Let Spirits Fly

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Photo: Kacper Szczechla on Unsplash

 

Then

Came just the perfect time

For snowy charm

To let its spirits

Fly

On high,

And make the wind bend

Trees and

Set tardy leaves to

Sway

Astray,

As Fair Folk sprinkle

Flaky frost and

Set aflame a winter’s

Dance.

I am

Entranced.

 

 

 

For the dVerse Quadrille Challenge: Spirited

 

 

Gratitude’s Gate

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Photo: Aaron Burden on Unsplash

 

They stand at the entry, grateful, unknown. They’ve come far for this, on a journey not by choice yet still their own. The sound of people’s voices pluck strings in their soul. The light of the fireplace dances on the wall, painting hope, awakening dreams of a home that was never there, yet could be … now … if they allow it in.

Hearts quaking they knock

On the door

To their forever home.

 

 

 

For the dVerse Haibun challenge: Gratitude

 

Just A Crack

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Photo: Andrew Buchanan on Unsplash

 

“It is just a crack,” she said,

“A splinter off of perfection.”

‘Twas more than that, she understood,

Knowing what effort it exacted of her

To keep her direction,

To balance scales just so

They did not tip life

And hope

Into utter disconnection.

 

 

 

For the dVerse quadrille challenge: Crack

 

 

Earth’s Meditation

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Photo: Kadri Vosumae on Pexels.com

 

“Do you know?” she asked,

Ankles deep in gold leaves.

“Do you know what the earth

meditates upon in autumn?”

“Ask the acorns,” he said.

“Query the roots of the trees.”

“Would they not,” she returned,

“Tell only their thoughts?

Would they hear the earth’s song

Over that of their seed?”

“Ask the squirrels, then,” he sighed

Rake in hand, a wind urging

His work to proceed.

“Or the sky, or the clouds

Or your own heart

Beneath that old tweed.

Ask the earth

As it speaks to the autumn,

While the soles of your feet

Fill these bags

Top to bottom.”

 

 

For dVerse Tuesday Poetic: the question as poetry

 

 

Royal Purple

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Photo: Karen Forte

 

Oh, you King

Of the branch,

Emperor of your

Nestlings,

Purple robe

Golden crown,

Your perch all

Pomp and

Whistling.

 

 

For the dVerse poetry challenge: Majestic

 

The Moon

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Photo by George Desipris on Pexels.com

 

“What’s wrong?” I burst into her room with uncombed hair dripping from the bath and my bathrobe hanging half-opened.

She was sitting in her bed, sheets all tangled, the pillow clutched against her chest.

When she said not a word, I felt the terror rise inside me, too.

She’d had good cause for nightmares in the past, but it’s been years since any of those had woken her in such a state. Why now?

“What is it?” I crossed the distance from the door in three steps but dared not touch her lest my hands make her remember other ones, a lot less loving. “Can you tell me?”

She shuddered as if coming back from a great distance.

“I dreamt I was the moon,” she whispered. “Vast and cold and deathly airless.

“and,” her breath caught, “I dreamt that he found his way there.”

 

 

For the dVerse prosery challenge