Wheel of Fortune

mrmoon

PicMonkey playing. Original image from the Phantasmagoric Theatre Tarot by Graham Cameron

 

It was the night mr. moon put on his pinstripe suit,
the one with green and magenta lines.
Blue tie
       matching mountains
with three tall trees pointing back to his sky,
                                                                                 mr.moon’s place soon to fly.
Nothing to worry about.

He was ready for this night
                                  even though he was fractionally lit.
His small shot glass held clear libation
                                                                        to assuage the wait.

A bottle was set in front of mr. moon
with H as descriptor
                        scribbled on its side.

She, with her pointed ears and lovely skin, all showing,
                                                                                                      nothing covered,
bestowed a long tall glass in front of mr. moon

and poured

                                                     from bottle H.
Gold elixir shimmered in his waning cresent light.

The all knowing mr. moon was puzzled,
the missing puzzle piece caused his wonder.

What could it be in bottle H poured
by delicate hands of
Faerie Tru? Not to be trusted he knew

and cocktails swirled through his head.
Could it be? A drink he favored?
Jinzu gin,
              aquafaba,
Lemon and ginger…
                                                                                         and she faerie’s favorite
                                                             …coriander shrub.

Yes.
Hanami begins with H.
Coriander gold.

A trickster’s delight.

What more might she append to keep him down,
his feet
          attached
this night to Earth’s rotation.
What should he do?

Exchange the known
                                            for the strange?

The all knowing mr. moon was puzzled,
the missing puzzle piece caused his wonder.

 

Author’s Note:

Tonight at our writer’s group member Lise Nelson, author at Stories From The Hat, brought our prompts. She handed each of us a pile of mis-matched cards from several of her tarot decks. We chose how many ever we wanted and used them however we wanted.

Here are the ones I pulled.

I then wrote down the images that jumped out at me to use in my writing: Wheel of Fortune, New Moon, Half Moon, Full Moon, Soul Mates, Bees, Moon, dice, puzzle piece, butterfly, faeries, snails, snakes.

But it was the moon in the pinstripe jacket that stole my heart.

Culture of Me/3

unnamed.jpg

 

Eggshells pile
in a bowl on a counter
next to a tin.
The day broke open.
Sun wrinkles through the cracks,
glows like yolks
no longer in residence.
Just a reminder –
we have more
to do,
always.

Crows complain
like an old married couple,
or
do they warn us on
yesterday’s storm washing
away
that which is no longer
needed.
Just a brief –
a constant one,
we are not
in control.

James Taylor aches in
the background, a
harmonica in harmony
with him of days past.
Remember –
the wheel turns and
returns,
and once again
we recycle and protest
and call to action.

Wind skims down the slanted roof
whirring through long chime pipes,
carrying with it
leaf bits
beaten off tree limbs in
last night’s hail.
They flutter, scatter in cadence.
This, too –
squall brings change,
transformation into something
new.

Who said faeries and elves don’t exist?
I wonder –
on my moss rock,
mushrooms abloom in leaf mold,
and fiddleheads tickling
my toes.

 

 

Author’s Note:

About once a month our writing group converges. We eat and laugh. We catch up. And then we write. Today, we were at Niki’s house. There were treasures to be found by my iPhone camera. Thank you, Niki, for leaving the eggshells.

As tradition demands, there are prompts to be pulled from an envelope. We can ignore it if we choose. Or choose another one. We’re loose like that. And we each throw in a word to be included. Which can be. Or not. We write for a little over a half an hour. When the bell rings, we leave some time to “finish up.”

We’ve been at it for over seven years now. And today we were seven ranging from nineteen to sixty-three. Grandmother, dancer, Naval Reserve, ELA teacher, retired and soon-to-be, and black belt. Among some of these things that we are, we revel in one another as writers and women of the world.

This is our culture.

 

 

My prompt:
Who said faeries and elves don’t exist?

Our words:
ordinary, magnanimous, teenager, mushroom, doubt, candid, slime