Spill quadrille (2)

And here’s my other one. This one’s for dverse too.


When she spilt the salt
She always threw
A solemn pinch
Into the devil’s eye,
As if he was there
Hovering at her kind
And virtuous shoulder,
As if there were no wars,
No plagues, famines,
Madmen waving guns
Only her clean, quiet kitchen


Spill Quadrille for dVerse

A quadrille for the prompt from dVerse – 44 words, one of which must be spill.


Suddenly it all spills out:
The mess of fear,
Of anger, of grief,
All tangled together
In a chaos of tears and snot;
And I’m on my knees
As it pours
Over the carpet.

And now,see,I’m folding it smooth,
Packing it away.

50 posts! some thoughts and a little haiku…

WordPress has just told me I have made 50 posts on fmmewritespoems. That’s 50 poems. That seems like an awful lot to me. Should I go back and re-read them, or would that just depress me?

I started this blog because I wanted to get into the habit of writing creatively, and because I wanted to keep that separate from my more personal blog – not sure the followers would cross over, necessarily. 50 posts in, I think I must be getting into the habit. I’ve been really pleased with some stuff, not so pleased with other stuff, but I haven’t ever gone back and edited or re-drafted, so perhaps that is something I should do. At some point. You know.

Clouds drift by like thoughts
Trees sway like words in the wind
I make a garden

Snow Geese – for Jane Dougherty

Where are you going, my brothers?
With your wings spreading out
Like the clouds that roll in from the north
And the snowflakes drifting down from your wings
Like sparks from a fire?

Where are you going, my brothers?
Wheeling high over the wide world
Heading west with the sun
While I wait, weaving my words into cloth
Hiding myself from the glare of the sun?

Where are you going, my brothers?
Your wild cry splinters the air.
The wind murmurs under your wings,
And the thread murmurs under my hands
And I wait here for you.

This is written for Jane Dougherty who has given another glorious prompt. The picture she chose shows 7 geese flying over a winter sea. My first response was to be reminded of a fairy tale – the one where the sister has to weave shirts out of nettles in silence to break the spell on her brothers. Like all fairy tale heroines, she is beautiful and stoical, and quite literally suffers in silence. But sometimes she must have felt a bit frustrated, surely?

Haibun for Dverse – quotidian moments.

This is not a ritual, though my body moves with the fluidity of repetition, and my hands know the weight of water they carry, and the angle of tilt, and the moment to stop. This is not a ritual, though I stay silent as I step out into the sounds and scents of the morning, cup cradled like a chalice between my hands. There is dew on the grass, and a bird sings close by, and I crush a leaf between my fingers to catch the fresh smell of it. This is not a ritual, though it is a pause, a slow intake of breath, a blossom caught in the moment between bud and flower. It is a round stone in the stream of the day.

Green leaf in the cup
Opening leaf in the sun
The clean scent of mint.

A haibun for D’verse, where Toni wanted a piece on our daily actions…


A quadrille for Dverse

She goes breezing off
In her zephyr jacket
And her gale force shoes
Hurricane clatter of laughter
From her step stepping feet
Tripping out there into summer
Hair moving through the air
Voice twisting back
Bag swinging, making
Her own breeziness,
Her own breeze