In a Still Life

Pink parchment black pen

Love words from nib swift spilled swirled

Hydrangea letter

Vintage ink newsprint

Poppies graphite line drawing

Wedding announcement

Assignation past

A romance promise unkept

Runaway bride fright

Dress sold parchment torn

Poppies drawn withered torn lace

Chamomile daisies

Time and tears years pass

Gown patched in vintage shop found

Still Life of heartbreak

Painting bright brilliant

Onyx vase poppies crimson

Gift long ago love

Gift wrapped planned meeting

A Still Life in velvet/lace

Memories repair a Still Life of

Love

Oil on canvas, embroidery in silk,

Poppies flourish in garden, new.

Lovely Canterbury Bells. Not oil on canvas, but photo in digital.    🙂

Old and Young

Old oak teaches young,

History

Many greats ancestors,

Fossilized.

Pressed between limestone

Pages.

Of megaannums,

Myth,

As well, truth.

Chapters buried under layers of

Stone, earth.

Time, the

Author

————

Age, young tree cannot

Fathom.

Then, fathoms of seas,

Deep

Old says, where we stand,

Once water.

She tells Young,

More years,

Many more years will go

By.

You will grow tall,

Elegant, she

Says.

Robins will nest in your

Branches.

Families.

They are trees of another kind

———-

Old says, now rain is on its

Way

Our thirst will be

Quenched.

———-

Young says, Elder,

Tomorrow will you tell me more

Stories?

I want to

Listen.

Old Trees and Young

A River At Night

A River at gloaming,

Then,

Night.

Movement.

Away from village.

Toward forested

Secrets,

Wildlife, resting or

Hunting?

Moonlight, dimmed but

Reckless.

River rushes,

Works.

The art of its voice,

As nighttime narrative.

Its journey disguises sounds,

Of lovers

Coupling,

Of ancient stones come to

Life.

Fabric of water, smooth silken

Shadows,

Cobalt, silver.

Its destination,

The tides.

Swallowed by sea dragons guarding

Their

Keeps.

Keeping their confidences.

Aspiring to conquer fire breathing

Islands.

The tales they could tell of River At Night.

A River in Daytime. It likely has its own secrets.

Soon Summer

Damselfly,

By another name

Darns blades of grass,

Sometime dowser –

Water lover.

———-

Rose bush spider.

Ruefully,

Eyes flies

Her familiar,

Her precious silk.

Weaves.

Waits.

Incautious prey

Plus

Fiber, magical.

———-

Morning, misted.

Clover makes bare feet feel,

Welcome.

Buzzing bumbles cast spells,

Meditative,

Calm.

———–

Remember,

Look up!

Wandering Cirrus.

Cumulonimbus.

———–

Towhees, fledged.

Crows, eyes peeled.

Their throaty, murderous

Song.

Open windows, breezes,

Blue satin, shenanigans.

———–

Choose your own adventure,

A novel in stories,

Shade of maples,

Love under weeping.

Willows.

Couples part.

Couples join.

———–

The tales Summer could tell.

Of a Summer Evening

World of Flowers

Cecile practices flute.

Keys, gently pressed –

Pink snapdragons

Sprout.

Sonata breathes

Fire

Violin’s bow piques

Zinnias

Growth blankets orchestral

Floor.

And roses, Sterling

Beauty.

Joy in housework.

Bouncing washing machine

Yields

Tulips, yellow.

Hyacinth, blue.

Wardrobe dusted-

Who knew that polish multiplies

Dandelions?

For wine.

And greens, sauteed.

Tiny white blossoms of Irish

Moss

When cursive words,

Written?

Fountain pen scratches.

Miniature poppies?

No, lichen.

Desk drawers opened.

Ranunculus revealed.

Red velvet Rachmaninoff.

Orchestra paints daisies in

Watercolor,

Wisteria, oil on

Canvas.

Clouds release mist,

And moonflower,

Soft.

Vintage maps, unfolded

No cities.

Only geraniums,

Red and white

Follow roads and rivers made of

Pine cones, phlox, lavender.

Seas of lilies, lotus, and lace.

GPS says, destination reached –

One millionth fir on your

Left.

Never get lost –

World of bright and many colors.

