The waiting room was full today – full of people, and of stories. A couple holding hands, age-knotted fingers tightly intertwined. A mother and a daughter, clinging so closely to each other, I couldn’t tell which was the patient, which the protector. A dapper man in a trilby and a winter coat, dropping in from some noir movie. Two blondes sharing a single magazine, heads together.
The waiting room was full today. Full of fear, and love.
world is frost-whitened
each blade of grass sharp and clean
waiting for sunrise
Imelda is keeping the bar at dVerse tonight. It’s haibun night, and we are writing about waiting.
The rooks are circling, black against the grey
a silent movie on a misty screen
I cannot hear their call this far away,
they add some definition to the scene
of faded shades, grey-blue, grey-brown, grey-green.
Here is a quintain for Grace’s dVerse prompt. It’s an English quintain – I couldn’t write a Spanish quintain on such a miserable day!
fire melts
whisper drowns
desire compressed
nucleus uncoiled
a small poem for dVerse where the prompt is about lusts and desires
We ransack:
Spoilt children
squabbling over
spoils of war –
we plunder
everything
as if we win
by ripping
slashing
tearing
burning
we gain
a plastic coated void
an empty husk
a lonely playground
a dead, stinking pond
bare bones
hard rocks
a hollow victory
Tonight’s dVerse prompt is a quadrille – 44 words including the word “spoil”.
Never seen such glassy eyes
I mean blank empty
because this pink plastic skull
is hollow.
teeny tiny waist
and this curved torso
is a cavern
legs can be bent
figure is fully posable
hands curve to hold
these eyelashes are fully nylon
this hair is fully stylable
these feet are trapped
tip toe
lotus blossom
they hurt
Thank you to Freya for featuring my haiku in her November portal collection. I’m honoured and in such good company! via 11 – 15
although the moon is full, the stars are out
although the stars are out, there’s frost tonight
although there’s frost tonight, the fire is warm
although the fire is warm, the room is cold
although the room is cold, I’m not alone
although I’m not alone, I’m scared right now
although I’m scared right now, my hands are quiet
although my hands are quiet, my mind is spinning
although my mind is spinning, I know what to say
although I know what to say, I’m keeping still
although I’m keeping still, I want to run
although I want to run, the door is locked
although the door is locked, I have a key
although I have a key, the night is dark
althought the night is dark, the moon is full
although ms quickly asked for a list poem, i’m kind of ignoring her…
My bare feet are cold against the kitchen floor.
I chose soft clothes today,
as if my body is a child
in need of comfort.
I’ve held on tight – the kettle handle
smooth beneath my palm –
me clinging on, like it’s
a lifeline linking me
to planet Earth
my feet are bare against the cold kitchen floor
I closed my hands around the cup –
heat almost pain,
pain almost heat –
but nothing warms me –
I trailed my fingers
over the wooden table,
letting the faint, fine ridges
of the grain be felt
letting the texture soothe me
my cold feet bare against the kitchen floor
I chose soft clothes today,
to hold me like a mother’s arms,
cradling me.
I’m hosting at dVerse tonight, and we’re exploring the sense of touch. Come and join in – it’s the poets’ pub, and it’s alway good to spend time there.
It’s not even a castle, just two walls and a narrow tower. A folly, mum called it, and warned me away from it, and the cool kids who hung out there.
I didn’t listen, though. I was thrilled when Danny took me there. I thought I’d made it.
I didn’t expect the fumbling hands, the panic, the fear, the fall onto the jagged rocks. And the blood. So much blood.
The cool kids have started coming back now. Joints like fairy lights, tinny music, and whispered ghost stories. I listen. They’re finally talking about me.
100 words for Sammi’s weekend writing prompt.
Sarah writes poems 