Friday, January 12, 2018

Friday 55 January 12 2018

As the door to another year opens, we stroll into the shelter of this room of words with whatever we can find to delight the mind, comfort it, or perhaps, clean it 55 words of prose or poetry--no more, no less. As always, we do this to remember a man who gave of himself to support and encourage others every week with this meme, Galen Hayes, and to write in this form with no rules other than to enjoy each other and to practice the craft.
Also as always, the prompt is open from Friday through Sunday, so leave a link to your offering in the comments below and I will be by to see the results. Comment moderation is off for the duration of the post, but I reserve the right to cleanse this mental room of all dubious influences with the powerful smudge of the delete key.

So, I'll start things off then...


A statue's
closed stare,
mind castled in sand,
stone-sweeping sleet
to compass my hands,
midnight dissolving
in fog and quicklime;

all faces in masks
all masks without eyes.

Acid and black-ice
bitter the glass.
Flames' frozen flutter
fits candles of brass;

sighing of wind, dancing of rain,
kiss from a ghost to
burn me again.

~January 2018 

Images: Eyelid to Eye, 2014  ©joyannjones 
photo (manipulated) of 
Moth and Flame Candlestick, 1965  by Salvador Dali  Fair Use

Saturday, January 6, 2018



"I ride on the mailtrain, baby /can't buy a thrill..." ~Bob Dylan 

You can buy a ticket
but you can't buy a thrill.
It's all 'be in at the kill,'
but the victim don't pick it.
You can tell them to stick it
(and they certainly will.)

On the overground pale-way
the fare's taken in souls.
The dead-wagon rolls
to the market each sale day,
but ratbags on the trail may
soon eat the controls.

Still, the circus tent's pie-warm,
and the clown car's on Uber
(tho the Clown's in a stupor
from some three a.m. tweetstorm.)
Cassandra's on cable in fine form
til the noosers come loop her.

You can buy a ticket, you all,
but you can't stop the train,
and you can't towel off the hard rain
that's been brought here to fall.

 ~January 2018

written for  Shay's Tickets, at real toads


ratbag: Victorian slang for (*cough*) 'a despicable person'

Optional Musical Accompaniment

Images: American Train, © Hiro Yamagata,  All Rights Reserved. Fair Use
Rabbit on a Train, © Michael Sowa,  All Rights Reserved  Fair Use.

Friday, December 22, 2017

Friday 55 Comprehensive Holiday Edition

It's that season, dear readers, when everybody is rushing and pressed for time, so I am offering poetic dispensation to any and all of you who may not have the leisure or the inspiration to construct a 55 for the next few weeks. As always there are no rules other than the word count, so please feel free to participate or not as you see fit, and please bear with me as well, as I may not always be available or online myself.

That said, this single post will remain active for Friday December 22nd 2017, Friday December 29th, and Friday January 5th 2018 with comment moderation off so everyone can come by when they can--be patient however, since as I said above, I will not always be around, especially the week following  New Year's Day.

That said, a very happy Yule season to all, and a deep thanks to all of you who make this Friday journey so memorable. Have a kickass holiday, and let's all hope for at least a saner New Year.

I have written two 55's for this combined edition...


"...I have let time pass, which..helps more than reasoning.”
~Queen Elizabeth I


I wake in the night
thinking of ruins;
not the makers
but their leavings: fort,
church, graveyard,
house, each
with no tomorrow of its own, yet
a casket full
of glass for magpies,
scroungers' stones,
writers' plots,
lovers' verses, shadow beds
for weary ghosts

and so must be content
to watch the walls fall down.


These rainy ruins
where ravens ride wrinkled sky
where nightfall black-backs silver-mirror moons
however weak you are,
you can stroll forever, 
muscular past for a walking-stick,
hear a hundred private jokes
the ghosts still tell/will tell
to you or the next one

for nothing's
as constant as a ghost
or more hopeful
than a ruin.

~December 2017

Optional Folky Musical Accompaniment

Images: Carpathian castle ruins, author unknown, via internet. Fair use.
Hope From The Ruins, ©Joshua Smith,  All Rights Reserved. Fair use.