Continue reading “World of Flowers”

Lune In Five Verses

One pink rose

Falling water’s sound

Sequoias

Afternoon

Shade’s respite advance

Scent drunk in

Tale whispered

Telling happiness

Undisguised

Removed shoes

Cool water pleasure

Laughter splash

Lavender

Swim velvet sunset

Together

One Pink Rose

Party Night

Celebration on Saturn’s third ring –

Were it made of cooled chartreuse

Silk

Party bus departs Earth at 7 pm., if buses were

Rockets

Cupid, honored guest, were his quiver full, arrows,

Poised

Alas, Love trapped on Mars, a prisoner of

War

Arrows,

Confiscated

But Love will be freed, as always he outsmarts

Hate –

Time is the

Key

Instead,

Party on Third Avenue West,

Made of ordinary

Pavement –

Fifth ranch on the

Left

Cocktails, flowing.

Car keys, locked away.

Love, definitely present, in all its

Forms.

Friendship, familial, romantic.

Anything but ordinary.

Red velvet mischief,

Ivory silk and champagne

Blue linen and gin

Silver satin and sidecars,

Pink organza and Bees Knees

Go ahead,

Fall

Let yourselves go.

Into red roses, yellow tulips, garden full of

Moonflower –

To Lena Horne and Stormy Weather

Go ahead, fall.

A Couple and Their Kitty

Veronica has apple pie in the oven

It’s for her lover not for her coven

Sharko will be home slightly soon

Later they’ll dance under the January half moon

Then after pie and wine they’ll have them some lovin’

They have a favorite spot under a big oak

After they finish they each three cigs smoke

Ronni says Sharko that was the best ever

Sharko says at fifty I’ve been better never

She says you’re better than at twenty and that’s no joke

Ronni likes Sharko’s pecs more than his money

Days that are rainy are as great as the sunny

Ronni gifts Sharko with a library card

He loves to read the comedies written by the Bard

They read to each other in bed and the night turns to honey

During cold winter they both crave sun

They travel to Santorini to have some sexy fun

Ronni wears a blue and white bikini

Their favorite room service snack is ouzo, olives and fried zucchini

Ronni is grateful she didn’t become a nun

Sharko and Ronni return to their ranch on Spruce

In their suburban neighborhood there’s a giant house cat on the loose

She’s seven feet tall and a gorgeous grey tabby

She’s perfectly coiffed and not at all stray shabby

Ronnie loves her and feeds her special carnivore couscous

Sharko wants to adopt her but can they afford her?

And how many brushes for all her silky fur?

And so they build an addition to their house

They name her Artemis after the hunter goddess

But instead she befriends Lorraine, a tiny mouse

She keeps away annoying neighbors with her loud sing purr

The three of them make a family content

The neighborhood comes to love them though the Association’s rules are bent

No cat has ever needed a litter box so big

To scoop her poops, deep they must dig

A backhoe is required, but barely makes a dent

—– More stories of Sharko, Ronni and Lorraine to come. 😊

I Spy a Getaway

Duncan! Slow down! We’re far from the building and safe!

No, we’re not out of the woods yet. Stella is clever. I thought I knew everything about her, but I was wrong. Jesus, was I wrong.

I freak out, but only a little, and I say,

But wait! Explain why she wants to kill me. What is all this about? She’s the mole, isn’t she? I knew she was up to no good! She was a scheming shithead when we were in school together.

Duncan says,

I’ve always known she’s a bit devious, but people like her always do well in these kinds of espionage jobs. But Stella’s a little too underhanded and forgot whose side she’s on.

You mean, she “forgot”?

Okay. Yes, she “forgot”.

Duncan takes his hands off the wheel to imitate my air quotes. I really need to stop doing that. I even get irritated with me now. But this does make him slow down once he puts his hands back on the steering wheel.

I say, okay, Dunc. Let’s both slow down, breathe deeply and talk normally. So, what’s the deal?

We’re really close to Joan Lake. We’ll settle in, you can get Kristina and her stuff inside and we’ll have a martini or two. Then I’ll explain all.

You know, Duncan, I’ve lived in and around Portland my whole life, and I’ve never heard of Joan Lake. You say we’re almost there, and we’ve only been on the road for fifteen minutes. What the … ?

You’ve never heard of it because, it’s, well… it’s in another world, so to speak.

