Flicker II – for dVerse

Six flames
flickered on
the birthday cake-

pink icing
with white roses,

or green bubbling
frosting

or bright sunshine
buttercream
churned with
love

and words

so many words

stuffed between
cloudy layers
of sweet cake,

coiled dark, like
cherries,

words spilling
over the plate.

It’s dVerse’s 6th birthday, so there should be cake. 

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Flicker – quadrille for dVerse

Scents flicker
as scents do
here/gone/here/gone
swift gesture
of honeysuckle
glimpse of
jasmine,

the stone
is warm
against my
bare feet

and dark wings
flicker

as the swallows

fly high,
darting,
dancing,
chasing the air,
scrawling
“summer”
over the
purpling
sky.

Happy 6th birthday to dVerse, happy writing and adventuring. It’s open again, after a summer break, and  Grace asks us to use the word “flicker” in our quadrilles. 

Summer Time

Summer rain spills warm –

Roses hang their heads – but soon –

They will be nourished

 

A little summer time haiku for Heeding Haiku with Chèvrefeuille.  I’m never quite sure what I’m doing with a classical haiku, so if anyone wants to point out where I’m going wrong, I’d be very grateful. I’m here to learn and grow. 

Bread and butterfly

Alice observes the plate
of bread and butter, wondering
if this is her destiny –
to sit, in a series of comfortable
rooms, quiet and still,
sipping tea from thin china cups,
translucent as her own hand,
crumbling madeira cake, fruit cake,
victoria sponge, the bland variety
that only emphasises sameness,

and all the while
glancing under downcast lids,
sideways, out at the summer garden,
where butterflies stop and start
above the tumbling roses,
and the crisp cut shadows
lengthen imperceptibly
through the long, sleepy afternoon.

Alice observes the plate
of bread and butter, dreaming
one day of breaking out
of this chintz covered chrysalis,
where time is kept, well preserved,
in a glass cabinet – she’ll
spread her wings, gaudy and gauzy,
knock over a tea cup
in her careless haste,
leaving the gold stain
seeping across the white cloth,

and fly high, over the garden wall,
away to where smoke
smudges the horizon.

 

Another ride on the Magic Mushroom. I am enjoying playing with Alice. It’s an open prompt. I’d love to see what you write. 

Jack and Jill

Jack and Jill
Took a little pink pill
That sent them up to the sky

Jack crashed flat
And never got back
But Jill continued to fly

Jack used booze
To help him cruise
But Jill’s still miles away

You can try your best
But she just can’t rest
And she’ll never be able to stay.

The Tale Weaverat mindlovemisery’s menagerie is asking for modern twists on nursery rhymes. Here you are.

Running out of time

Alice is always running out of time.

Sometimes she has to run quite fast
to get there.
Sometimes she just steps, as idly
as a woman making tea,
icing a tiny cake.
Sometimes she twirls there,
dancing to a silent tune.

Mostly it’s not important,
it’s just an hour or so,
but once she stayed
outside of time, drifting there,
more than a week, and often
whole nights go by
and she has kept herself
untouched by time’s
cold fingers.

Alice is always running out of time.

It’s still all about Alice.