some dialog from "Tadisch & Tungsen" cont.

Tungsen came from Norge & wears a knit green hat. He already smokes a pipe. He carries

a walking pole he carved himself. Up & down the pole are carved snakes coiled around apples.

Tadisch is intrigued.

“ Where did you get that stick?”

“I made it myself. Where can I get a cup of coffee around here?”

Tadisch without hesitation replied,

“I will take you there.”

So Tadisch & Tungsen show up at  Kranes Cafe.

“What is your name?”

“Tungsen. What is yours?”

“Tadisch with a CH. Where are you from”.

“I am from Norge” Do you live here?”

“I do. What brings you away from home?”

“I am looking for a horse. I hear there are good horses in this Undersee region.”

“We do raise good horses here. What do you want a horse for?”

“I want a horse I can ride to Turkey and then south to Damascus. I will trade the horse for   Syrian  silver jewelry.”

“That will take a special horse to make such a long journey.”

“That is why I came to Undersee to find the best horse.”

Tadisch looked at Tungsen with wonder. He took out a handkerchief and emptied his pipe

onto the cloth. Then he scraped the bowl and tapped the pipe out. He pulled a pouch of Samson from his pocket and refilled the pipe.He tapped the fresh tobacco down with his forefinger and placed the pipe back in his coat.

Call at tea time, Saturday

"Yes. This is Missus McGillicuddy."
The accent is comically crisp. "Hello,"
I reply. 
            "Hello, how are we today?"
"Passing well, thank ye." A light Irish brogue
infiltrates my own voice. Apparently,

the missus bewitches.
                                    "Pip. Pip. You know
we're having tea?"
                               "Tea with mum and grandmum?"
"Jolly good, yes. And lemon curd and scones."
"Mrs. McGillicuddy, that sounds fun."
"Tut, tut. It is! Would you like to say 'hi'

to your daughter?" 
                               "If she's willing to come
away from her wee tea." (Now I'm Scottish.)
"I miss you, daddy." Her voice has become
an impression of herself at three-ish.
Hint of tears. "I miss you, too, pizza dough."

There's a silent beat, then stiff upper lip.
"We'll be home on Sunday." Sound of a kiss.

poet’s monologue

the reason why some of us

write poems

is because

we cannot possibly hope

to strive

to achieve

the writing of dialogue. poems are about how everythingsmearsintoeverythingelse

how onething islike another.

forgive me if i was never one for smalltalk or bigtalk

or anyother kind of talk. moon dances, sky songs,

inspired by song sparrows in early spring

and the small budding clusters of pinkcreme and crocus purples

who do not announce with peoplevoice but speak in color and combination

as does poetry

this is the dialogue of nature then, how even when the sky is leaden:

the deep purple stripes of crocus low down

close to the snuffering sniffering dognose.

senses opening one to another, interbeing.

that’s a different kind of dialog, i suppose.

Overheard Outside Burger King

Could you spare a quarter of your sterile life?
A grain of salt from your pillared wife?
Could I work for one smile of your arctic face?
Or a whiff of warmth from some mythic grace?
Anything'd help: a hat of yam,
a loaf of luck, a shoe of jam,
your skull encased in a wooden cask.
Please help. God bless. I'm shrinking fast.

Clog off, odd wad. Go melt in hell.
I'm busy in my diving bell.

IMUNURI Prompt: Who says

from womenscollaborativecircle.blogspot.com

This week, write a poem that includes dialogue.

Who speaks,
why,
what is said,
how it is conveyed as dialogue...

all these variables and more are yours for play.

Post here with these keywords in your posting:
your handle, "poem," whosays