The dream slipped through
my fingers
like wet glass
– sunlight striping the pillow –
leaving me just the feeling
that something strange
and true had happened –
and you were there
there was a bus
or, no, a fish
and a deep colour blue
and a strange, twisted tree
that might have been a cloud,
and birds, or candy canes,
and you
it meant so much
the feeling haunted me
all day
I couldn’t shake it
but I couldn’t name it
Lillian is hosting at dVerse tonight, and we are dreaming dreams.
Well, you know I like things a little wild –
the lawn fraying at the edges, daisies,
a path that swoops into the woods,
a man who builds a fire out of driftwood,
the waves rolling in, and the sea-mist spraying.
A little wild.
Kim is hosting at dVerse tonight. It’s quadrille night and we are writing 44 word poems including the word “wild”.
What do we mean, then, you and I?
You say you dreamed
of me, I dreamed of you.
That’s true, at least. I dreamed your sinews,
hard cords, as your arms stretched,
the skin hiding the power beneath.
I dreamed your hair, silky,
smoother and softer than cat’s fur,
each hair a thread leading
through the labyrinth, leading me,
pulse pounding, heart jumping.
I reach for you, I lean
to be held, your muscles
taut, the skin hiding the power beneath,
like lake water rippling
as the wind moves towards
the waterfall, the flow, irresistible, the
long suck of the current: underwater jungle.
I’m not writing as easily as usual at the moment. I’m lacking inspiration. Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s that life is busy, maybe it’s because I’m doing a project outside of these prompts. I don’t know. It was a push to get something down tonight, and I ended up using a form.
You’ve heard of a Golden Shovel poem? Well, this is, strictly speaking, a Jade Shovel. I stole the line end words from Jade Li’s poem, posted on dVerse tonight. This is for the dVerse open link night, too.
I don’t know why
you laughed – or what
that swift flick glance meant –
but it hurt me.
Darkness fell, and Adeline was alone in the forest. She shivered. The full moon shone on the rock face in front of her, and she started to climb. Up high, she’d be away from predators, and in the morning she’d be able to get an idea of where she was. She rubbed at her eyes with a free hand, and decided to cheer herself by singing. She could only remember a rousing hymn that her aunt sang with gusto:
“…the Rock cries out to us today…”
“You may stand upon me, but do not hide your face”.
Adeline froze. The rock itself had spoken. Had she woken it, with her singing? Or was she dreaming?
There was movement. The rock spoke again.
“Don’t be afraid, child. Trolls don’t eat humans”.
Adeline considered. A troll was definitely preferable to her aunt.
Frank is hosting Prosery at dVerse tonight, and gives us a quote from Maya Angelou:
The Rock cries out to us today, You may stand upon me, But do not hide your face.
That is a tough one, you have to admit.
It’s not a bad way to see off the celebrations,
as we must.
We must fold away all the
brightly coloured cloths, and shut them away
from the light. We must take down
all the shiny things, and the sparkly things,
and the bright, glistening things
that turn gently in the candle light,
and we must finish off the good food,
the rich food, the creamy food,
the cheese and the brandy flavoured butter,
and sigh, and pat ourselves, and dream
of crisp white cabbage leaves and
slices of onion, eye-stinging, and we
must swallow the last of the wine,
and that sweet drink, that everyone wanted
and nobody drank, and we must drain
the dregs of the good coffee,
and let the last
of the chocolates melt on our tongues
and we must turn off the music,
and let the silence in,
and we must turn out the lights,
and say a last good night
and leave the room.
Mish is hosting at dVerse tonight, and asks us to write a poem inspired by the last line of a book. It can be any book, she says, so I took her at her word and picked up the nearest one. It happened to be The Kitchen Diaries by Nigel Slater – one of my favourite food writers. The last line of the book is It’s not a bad way to see off the celebrations and I just took it from there.
These white mornings
when the wind roars
rattling the bare branches
of all the ash trees
and the rooks
ride the wind
like crazy kids on bikes,
these are winter,
the mud splashed
January winter of
empty lanes
and full ditches
and creeping dark.
De’s behind the bar tonight, and we’re quadrilling with a roar. Pop over to dVerseand scribble along.
Next door’s angel kept her watch all Christmas
as if even her neon blood was warmed
by all that love and peace. I’d see her
if I woke at night, resting on Mary’s wall,
wings spread and glowing golden.
Epiphany came, and she was packed away
to wait the year out, leaving the night
sullen and dark, or hazed and mazed with stars,
much colder and more distant
than our fearful lights, more enduring.
We blaze with self-importance,
but in the end, we’re small,
and faint, and human.
I’m hosting at dVerse tonight, and our theme is the elements – the chemical ones, not the astrological ones! Check out the other dVerse poets, and join in.
I open the notebook carefully. I always pause before I write in a new notebook – that clean, white page is still daunting. I always run my fingers over the paper first, enjoying the smoothness. I inhale. New paper smells so good. Nothing I can write will be as wonderful as the writing I aspire to . I will make mistakes, I’ll cross things out, I will phrase things badly.
I pause. I write.
clean white page
fresh snow untouched by feet
waiting for words.
A haibun for Bjorn at dVerse. Every note book is a fresh beginning.
Out here
in the cold
and the dark
I can see the glow
from the lighted windows
of neighbours’ houses
and up on the hill
the golden lights
from the edge
of the village
and my own kitchen
spilling warmth
and Christmas scents
Lillian is hosting at dVerse tonight, and she’s looking for quadrilles including the word “glow”. We’re sliding gently towards Christmas, and the dVerse winterlude. Check out those poems while you can.
