(Photo: Noita Digital on Unsplash)
The swirl of white had gotten
In her eye.
Placed a tickle in her
Throat.
The door would close.
The chairs will sleep with bottoms
Against table
Tops.
There would be no more
Early morns.
No damp sponge
To erase all of yesterdays’
Chalk.
For the dVerse quadrille poetry challenge: chalk in 44 words
(Photo: Inbar Asif)
‘Tis the season for
Reason.
Time for soul to be
Bold.
Time to oust stale perceptions
And to justice
Uphold.
‘Tis the season for
Reason.
To let true heart
Take root
And dishonesty
Doom,
So the summers of
Tomorrow
May
Sing sunflowers to
Bloom.
For the dVerse quadrille poetry challenge: Season
(Photo: Jackson David on Unsplash)
She spun around, with arms spread wide
The tinsel spooling
From her outstretched hands.
Spilling from her golden crown,
And all about her glowing gown,
It glittered and eventually
Bound,
Her body to the very ground
From whence her heart and soul
Made sound.
For the dVerse quadrille poetry challenge: tinsel in 44 words
(Red Cardinal in Central Park – Photo: Na’ama Yehuda)
There was naught
That she needed
But a path
And some green
And a burbling stream
And wide sky
Overhead.
So she felt deeply nourished
By the flowers,
And the gift of bird
Who landed by her feet
To share
Her burden
And bread.
For the dVerse quadrille poetry challenge: stream
(Photo: Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash)
He wasn’t going to win this game.
He learned that much from many
That he had
Lost.
And he did not care
To have his face made pie
Against another Juke
Box.
So he played along,
As if it was all
A big
Joke.
For the dVerse 10th Anniversary (!!) poetry quadrille challenge: Juke
Dedicated to all who had to play along, because that was the safer – if fake – choice.
(Photo by De an Sun on Unsplash)
She would have gone to bed
And let the mess wait
For the morning,
Or the following
Millennia,
Had it not been for voices
That still
Echoed
From her past
To smudge shame
Onto her
Present.
She grabbed the mop
And filled the pail.
For the dVerse poetry quadrille challenge: smudge
(Photo: Owen Vangioni on Unsplash)
It wasn’t that
Which killed the cat.
Not inquisitiveness in predawn
Hours
When any decent mind
Would sleep.
Not curiosity about rustling shopping bags
Left
Fending for themselves
Whilst humans fetch more from
The car.
But urgent greed
To speed
Through
All nine lives.
For the dVerse quadrille poetry challenge: curiosity
(Photo: Rainer Krienke on Unsplash)
There is a scar ripped open
In the canyon
Of this wound.
Where sorrow has wound time
Around grief tighter than
Some
Assumed.
There are still pools
Of tears
Repeatedly
Bled
As future holds
Its breath.
To broken hearts
Peace has not
Come yet.
For the dVerse quadrille poetry challenge: wound
(Photo: Inbar Asif)
It was everything
To her
To tend the naked vines that sprawled
Across her soul,
And through the long cold
Winter
To let the sun pour
Over
The sprawling expanse of not-yet-sweetness,
As she hoped
And prayed
For fruit
Ripening amidst abundance
Into wine.
For the dVerse poetry quadrille challenge: Wine
(Photo: Mabel Amber on Pixabay)
There was a moment between
Childhood and
Being almost
Grown up,
Where she knew that she would
Very soon be
Quite possibly
All tied up.
With chores and duties
Work and house,
Strung like eyes
On knitting needles,
In a knot of adult
Life.
For the dVerse quadrille challenge: Knot
tucked away in the mountains
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