On winter nights I often
see the moon, caught
in the branches of a tree.
I wonder if she’s trapped
there, or embraced?
I should know. She
always rises, bright
and free. I should remember
that it takes a planet
to entangle her.
A quadrille for Merril at dVerse, where our word is “embrace”.
All I have is memories of memories –
like feathers, plucked and swirling –
the fires they lit at the end,
in places that had been kept dark
for years. Dancing. My father
handing over hollowed bread,
a telegram that broke a woman.
Bodies in the water.
The horses, being led away,
through the farm gate. Lost.
A city full of women. Children
without fathers, running wild.
A man walking. Feathers
that we grasp and grab. We press them
into wax, make wings of them
knowing that Icarus will fall.
Bjorn is hosting at dVerse, and asks us to write about war. I found this a difficult prompt. As I say, I only have memories of memories about war – my parents’ experience of WWII as small children, stories I’ve heard from that generation and the generation above.
I have always liked those old lecturns made in the shape of eagles. I like the idea that words will fly into the distance, that they will soar above us, that they have their own power. Give words wings, let them fly.
rising on sunlight seeing the earth spread below spotting a mouse dart
A haibun for Frank Tassone at dVerse, where our theme is eagles.
You fling it open for the first time/ but I’m gone
M Kahf ~ Wall
Why did you always keep the window closed?
What did you fear? I’m asking – look – she’s
barefoot in the field, she’s dusty,
arms scratched, squinting at the sun.
Didn’t you notice she was always gazing
out of the window? That she itched and twitched
in rhythm with the blackbird, that she sighed.
Was it the sound of sunlight that you hated?
Or the scent of bees? or the blue screaming
of the sky? Tell me. I’m waiting.
For Laura at dVerse. Thinking about how we end poems. Laura gives us lines to springboard from and use as epigraph
atoms share electrons
forming lattices:
strength in community
and we are mostly
empty space
and energy
sharing time
as if it mattered
sharing words
and moments
emotion
emerges
out of motion
and we are planets
orbiting
a central sun
caught in its pull
but free to flow
For Merril at dVerse, who asks us to write about connections.
Weirdly, Brendan at earthweal is thinking about connections and entanglements, too.
I think there may be more to come on this.
What could a birch tree be, except a girl?
A young girl, poised on the edge of a dance
with her arms wide, and her hair uncurled,
loose round her shoulders; and her friends
clustered around her, whispering secrets,
rustling and murmuring in their pale dresses,
telling each other which bird did this,
and what the squirrel said. Nobody guesses
how much they see, the supple birch trees,
that sway as they wait, feeling the notes
sung by the robin, played by the breeze –
they can’t resist. Even when they’re old
they sway like that, to music half-forgotten,
melodies half-heard, echoes of rhythm.
This is for Grace at dVerse, who is asking us to use imagery and/or personification. there is, of course, a nod to Robert Frost here, and I’m still wrestling with the sonnet form. The rhymes got pretty slant-y in this one.
This is not
a coffee pot
it’s sunlight
casting crisp shadows
across a square
it’s a bird fluttering
into a bright blue sky
it’s every city that
ever welcomed me
with open arms
and crowded pavements
it’s chiming waterfronts
clanging with boats
and narrow backstreets
blue with shadows
and a small square
where a child plays
with an orange ball
it’s a fountain
it’s a cool marble table
wiped down
by a man in a white shirt,
nodding to acknowledge me
it’s a painting
of a woman
holding a single rose
An object poem for Mish at dVerse. I love my little Moka pot. It’s a one cup pot, so it’s very selfish. I use it every day.
She dabbles her fingers
in his dreams – leaves
silvery smears on every
surface – trails his desires
behind her, like a
fox-tail robe. She smiles
the way a cat yawns,
unconscious of teeth,
no malice, nothing
personal, just that need
to toy a little.
A quadrille for De at dVerse. Our word is “dabble”
The first sunrise of 2021 was a smear of raspberry pink over a monochrome world that crunched under foot. We discovered a new walk, and that we have made some new friends over the last year. At the top of the hill we looked back over a landscape that we know well, made new and different by a change in perspective. I think that perspective will be the only thing that changes over the next few weeks. Our plans are blown around like so many brown leaves. We’re entering a new lockdown. It’s like we’re not moving, we’re just bobbing up and down, waiting to set sail.
new snow old landscape laughter
Lill is hosting at dVerse tonight. We’re at the start of a brand new year, and Lill wants us to think about new beginnings.
Abide with me, they play
as the clear, cold waters rise.
Don’t let me slip away
under the midnight ice.
As the clear, cold water rise
I reach my hands to you,
under the midnight ice
where the world is sun starved blue.
Lisa is hosting at dVerse tonight, and our quadrille word is “abide”. I’m making December a month of forms, so this is an embryonic pantoum.
