Hey Dena , good one.

Here's mine for today...

Crinkles on my forehead
waves on a sea of skin
signs of tubulence
below the surface

An electrical storm
measured by neuroreceptors
gates to each possibility
open and flooding

Churn from beneath
as bubbly acid  attempts
to forcefully escape from
its organic prison

And the eye stares
blindly calm, ignorant
of the clouded wall it's about
to slam into.

Wow Michael...you can sure BRING IT.....really liked yours tonight!

And you BRING it too, Dena.  

Day 7

Write about anything on this page...

http://towerweb.net/alt-lib/seven.shtml

or this page

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/facts-about-the-number-seven.html

Quoted from mcornetto (sung to the tune of Somebody That I Used to Know) This Is How We Do It When I Get You Alone Like a Virgin You Just Keep Me Hangin' On Baby Try a Little Tenderness What a Girl Wants Rolling in the Deep Don't Cry for Me, Argentina, You Get What You Give Papa, Can You Hear Me Over at the Frankenstein Place Singin' in the Rain, Without You, Stayin' Alive She's Not There, Dancing with Myself It's Not Right but It's Okay, Jolene Because You Loved Me I Just Can't Stop Loving You Don't Stop Believin', Express Yourself I've Gotta Be Me For He's a Jolly Good Fellow Lucky I Just Want to Hold Your Hand What I Did for Love, The Only Exception Paradise by the Dashboard Light Rumour Has It I'll Remember Someone Like You We Got the Beat Sing, Sing, Sing The Glee cast covers songs that I used to know. The Glee cast covers songs that I used to know. The Glee cast covers songs that I used to know. EDIT: Finally got to try this with the music.  It could have been a bit better -- but it's the thought that counts.  If it's any consolation it took me a while to do this.

I know it's crazy how long doing that can take. One of the reasons I haven't gotten seduced by "the bug" this time round.

Good job, Michael. I definitely remember Bat out of Hell.

Maybe in the future when I'm feeling the desire to ride in a yellow school bus, I'll try and watch Glee. In the meantime:    



And the word on collaboration:



Sandra

Hey Sandra,

I thought for sure you would join us for a game of Sevens.  That's why I picked the topic.  

Come on Sandra   

Sorry for my lack of involvement up to this point!  Haven't had any time at all -- unexpectedly -- but have looked back now and really enjoyed the poems up till now.  "Psychedelic miniblinds" is a stand-out little gem of word construction, by my count; and "crinkles on my forehead" is one of my favourite images!


Seventh Son

When he stands over the stretched figure
there’s a calmness in his hands that
belies his sword’s hilt, crusted with blood
where his twine-wrapped fingers clenched
and dripped through the clamour of
violence against the other, when armies
clash at the forefront of spit-flecked
condemnation and the cast of words
is bent from the iron of intent to the
melting red splash of the cries that he
calls noble, just as others call him.  His
hands move so softly now that they can
call him no other.  His fingers trace the
man’s broken skin with such fragile
venom as the winds seed the desert
they caress from rise to fall with the
desire to hold to earth and to form
skyward, and his hands upturn in
such compassion that the sigh yielded
from the wounded as his body is
returned is the glowing thankfulness
of conviction.

Seven wise sages uncover the truth
in a crypt only seven could find
One of the sages ran off with some proof
that exploded in his face, now he's blind.

Six wise sages split up all the facts
in what was supposedly even shares
One of the sages was given the axe
when another sage split his hairs.  

Five wise sages have carried their find
to their homes on each corner of the globe
One of those sages began to unwind
and was relieved of his frontal lobe.

Four wise sages try to find their nook
as their veracity they debate
One of those sages writes a tell-all book
And quite promptly that sage becomes late.

Three wise sages feel fear for their lives
when they finally do all of the math
One of those sages he plays with some knives
and he cuts himself bad in the bath.

Two wise sages know that one wants it all
and decide they should fight to the death
One of those sages, he hires Darth Maul
to use the dark side on the sage left.

One wise sage he buries the truth
after a death that nature assigned
among his bones therein lies the proof
in a crypt only seven could find.