I say nothing. I take out my phone and try to Google “Joan Lake.” Nothing. In fact, my screen goes blank.

He says,

You won’t find it there anyway. There are no bars here, and your phone won’t work. Well, there are sort of bars, but we call them saloons.

I look at him like he’s out of his mind, and he says, I’m serious, Gretchen. Type the word, universe, all in little letters, an en dash, then the numbers, 59653. Then you’ll have service.

I do this. The numbers show up in green across my screen, and bingo! At the very top, I see four tiny brown old American west style saloons. I roll my eyes, because, well, this is ridiculous, and I look up from my phone to realize Duncan has parked in a circular drive in front of a palatial house. I’m speechless. Almost.

Ah, so Joan Lake is the name of this house? This place is something; definitely not a cabin! Is it some kind of a retirement home for spies like us?

First, we’re nowhere near retirement, and no, this is a safehouse of sorts. No one from Portland can get near us here.

But what about people from San Diego, Fargo, St. Paul, Boston, …?

You know what I mean. No one from the other side.

No, Duncan. I don’t know what you mean. I want that drink, and I want you to tell me everything. Understand? I want to know it all.

All right. I hear you. Let’s go in.

I take Kristina in her carrier out of the back seat along with my purse and backpack. Duncan retrieves his few things, and we go to the door. He doesn’t take out a key, but places his right palm below the brass door knocker and says the words, “hot Seckcee oysters and honey.”

I laugh so hard tears begin to roll. I did not sign up for this ludicrousness. He’s playing some kind of a joke. It has to be a joke. I mean, it does, right? Then I say it,

Duncan, what the everloving hell!?

Just be patient, Gretchen.

The door opens, and we walk in. The foyer is smaller than I expected, but beautiful. A housekeeper enters from a room to the right, and says,

Welcome, Duncan, Ms. Foss, and Kristina.

Duncan says, Gretchen, meet our housekeeper, Anna.

Anna smiles at me, but I feel wary. She reminds me of the housekeeper in North By Northwest, and I shiver slightly.

She says, Come with me Ms. Foss. I’ll show you to your suite, and your closets.

Duncan excuses himself and says, I’ll be in the library for awhile, and then I’ll meet you in the sitting room, Gretchen. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you everything then.

We smile at each other, and I feel at least some relief. I let Kristina out of her carrier, and she and I follow Anna up the stairs on the left. I think, Anna said she’d show me my “suite and closets”. Then I remember I only packed enough for two days, also that I left Kristina’s stuff out in the car.

We reach the top the stairs and take a right, and go into the second room on the left.

Anna says, this is the wisteria room, and I feel like I have to touch the walls. Yep. It’s just wall paper, but it’s like trompe l’oeil. Like I can feel the petals. Like the vines and blooms are coming out of the walls. She asks if I like it, and says that Duncan’s grandmother made and painted the paper.

Then, she says the room is all mine for the length of my stay, and the three closets full of clothes are mine.

I want to say, so you knew I was coming, and for longer than a couple of days, but I don’t get the chance. She goes to exit, but turns and says, Duncan will be across the hall when you’re ready.

I say, well, Kristina, let’s have a look. I realize she’s already hopped up on the bed and made herself at home. I go to look in the closest closet. Are all these clothes really my size? I think back over the last twenty four hours, and it’s all a blur. I feel I’ve lost all sense of time going by. Is it tomorrow yet? It should be late at night. Dunc and I left town right before the potluck was supposed to start. But, I look out the big side window and see full sun like it’s noon, and I have a big headache. No time to nap, though. I need to go see Duncan and find out what this place is and what’s really going on.

I open the door to head across the hall, and decide I’ll take Kristina with me. I think of the potluck and what’s happening or happened there?

The sitting room door is wide open. Duncan is on his phone. I hear him say his sister, Veronica’s name. He says, so sis, what do we do about Stella?

I sink into a deep blue velvet chair, and Kristina leaps up to my lap.

Duncan says to Veronica, do we have any choice but to kill her?

**********

Meanwhile, back at the potluck..

To Be Continued..

Escape the Potluck

I drink my matcha. I need to be well caffeinated for this assignment. It’s not every day I’m asked to do something like this; only once every four months or so.

My Maine Coon, Kristina circles my legs, purrs and talks. I tell her cats don’t drink tea, that she doesn’t want any, but she doesn’t believe me. Ever the skeptic.

