27 May 2010

Theme Thursday...Wrinkle



23 May 2010

Magpie Tales #15...Brass Fish

brass fish can't flap
can't fight for breath
amalgamated flesh and zinc
copper gills and fins

but still cruelty follows
where fish are slaughtered

even brass laid out in moulds
has blood stains and scales
and scales can not weigh life
or death, even brass fish
deserve to be free

17 May 2010

Magpie Tales #14...What the Willow Wills

She finished spooning dirt over the last plate. They were all there now, beneath the willow. Where they belonged. Of course Mother wouldn't think so, would she?
Here she came now. Assume innocent look.
'What are you up to, Claire?'
'Nothing.' Great. Now she was sure to suspect something. But she seemed distracted.
'Have you seen your sister? She was going to play tea with her dollies, and I'm missing my Blue Willow plates. You don't think she'd have taken them, do you?'
'No Mum. We all know they're off bounds.' She managed to turn away subtly, feeling her cheeks flame up.
'Not exactly, Claire, just until you're older. They need to be kept safe. Have you seen her? I'm a little worried...Those plates - they're dangerous.'
Claire felt a knot of fear in her belly.
'Why are they dangerous Mum?' She asked quickly.
'Never you mind. Oh! I do think I see your sister.'
As her mother hurried off, Claire looked down at the ground. The dirt wasn't even disturbed. Funny. She distinctly remembered piles of earth, like moles had been digging a palace.
She shrugged and ran off after her mother.
As Claire woke, she heard her mother talking quietly.
'She says she didn't take them. She seems to be telling the truth. Why wouldn't she? No, no. Claire would never. It just has to be Sue. The plates are beautiful, she must have wanted to use them for her tea party, and forgot she took them. You could be right. I don't think she'd be that afraid to tell me though.'
Who was her mother talking to? Claire hadn't heard the other voice. It didn't seem like it could have been her father.
Claire hurriedly shut her eyes as her mother came into the room.
She gently shook her awake.
'Claire. Claire, I need to talk to you.'
Claire swallowed.
'Did you take the plates? Please Claire, it's very important.'
Claire wanted to say yes, she couldn't bear the desperation in her mother's eyes. She shook her head.
Her mother sighed.
Claire wiped her eyes as she stared at the willow. It was dead.
Her mother was emerging from the doorway when she saw the tree. She put her hand to her mouth and sank to the ground.
Claire wanted to run to her, but something made her stay where she was.
Her mother reached out a hand to Claire. 
Claire turned away, afraid of what she would see in her mother's face when she realised she wasn't going to help her.
When she turned back, her mother was slumped against the door-frame. Claire walked slowly toward her; her legs felt like dead wood, straining to move faster.
When she reached her mother, she let out a sigh of relief. Her mother was looking at her. When she held out a hand to help her up, her mother didn't take it. Her eyes were glassy. She was dead.
Claire shrieked. Her sister came running from the house. She took everything in in one glance and burst into tears.
Their father built the coffin from the willow tree, and they buried her where it had stood.
When he dug the spade into the earth, they heard a clink. The set of blue willow was there, much deeper than Claire had buried them.
One plate was missing. Claire found a shard of it by the grave the next day. It showed two birds in flight, above a tree.
A magnificent willow tree grew over her grandmother's grave. Alice sat beneath it every day. 
Today she felt odd, but she couldn't place why. She had never liked the set of Blue Willow plates, but she wanted to hold them. She could bury them! Wouldn't that be fun? Mum had said "off limits," but surely she wouldn't mind that much would she?
When she held them, she felt sudden urge to run to the shed, take a shovel, and bury them as fast as she could. She held one up before she buried it. It was marked on the back. It said Claire. She turned another over. Alice.
She jumped and dropped it. Her mother had said they were hundreds of years old - that's why she couldn't touch them - but it had her name on it.
Alice watched it as it fell, like the world was holding it's breath. It hit a root and cracked. Alice gasped, she had felt a pain near her heart, like when she had broken her wrist, but much worse.
It rolled down the hill. Alice couldn't move, she was rooted like a tree, watching it spin away. It hit and rock and flew into the air. Alice felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as it landed and shattered. The world spun, and she felt exhausted. She closed her eyes.
She thought she could hear her mother faintly. She wrenched her eyes open. Her mother was standing over her. She was clutching a Blue Willow plate to her chest. It had been glued together, but the cracks still showed. And a shard was missing.
'Alice, I was afraid - ' she sobbed into her arm. 'I thought - " She reached out and hugged Alice to her.
Alice wrinkled her nose. It smelt here, and there was an annoying hum behind her.
'You're in hospital darling,' her mother said, recognising her confusion. 'Alice, I know you're tired, but I must ask you - Where is the other shard? Do you know?'
Alice blinked. Did she? She remembered looking at the plates, then seeing hers fall and roll. She shook her head. 
'Sorry,' she whispered.
'Oh darling, it's okay.' She sniffed violently.
'It rolled, by a rock. Then...' Then she couldn't remember.
'I'll find it, don't worry Alice.'
Alice nodded and closed her eyes. She was tired.
Claire dug into the earth with her hands. There wasn't a rock within yards of the tree. She had remembered her mother's death, and the shard she found afterwards. And the other plates, buried in the ground.
She couldn't find the missing piece. She cursed the willow. If she hadn't buried the plates that first time, her mother wouldn't be dead, but Alice might be.
She ran to the shed and grabbed an axe.
She roared at the willow as she swung it into the trunk. The tree creaked. She hacked at it again and again, until it fell. Then she chopped it. It was hard work, and her axe must be dulling. When she ran her finger across it, she bled. It was still sharp.
Claire didn't rest until the willow lay around her in sawdust and wood-chips. She hadn't noticed, but it had gotten dark.
The moon cast blue light over the scene. Claire laughed as she saw a shard of Blue Willow embedded in the trunk. It fit Alice's plate perfectly.
Alice searched the boxes for the set of Blue Willow. Her mother must have kept them somewhere. Funny though, she hadn't mentioned them in her will. Come to think of it, Alice hadn't seen them since she had returned from hospital all those years ago.
She shrugged. Who cared about some plates anyway, when she had a beautiful daughter and a lovely husband?
Alice laughed at herself a little bit as she walked toward the car, passing beneath the majestic oak tree that had grown up over her grandmother's grave.
She ran to the shed quickly. She suddenly felt the urge to bury that set of ceramic bowls.
One said Alice on the bottom.

