide.
It tried so hard to help my Daddy too,
And fought an undercurrent which cruelly took him out to sea.
It's incoming tide lost influence, then the fight eclipsed with sadness,
And my Daddy from that day became just a loving memory.

The shell echoed my loss and with a sympathetic voice,
Crying endless tears of sorrow as each wave caressed and lapped the shore. 









Eddie Bluelights
10 August 2019



To reach The Sunday Muse, please press HERE


Friday, 9 August 2019

SPREAD YOUR WINGS IN GLORY


The Wednesday Muse


Thank you Toni for this interesting prompt.
Many apologies for my lengthy absence.


WINGED MIRACLE


Spread your wings, my beautiful creature.
Bask in the sun and drink in that sweet and treasured nectar of life.
For your existence is but the passing of a morning cloud,
Yet time enough for you to flutter while you find a mate.
Contemplate, reflect upon your long lonely journey,
When you crawled on your belly, gorging ravenously,
Ugly and unwanted you went to sleep,
And discarded your outer hideous countenance.
Your inner beauty transformed into a winged tapestry
Your wings pumped up by a myriad of swelling vessels.
Behold I see a miracle which not a soul can fathom.
You took to the air and fluttered high into the breezy sky 
To give us joy and happiness.




Eddie Bluelights
8 August 2019




To reach The Wednesday Muse, press HERE