My phone chimes with a text from my friend, Stella. She says, don’t forget to bring your little red journal. We have to report everything. We’re in this thing together.

I text back, of course not. But I think to myself. I need to “forget” to bring it anyway. I keep it under lock and key all the time. There’s no reason for me to take it. She’s only up to no good. I wish we hadn’t been partnered on this case, but Duncan de Seckcee insisted.

Oh yes, I should tell you a little about my sort of boss. I met him at a birthday party for my ex, Mathias. (Mathias and I , though exes, are close friends, and get along better now than when we were married.) Anyway, Duncan walked up to me, smiled, held out his hand and said, “Seckcee.” Before he could say anything else, I laughed out loud. Then he said it again, “Seckcee.” Then, “Duncan de Seckcee.” I shook his hand, and we proceeded to discuss gardening and our favorite kinds of cheese. It was a weird conversation. The first of many we’ve had in the six years since.

You see, Duncan is kind of a spy; well, as much of a spy as one can be when many people know that one is kind of a spy. I take occasional assignments from him. Lucrative assignments. Assignments that enabled me to quit my boring job as a boring insurance customer service rep. And these things I do for him are legal, though sometimes they have a nefarious feel to them. I love that nefarious feel. It’s like I’m Agent 99. But I must say that Duncan is a lot smarter than Maxwell Smart. He’s hotter too, but that’s beside the point. We’ve never had a thing, but if the opportunity arose, it wouldn’t be a negative.

This evening, Stella and I are attending a potluck together. We don’t have far to go. It’s happening in an apartment three floors up from mine. Stella lives two floors down from me. I call her my friend, but she’s really not. She was in a few of my classes at Portland State twenty five years ago. We were more acquaintances than friends. Two years ago, I ran into her at the mailboxes here, and we learned we’re apartment building neighbors. Six months later I found out she also works for the de Seckcee family, but usually for Duncan’s sister, Veronica.

**********

I’ve about a half hour to go until the potluck. I don’t want to be the first one there. My special carrot cake is ready to go. I always bring some kind of a dessert to these things. That’s all I’m taking. I’ll lock my bag in my safe with the little red journal that Stella wants so badly for me to bring, and a twenty page dossier on Agent 123-January. I know this dossier by heart, but I can’t afford to have it stolen. One twenty three is the reason for this potluck, though she doesn’t know it. She thinks it’s in celebration of Agent 267-Garth’s 40th birthday. I hope she shows up. But even if she doesn’t the plan should go over fine.

I need more caffeine and fix another cup of matcha. I might be out very late. I wear my favorite chartreuse chiffon dress. It’s vintage, 1973. If tonight goes well, this isn’t an average potluck, after all, I’ll have reason to celebrate. Why not dress up? A reapplication of my hibiscus pink lipstick, and I’m ready. I go to pocket my phone. This dress has one convenient, hidden pocket, and it chimes with another text. My heart sinks to my lime green Mary Jane pumps. It’s from Duncan. He says,

“Don’t go to potluck! Stella is planning to kill you. Get out of your apartment! Pack backpack with enough for two days. Bring Kristina, her necessaries, and the red journal. Will pick you up in 15 minutes in front of PO.”

Well, this is a surprise. Not the last second change of plan, that’s usual for Duncan, but the news of Stella’s mission. I mean, I said we’re not really friends, but this is insane. But I must pack. I reread the text. Dunc isn’t known for short ones.

I go to put Kristina in her carrier, usually difficult, but she breezes right in. Odd. I have to take a small suitcase because I can’t fit all she needs and two days worth of my my own necessities in my backpack. The post office is across the street. I don’t think I’ve ever changed so fast. From my dress to jeans, a Technically Dead book club T-shirt and my blue sneakers in less than a minute. I retrieve the red journal from my safe, lock the compartment back up tight, and replace my fake Degas Pink Dancers. I tell Kristina everything will be fine, but it’s as if she knows it, and we’re off. I take the elevator twelve floors down to the lobby, jog to the front doors, and make a beeline for Duncan waiting in his black VW Beetle across the street. He waves to rush me to get in. I say, where to, Dunc? And he says, to my sister, Myrna’s Joan Lake cabin. I’ll explain on the way…

To Be Continued..