"We don't stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing." ~George Bernard Shaw

"Look at everything as though you were seeing it either for the first or last time." ~Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

Monday, April 16, 2012

A Second Look at Magpie Tales #113

My friendly blogger buddy Stafford
wrote to me after reading my previous post
that he wanted to know more of the story.
So, I wrote him back this:
HI there! well- your remark on my Magpie post made me
ponder for about 24 hours and while Russell and I were
taking a drive through the mountains this new poem came
to mind- It still isn't the whole story, but another chapter
and I thank you for pushing for more....
maybe you weren't pushing but thanks anyhow!
Smiles Kathe
Below is my "Second Try"

Pink moon shines on rooftops
Reflecting red blood of hatred
The angel of death genuflects
Before the stricken mourner


stephen Hayes said...

The angel of death is holding an artist's palette in his hand.

Stafford Ray said...

I just love a story with a bit of blood letting and hatred. It also has religion, with angels and genuflecting, but sadly no sex.
so, good as it is, it will not sell.

Anonymous said...

Dance of death diet
Soul bound in the last moment
Embrace the dark light

izzy said...

Now that is an interesting take!
The spears being drawn from a bowl
I can see it.Thanks for letting me know-

Helen said...

I immediately thought of "Phantom of the Opera" which will replay in my mind all day! All thanks to Mr. Ray!

Phantom: I'm here, I'm here, Monsieur: The Angel of Death! C'mon, c'mon, Monsieur, don't stop! Don't stop! Keep fighting! Swing at me, Monsieur!

Tess Kincaid said...

Maybe a palette...but I see a hat...

Silent Otto said...

Where woyld angels of death be without stricken mourners

Jinksy said...

Hehehe! Trust Stafford!