13 May 2010

Theme Thursday: Mystery...Suzanne

Who is she,
who glides with elegant grace
across the floor, dressed in lace?
Who is she who dips and sways
at gentlemen and ladies' maids?
"Oh, why is she here, where we frequent?"
Ladies cry in outraged lament.
All eyes follow her across the room
She is exotic, erotic, with spicy perfume.
Her eyes twinkle and wink behind a mask
every available, unavailable, man wants to ask:
"Will you dance? Let me offer my hand.
Isn't this song just marvellously grand?"

The ladies have their suspicions
these dances will come with conditions
a night spent together, a wedding in three
two weeks later, no money,
a hasty goodbye, and she's free.
Her curves are prominent,
elegance dominant,
no doubt there! but they know
her femininity is all just a show
sure enough when they mob her outside,
she acts like she's got elephants to hide.
Besides her intentions,
this impromptu intervention
reveals her true gender.
Hidden in splendour,
she looked very slender
on closer inspection she surrenders,
her beautiful curves and doe-like eyes
are a disguise!
to hide his true identity
a new crafted enity
made an appearance tonight.
the first of the drag queens, a new breed of man,
gentlemen blushed at the woman "Suzanne"
the men who had wanted to ask "her" to dance
cursed their eyesight and wished they had seen him in pants.
This embarrassment will not go away, not ever, not today
and Suzanne is gone with his sizeable pay
the ladies can't help smirking and cracking a grin
"The men are red-faced, clock it up as a win."

