feeling boxed in?

photo©rkprince

as in Rome...

Angels descend on Noah’s Ark

while Curious George gets shot

out of a circus canon. The

man in the yellow hat rescues

him again from disaster.  The

boy’s steel blue eyes, coupled

 with an ingenuous smile seem

bent on pursuing salvation on

the edge of a crumbling abyss.

The Christians give him a dollar

and he waits for his turn to

to be thrown to the lions. They

promise the moon but instead

deliver fables and myths that

soothe him briefly. Eight chairs

and a fly on the wall are not

 enough to save him from the

 hungry beasts sniffing at his heels.

At first the clamor of the

 bloodthirsty mob frightens him.

His eyes grow dark, his brow

furrowed. Then he tires of the

 noise and lies down, plunging

 into deep sleep. Let him have

 this peace for now.  Even if he

 wakes to more danger his

fitful slumber offers the only

escape he knows. 

photo and text©Rhonda Prince, 2011

Zen the clothes

Zen proverb: After enlightenment, the laundry.

photo copyright rkprince 2011

vavava voom

Bone against bone

Flesh against flesh

We each suffer in our own way

The old man

Shakes his fist at the moon

The young girl sits in her

Room knitting purple thread

Into a sacred cloth

That will blanket her pain

And the heat, oh god, the heat

 The drops of rain evaporating

Into steam as soon as they

Hit the pavement.

The blond twins smiling as

They order wine and appetizers

All the voices in the room

Dissolving into a dull roar

Of laughter and empty words

 While her eyes search the crowd

For that one face that will

Recognize and know her for

Who she is and not just

Love her for her stylishly

Tilted hat and her green

Coat with the fox-trimmed collar

photo and text copyright Rhonda Prince 2010

under his wing

The man she used to love

stood outside her window

offering tea and oranges.

 He wrote a message

on the back of a maple leaf

ripping it from the tree

and letting the wind take

It from his fingers.

The same message was

written in braille on his

wrist and all she had to

do was take his hand

and touch the words

with her fingertips.

Instead she let her hand

rest on the smooth

bodhi seeds and glide

past the turquoise bead.

She felt the words enter her

heart and  take hold

growing wings and flying

out of her chest…out of the window…

past the man she used to love

and finally soaring up toward

grey clouds and

disappearing forever.

 

photo and poem copyright Rhonda Prince 2010

missing the guinea hea

I have nothing left to give

since the  guinea hen disappeared.

I considered giving the magenta morning sky

 or the flock of geese in v-formation

 but instead I offer the gift of pain

because it is what I know best.

I will sit with you and shed light on

the charm of misery and despair,

that is yours  for a song.

Together we can sing the ballad

that will capture the anguish

and fill your soul with the

exquisite ache.

Then we will weep in somber unison

when the geese take flight

at first light through the pink skies of dawn

image and poem copyright Rhonda Prince 2009

voices

In my dream I was navigating uncharted territory,

totally susceptible to the influence of the full moon.

 In a small vessel floating through tainted waters,

I heard echoes of your voice and what you once said to me.

I tried to follow your voice in the distance but I can’t reach you.

Maybe you’re not there; it’s only your words shattering my soul.

 My boat takes me far out in to the crystal ocean, still and calm.

 Your song has ended but I hear moonbeams floating on the waves,

and the soft pleas of all the lost begging to be found.

I wait in my tiny vessel. I wait for time, I wait for change,

I wait…

poem and photo copyright 2009 Rhonda Prince 

everything being a constant carnival

She rode sixteen ferris wheels

in one afternoon,

each one spinning

faster than the last.

Synchronized revolutions

of light and motion

left her shaken and wobbly.

She stumbled into an open field

where an old oak waited

to offer her refuge.

She was cradled in his

knotted limbs,

her head against

his coarse bark.

She begged to stay for 300 years,

there in the shady respite.

But as she slept the sounds of the

carnival plagued her rest.

Frenzied screams of terror

or delight interrupted

her dreams.

Unable to sleep she

left the comfort of the oak

and staggered drowsily

back to the fray,

back to the wild rides.

Buying sixteen more tickets,

and with a nod to the moon,

she mounted the ride,

braced herself against the side

and began to spin again...

poem and photo copyright 2009 Rhonda Prince

mar adentro

Count your blessings,
he scolded me sternly
Stop complaining.
Remember how easy
your life is…

But still the waves
swell and surge.
Dark clouds drape
the eastern sky.
The colors of the sea
fading as I
am carried further
from the shore.

text and photo copyright Rhonda Prince 2009

waiting for this moment...

Music: "Blackbird" by the Beatles

slideshow copyright Rhonda Prince 2009

safe

I will ease your pain
I will cure your hurt,
now I lay me down to sleep
but your magic I will keep
safe and protected from eyes and ears
of those who don't understand
who don't see what I see
all I ask in return
is a piece of redemption
sucked from your fingertips
which
seems
to
be
the
only
place
I'm
safe
fall down weeping
in quiet halls of filth
and I will hold your head in my lap
and whisper you
into sleep folded close to my heart
which
seems
to
be
the
only
place
you
are
safe.
Tomorrow will be the same
as today and yesterday
but still I know
what you need to survive
trust me to bring you
into sweet repose
and peace

photo and text© rkprince

walk this way

The earth moved today,

just slightly, a tiny jump

forward in the universe.

Enough to shake the

foundations and send

the moon crashing

into the ocean.

Fortunately she was sitting

on the edge of the galaxy,

balanced on the north star

when the shift occurred,

sparing her the upheaval

it would’ve caused

But tonight she will feel

the effects of the day,

pulling her further into the

dark rift of the Milky Way

and leaving her tired and lifeless

as she sits inside her room.

Somewhere a child cries,

a thousand golden teardrops;

windows shatter,

leaving glass scattered in the yard;

the rains fall,

drowning out all sound but it’s own

And the hunger moon looms on the horizon.

photo and text copyright rkprince 2009