Magpie 284 - The Elixir of All Things Living

Magpie 284 writing prompt

Here,

we've come to fullness.   We come to the clay shaped 

by the hands of God.      To folds of earth, to mountains chiseled, 

                                                                 to white vapor on blue linen.

  

        We taste the sky, the earth in alchemy...  

                     salt, the shaker,            the maker of all things green.

The sweetness of grass, 

                        the sent of moss, 

                the raw of iron

             and we taste an elixir of something monumental in the air;

                                                                             sweet nectar of God.  

Magpie 284

Michael Allyn Wells

Mag 248: Their Union

Bond of Union - 1956 - M.C. Escher

It seems hard to acclimate themselves.

Each questioning their bearings. 

Each unwinding their individuality.

Each individual struggling to be themselves.

By their union they have unwrapped  

a bit of who they were and have become

yet a third person--

She feels her ball bearings free

and He, his. They seem lost 

and at the same time found.

Sometimes they feel they have left behind

a simpler time. A time when their thoughts

and feelings traveled within a tighter orbit.

It was different then. Not to say it was better.

Not to say it was worse. Just less complex.  

The Mag 248

Michael Allyn Wells

Mag 237: Snow Blindness

The shear delight in soft white.
A burst of morning on my horizon.
Dangling, delicate, delicious.
Woven  intricacies of light and space.
I am lost in the bright blight of colorlessness.
Entranced in my own snow blizzard




Michael Allyn Wells


Mag 237

Magpie #234: Starry Night

Starry Night By Alex Ruiz

Where have I hid from the wonders.

All above me the night is Calypso.

I am Odysseus transfigured.

I, Odysseus am caught by this night,

by each star's twinkle; jewels 

of adornment in your blue hair

flowing all about the shoulders 

of the earth. I am awestruck.

I the captured cannot

capture you on canvass.

My paints, my brushes

are unworthy of such beauty.

Michael Allyn Wells

Mag 234

Mag 212: My Life Between Four Corners

My Bed by Tracey Emin

It's is my world
my boxing ring
my respite
my motel-hotel
away from things-

My grunge stage
my drinking buddy...
hello vodka and Three Musketeers!

My sleep hole
my vanity
my calamity
staging ground for all things creative-

I've got my floor art
my candy wrappers
origami sheets
fluff dog

And here's my razor-not what you are thinking.
and somewhere is a phone

This is my sex den
my playpen
my aggravating
boredom whim.

I own it
I made it
no one can take it.


The mag 212


Michael Allyn Wells

The Mag 211: House of Simon

Feast in the House of Simon - 1610, El Greco

It was evident Simon's house was the place

to be this day. More then one Apostle scratched

another event from his calendar 

to make an appearance. Even as it was in the house

of a  Pharisee-  they were in the presence of Jesus

and this would be more then a fresco 

more then a story to tell the grandchildren.

Wine was poured and hard rolls plated 

were hardly touched as Simon would offer

up question after question of the one

they called Christ who would with delicacy

of a needle on vinyl respond to each one.  

The Mag 

Michael Allyn Wells

MAG 206: A Day of Nothing Together

It's morning
you've got everything
I've got nothing

You've got work
chatter at the water cooler
lunch somewhere-    maybe
with someone.
a world awaits you

I've got sunshine
through the morning window
and my hat - only my hat on.

You've got world,
I've got window.

Look am me-
I am what you see
unencumbered by trappings-

I offer you a kiss-
blown without strings attached.

But  I remain here,
an offer to you-

come, let's have a day of nothing
together.



Michael Allyn Wells

Mag 206

Mag 202: Predatory Waters

Phare de La Jument off the coast of Brittany by Jean Guichard

With a ravenous roar a hungry ocean

tries to swallow it whole. White saliva waves

encircle and crash against it.  Again and again

the waters engulf the phallic structure.

Over and over  the waves bash and bluster

in stormy anger, but the man made pillar survives.

The sea retreats in exhaustion.  Smaller waves

lap at the sides now as if to tease. Gentle 

massaging motions as if to lull to sleep-

but the ocean will try again. An unrelenting

predator that will build up it's strength

as well as hunger for anything within reach.    

Michael A. Wells

Magpie 202

Meg: 107: What Phobia?

image by Sarolta Ban

He hides his nervousness behind a Mercurochrome mask

feels the grittiness of a public humiliation just the same

with no particular reason that he can articulate.

It's just the size of everything is so outlandish.

The rivers of mascara that flow like lava.

Mars and Jupiter staring him down.

What phobia should he choose

as he recoils from it all?

He has become the two legged atom

randomized and feeling underfoot

an ant fleeing as the real world trudges on.

Michael A. Wells

Magpie



Magpie 78 - Missing

The assemblage
from aerial view
a train wreck
pickup sticks
wool coat
camel hair
pigmentation
cans and pans
a handle
here and there
the worker
nowhere
to be found