Theme Thursday, where interpretations run amok.

11 May 2010

Tales on Tuesday...Speed Racing

I laughed along with the grinding gears. The car was jolting along the small road. I took my hands off the wheel.
I drove with my knees, giggling every time I narrowly missed a bush or rounded a sharp curve.
The car leaped over hills like a stallion. It shuddered with every breath I took
I shouted wildly, raising my arm out the window.
A tree branch hit my arm. I heard a sharp sound. My arm burned with pain. I swore under my breath, then out loud.
I twisted my head to examine my arm, which was hanging listlessly out the window.
The car heaved with impact. I remembered too late the seatbelt I was sitting on.`My body rose into the air, and I felt the car turning around me. I closed my eyes.
When I opened them, I was staring into the face of a dead dog. His eyes were foamy, and between his teeth my shirt was clamped tightly. The wreck of my car was a few yards away.
I relaxed into the sound of sirens.

This is a Tales on Tuesday post.

Magpie Tales #13...His Glass Eyes

My father flicked his paintbrush across the round glass. This eye was a startling blue, staring back at him.
The eyes scared me, because they looked real. When I opened the drawer to show customers the selection, the eyes gazed up at me, sliding side to side and clinking.
My father was working on a commission for twenty-four eyes. The customer, who wanted to remain anonymous, sent servants and maids to give orders and collect eyes.
Sometimes when my father was out, I would take out an eye or two and play marbles with them. They rolled across the floor like slime, pupils fixated on the wall.
I had picked up my paintbrush and was painting an eye for the taxidermist, my father didn't trust me with human eyes yet.
A policeman burst through the door.
'On the floor,' he cried, though he had no gun. My father complied at once, but I carefully put down the eye I was painting then moved towards the policeman.
He stepped back.
'Son, I'm arresting your father. If you have any relatives in the city, you should call them.'
'What are you arresting him for?' My father was no criminal.
'Accomplice to murder.'
I stood rigid, astonished. My father had said nothing.
'Why?' I couldn't help mumbling meekly.
'The Cyclops Killer Murders.'
He took pity on me and went on.
'Ten people found dead, their eyes carved out with a sharpened spoon. And a glass eye dug into their forehead.' He smiled in satisfaction as I involuntarily shuddered. I didn't need him to tell me the Cyclops Killer was our client. But my father had nothing to do with it. I knew it.
'Father? You're not guilty! Tell him, tell him,' I shouted.
He looked at me. 'I'm sorry m'boy. It was all for you. You needed money, an education. You couldn't grow up making glass eyes.'
'But -'
'It was Ryan. He promised to pay me. I picked out the mark, that's all.'
The policeman took him away.
I smashed the drawer against the wall.
'Stupid eyes, this is all your fault,' I screamed.
They just gazed up at me, rolling haphazardly across the floor, as they had always done.

06 May 2010

Theme Thursday: Pink...Dolly

pink cotton candy floss from the fair
died red and straightened is her hair
her cheeks and lips are cherry flame
her spirit a wild stallion to tame
but I have tamed it, now she's mine
her eyes and nose no longer shine
her creamy face is smudged with dirt
her dress no more than a mini-skirt
she lies alone and forgotten under the bed
but I don't care, cause dollies can't be dead
when I deign to smooth her hair again
at some far distant date and place
her eyes and nose and cheeks will gleam again
and there will be a smile on her face.

 Theme Thursday, where interpretations run amok.

04 May 2010

Tales on Tuesday...Leave it to Beaver

a big lake where once a river
forest dowsed in water up to its knees
ground mammals bloated and float away dead
and birds of the trees stay in the leaves
down where the lake begins, a dam
carefully moulded and patted and stuck
with mud and gook and gloop and glop
and the lake begins at the dam,
the animals cry because of the dam
and one looks for praise, for he built it
"Away! away!", the animals cry at him,
then sigh 'Leave it to beaver...'

This is a Tales on Tuesday post.