Monday, December 19, 2011


Photo by Lee Friedlander,
posted by Tess Kincaid for Magpie Tale # 96

I can’t tell you here about the pigeons
on the Odd Fellows Hall* the other day..
They made me think of fancy crests
on lovely English glass houses,
lined up on the ridge as they were,
watching the bay for something.
The old hall is closed now.

They have no bearing on the Mona Lisa
in a trench coat and head scarf,
framed by the dead-bolted door.
She clearly knows the high shadow
approaching; her eyes anticipate
white doves and olive branches -
benevolence and joy.

*Independent Order of Odd Fellows hall, 1889,
designed by Providence architects Gould and Angell.

Eustache Le Sueur, 1650:
The Annunciation, Gabriel the Archangel

Posted for

Monday, December 12, 2011


Photo by Mostafa Habibi for Tess Kincaid's
Magpie Tales #95

Buried in memories;
suffocating in the sands of past and present -
trapped. Mired in the sucking undertow
of question and answer,
swirling in a paralyzing rhythm of black tides
that choke me with my own silence.

I see the lifeboat of family, friends, others,
but I cannot call out.
I know no way to reach them;
anchored to their shores,
afloat on the edge;
buried in the future.

Posted for
Open Link Night

Monday, December 5, 2011

Pretty Glass Jars and Black Delights

Lunch, George Tooker, 1964 (Tess Kincaid)

They are doing what they must do
to keep themselves alive.
I entice them to this place -
buy their loyalty
with tubes of flower seeds;
watch life through my window,
drink in their energy of purpose,
intensity in pursuit of a mission.

The scene never varies:
chickadees and titmice in uniform,
nuthatches approaching upside down,
best equipped to spear the black delights
in the narrow glass cylinders.
I wait for the flash of fire to appear –
the different one who will claim the top
of the shepherd’s crook hanger,
master of all he sees; first at dawn, last at dusk.

I have armed myself
against greedy squirrels,
who, in their bushy beauty,
have become rodents in burgeoning numbers.
I cast pebbles, collected in a pretty glass jar;
kept on the windowsill as weapons, to terrorize
these intruders doing what they must do
to keep themselves alive.

Posted for
Magpie Tales #94
D'verse Poets
Open Link Night 21