The whole house smells of silence.
The air tastes dull, as grey as dust,
and the rooms are still,
waiting for the clatter of feet
down the stairs – late for school,
for work, for that first date;
there is no laughter in the kitchen:
no clatter of plates, no sizzling hiss
of bacon. No clink of cup
set on saucer. There is no steam,
no rolling boil. There is no
argument about whose turn it is,
no joking, no slamming of doors –
the doors hang as if they’re made of wood,
the windows shine as if they’re made of glass,
the piano’s just another piece of furniture
in a house that’s full of emptiness.
I think you’ll let your fingers wander
over those keys. You’ll find a tune –
some rare old mountain tune, some echo
of a starman’s song, but all the notes you play
will glisten in the air, unmoving,
stilled by silence.
Dwight Roth is hosting at dVerse tonight, and we are considering silence. Shhh…
If I’m the mast, you’re the sail –
I mean, the thing that drives us on –
so that the wind creates momentum
and the ocean is connection –
I thought the water was a barrier,
but you see opportunity,
and I have hidden from the wind,
but you have made it energy –
but then again, I’ve held you,
strengthened you, tied you
to all these things you love,
kept you from flying too far away
losing too much, creating
too much distance. This is the power
we have together, to make purpose
out of fear and chaos. To travel.
A twiglet for Misky – a first go at a poem inspired by Miskys prompting phrase. It’s all about inspiration .
Under tables, under chairs, caught in the fringes of the rug,
Look at the glittering fractals of our love –
Zestful colours, shimmering, shining,
Pieces scattered like confetti, all across the floor,
Zig-zag sides and gentle, curving edges
Eternal puzzle, always seeking to be solved.
I think I’ve invented a new form. An anacrostagram – rearrange the lines to solve the puzzle! Too easy, ha? Well, I did give it away. A fun quadrille for Mish at dVerse.
She observes the painting soberly –
poor Vincent – all those irises,
slate grey and twisting, clawing
to be free. She takes a picture anyway.
Later, she’s drinking coffee,
scrolling through her phone –
her Instagram all hearts and comments
that she doesn’t bother reading.
She buys tomatoes, lettuce, cheese,
and, as an afterthought, a bunch
of narrow irises, midnight blue and twisted
tightly , one half opening. In her bag
her phone chirps cheerily –
“You have a message”. She pats it absently,
defers her pleasure. Pays and walks away.
I’m hosting dVerse tonight, and I’m asking people to write about flowers, and the traditional language of flowers. I’ve chosen the iris, which means “I have a message for you”.
The first bedroom I can remember had lemon yellow walls, and a view over the back garden – lawn, swing, and paired trees: copper beech and silver birch. One corner of the room had been turned into a triangular wardrobe, the door papered with a pattern of Danish dolls. My dad put up a bookshelf for me, all around my bed, so that I slept under an arch of books. I loved that bookshelf, it gave me an identity – I was a reader, always a reader.
silver birch tree dances
copper beech stands firm and strong –
childhood roots are deep
A fairly traditional haibun for Lillian over at dVerse.
I saw a blue butterfly,
up where the grass is dust grey:
wings blue as the summer sky,
as day starts to fade away,
blue as a young lover’s sigh,
as love starts to drift away,
careless as a butterfly.
For Frank at dVerse – a septet. This particular one rhymes (!) and has seven syllables in each of its seven lines. This is the last of the week’s “7” prompts for the 7th Anniversary of dVerse. You know, where the poets are.
|Patience makes a great risotto,
sits reading quietly in the waiting room,
she practices her mindfulness, breathes deeply,
tolerates all those little trials of life.
Patience has placed her cool hand on my arm
often, reminding me I move too fast,
Hurtle through life, unheeding.
|Wrath’s a stormy lover, ripping photos,
tearing up letters, pressing “send” too soon.
he’s let me down so many times,
then turned up suddenly, palming
a tight wrap of adrenaline – white flame
surging gloriously, forcing me
up to my feet, fiercely righteous.
We are still celebrating 7 years of the very wonderful dVerse. Amaya has prompted us with the 7 Deadly Sins, and their counterparts, the 7 Heavenly Virtues. I’ve chosen two of them – Patience and Wrath. Both are good friends of mine. Patience is a virtue, but she hasn’t always been right. Wrath is a sin, but he hasn’t always been wrong, either. Here they are.
I always eat cherries straight from the bag –
brown paper smudged with juice – I risk
the stain. I pour milk from the carton.
I grab at life.
I spill things in my rush. I’m grass-stained,
snag-nailed, over-booked, laughing at myself.
I can’t make cakes.
For Misky’s Twiglets.
My feet are office carpet itchy,
my eyes are screen stare scritchy –
I think I’ve got an allergy to inside space:
I need to feel the sunshine on my face –
summer lightning fizzing on my skin
I’m just waiting for the weekend to begin.
And – dVerse is back! Seven years of prompts, sharing and poetic community. Today’s prompt is, appropriately, itch. Grace is hosting tonight, and I’m itching to get over there.
Just to let you know that I have a poem in the latest Dreaming Spirit Press anthology on Wattpad. Here’s the link:
Thanks to Sammi Cox for editing the anthology. The anthology goes up over the Friday 6 July and Saturday 7 July. Check it out!