Friday January 7, 2011 Poetry Pantry/ River of Stones/ Big Tent Poetry/ Thursday Theme

http://ariverofstones.blogspot.com/

Stone #7
The tea kettle begins to softly whistle,
Black coffee in open pot,
Smokes curls from the black liquid,
Yellow butter melts atop creamy
Breakfast of oatmeal, walnuts and raisins



http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2011/01/poetry-pantry-is-now-open-24.html
Thursday Theme/ prompt: Stairs
http://themethursday.blogspot.com/


Big Tent Poetry/ prompt: feet
http://bigtentpoetry.org/2011/01/come-one-come-all-january-7/

The Woman on the Stairs
The Woman who Wasn't There

It is that woman who wasn't there
The woman without feet,
She can't go up the stairs,
But stays where she is.

Yesterday, I saw that woman on the stairs.
The woman who wasn't there.

In a time long ago...
She slipped her feet,
Into the red shoes,
She danced upon the stairs,
Up and down she went,
As if to spread her wings,
She flew!

She sung the words onto the page,
She carefully folded each white sheet,
Then soaked it in the blood of her feet.
Sailing in the little boat,
The white sheet for a sail,
Covered with words,
She sailed the ocean red.
Now you'll find her on the stairs alone.

Again, yesterday I saw that woman on the stairs,
The woman who wasn't there.

Saturday January 1, 2010 Carry on Tuesday #86

Carry on Tuesday #86 prompt: No more talk of darkness, forget these wide eyed fears.

NO MORE TALK OF DARKNESS
The sun is high above Taos Mountain,
The fallen snow glitters before me,
The beginning of a new year,
The trail is marked,
As distinct as Dorothy's yellow brick road,
This year will be the year,
We'll put on the red shoes,
We'll be off to see the Wizard.

No more will the wolf emerge as victor,
And there is no happy ending.
Where warnings are issued to women,
Of the advances of men in wolves clothing.
Perhaps this year will be the one.
No more talk of darkness,
Forget these wide eyed fears.

The red cape, and the red shoes,
Symbols of female creativity.
Women of the 19th century,
Afraid to put on the red shoes,
And terrified of the cape,
This year will be the year,
No more talk of darkness,
Forget these wide eyed fears.

In the old tale,
The grandmother was eaten by the wolf,
As women of the 19th century were
When they attempted the pen,
This year let's slip on the red shoes,
Put on the cape,
Embrace the possibilities.
No more helpless females,
No more talk of darkness,
Forget these wide eyed fears.

Saturday December 4, 2010 Writer's Island/Quest

Image from the internet.

http://writersisland.wordpress.com

The Quest for the Red Shoes
It is the winter of the year,
Snuggled in their warm,
Bed chambers,
Bears dream of sunny days.
The idea of red shoes
Dance in my head.

So much unknown,
If I put them on --
Will I be able to get them off?
I think not,
And who would want to?

Perhaps the Queen in the
Early version of Snow White,
That was made to dance,
To her death in red-hot-shoes.

The quest to find these perfect
Red shoes, fit like a glove,
That signify the active,
Independent woman,
Who makes her own choices,
And is a sexual creature.

Shoes that make us think of hearts,
Or other "wobbly bits."*
Shiny, sparkly blood, red shoes,
Shoes that offer the chance.

The chance to be,
The chance to dance.
To the rhythm of our own
Heart, shoes of magic,
The quest is to learn to use them.

To find the way home,
No longer a stranger,
In our white undergarments,
Follow the thread,
Slip into the dragon skin,
Put on the red shoes,

This is the vision,
The quest will be ended,
Get off of the pedestal,
Dance the red shoes home.

*From Bridget Jones Diary.