7

Rain in my eyes, seven days it-- pours
down from the heavens above. I hear a scream so
giant coming from a tiny lady bug—luck is the
lady bug so I dive into a shimmering puddle and
scoop her up. Her winged back adorns seven perfect
black dots. She smiles, eyes of compassion and flies
into a gray sky that turns to blue. In the water's
reflection, it hits me like a pot of gold, no more than
a taffy rainbow of  sparkling red, orange, yellow green,
blue, indigo, and violet. I reach in my pocket and pull out
seven skittles and toss them down, the seeds of
life. I call for the steeds and they arrive, shod in
gold...my chariot awaits and I pull the card only
to discover a goblet filled with nitrogen.
We gallop through the wooded splendor, the
fae look upon the golden coach, and as we
pass a village gnome hiding in the brush, there
they are...Bashful, Doc, Dopey, Grumpy, Happy,
Sleepy and Sneezy...the seven dwarfs. None of
them with the name Rumpis. Snow white awakens,
calls for the Seven Lucky Gods and they arrive in
an ornate treasure ship guarded by the seven
sleepers. And then the sandman sprinkles his dust,
seven grains of it, and mine eyes grow tired, and
all I can think of is seven things I need to do
tomorrow. And sleep comes, at least seven hours of it.


Little tired to be writing tonight but......

My name consists of four letters and my birthday is on the 3rd day … 3+4=7
My husband's middle name is Seven.
Both 3 and 7 have been very magical numbers in my life.

Hey Heretic, good entry for the challenge and welcome back.

And Dena, an entry that Sleepy would be proud of!

Day 8

Write about one or more of the colours listed on this image.

This is the Michael and Dena show, so I thought I would jump in.

I look outside to a sheet of white
Snow it is, for it is bright
A little sticky like some Honeydew,
With a hint of MintCream that turns Alice Blue,
Or maybe Azure, no that isn`t right,
Seashell, Whitesmoke, nah more Ghostwhite
Beige it is not, for that`s merely a tan
OldLace is a character for you comic book fans,
Floral`s a pattern, while Ivory`s off-white,
Antique, is that old snow?
That would be a site.
Not as much as what made the Lavender Blush
When Linen and MistyRose showed off their tush!

Mark

Good to see a poem, Mark!

----

Colours

Women, I am told,
can tell the difference between
Chartreuse and Lawn Green, though
they look the same to me. When
I am hit, I say just that, that I
have been
hit.
I wonder if women
Have deeper words to go
with their deeper appreciation of
colours.  Not just hit or struck or punched
or socked or smashed
but words,
thin words that teeter on each
miniscule point of a looming iron scale
of the qualities of violence,
words that shiver
together
in the cold.  I wonder
if the scale they can see
is so large that it stretches out
of imagination like water running
down all sides of an upturned
bowl, or if there is
smallness
in the paint that
cannot warm the walls
so that no-one can discern it.

Welcome Mark and Heretic! Good stuff! I haven't much energy left today been hanging with a queen vampire and me  not have any bloods left *sigh* but I'm gonna try.

Nice one Heretic

Mark

A Lack of Red

She lays in a silk laden coffin,
Her pale face divided by a solid line of red.
As leftover blood... my blood paints a line of satisfaction from her lips.

I struggle to lick the energy from the sunshine while she sleeps,
I trample across the broken mirror scattered over the marble foyer.
My feet shredded, red blood stains the veins in the floor but I don't stop
A roofie typed trance enhanced by a blood red full blown panic attack.

I run...scream...the pseudo stratified columnar epithelium in my throat-- inflamed,
As the sun shines through the fat rain drops on the window pain, there's no time like the present...
And with the night –she rises again, and this time I mustn't be her bullseye in the clover.

I hide in mine own mind, surrounded by bats and fireflies, struggling to make it to the door,
Out of harms way, a mushroom under a giant, and the magical kind of spore with possibilities.
If only I could make it –far far away, from this toxic, blood thirsty red eyed queen of demons,
Her only love-- to suck the last drop of plasma-- tip the scale of my colloidal osmotic pressure.

But once again, the sunlight kisses my face as she starts to come alive in her tomb,
It's a race –I'm the turtle and she is the hare times a hundred but I have the light on my face...
In my eyes...in my heart...it burns the nostalgia paralyzation from my bones, my cold body warms
As the cells regenerate, my heart pumps red life through a venous network and then there is warmth...

In my body....as I reach the exit –freedom but the devil is persistent, erect she climbs from casket,
The race continues, I fight something that isn't there but that sucks the very life out of me,
My mind cries, my eyes scream, and my lips –do nothing but quiver and she gains on my slow motion
She grabs me, hunts my jugular –but my strength returned ...enough to pull her into the light of day...

The sun kisses her skin with pleasure...And while she burns....I smile-- saved once again from that toxic red vamp knowing she will...
one day...hunt again.