The poet spells her name

I spell my name with an S –
a stream slipping between
banks of sun-dried summer grass –
an apple-cheeked a, arms open,
adorable. An r is a broken
arch of rambling roses,
red petals, russet rosehips.
The second a is ample,
and the h is the tail-end
of a long-held sigh.

A quadrille for Sanaa at dVerse.

The long light of a June evening.

We came here when the sky was bright
and watched the sun sink into fire and flames
and hesitated. The tide went out, time slowed,
until the moon rose. Look, we said, a road
rippling and silvering the waves.
and that one star, and the half-light.

A sestain for Merril’s ekphrastic prompt at dVerse. I’m writing to Peder Severin Krøyer, Summer Evening at Skagen. The Artist’s Wife and Dog by the Shore

/

These are the things they don’t tell us – prosery for dVerse.

These are the things they don’t tell us:

  • Where we’re going.
  • How long the journey is
  • What we’ll do when we get there

They tell us why we’re being sent. We are misfits, troublemakers, boat-rockers. We are not wanted here. We’re not criminals – oh no – and this is not punishment. This is opportunity.

Gossip, of course, is rampant. One group thinks we’re being trained for extreme cold. One groups thinks we’re being fed birth control pills. Pink haired Jaine thinks we’re going to be saving the planet.

Me? I listen. I watch. I notice who gets the best seat, who takes the first potato, who takes the last slice of cake. Who glances at their neighbour. Who laughs too much. Because I don’t know where we’re going, but I do know that when we get there, I’m going to survive. I’m going to thrive.

A 144 word flash fiction for Jade at dVerse. Prosery is a dVerse form – 144 words including a quotation from a poem. Today, the quotation is “These are the things they don’t tell us” and the poem is “Notes on Uvalde” by Girl du Jour. You can read the poem in full in Jade’s dVerse prompt. It’s immensely powerful and very moving.

A taste of summer

I just bought my first strawberries of the season. They smell so good. On the way home, in the warm car, I held them on my lap while my husband drove. The car filled up with that sweet strawberry scent.

We grow a few strawberries – little wild ones that self-seed round the garden – looking for them feels like a treasure hunt – and bigger ones that are lost to wildlife half the time. They’re all still white petalled flowers at the moment – not even tiny, hard, green fruit. The berries I bought were grown in a greenhouse in Herefordshire – small, artificial summers. Today, I don’t care. We’ll eat them with cream and a sprinkling of sugar, and we’ll know that summer is just around the corner. We’re teetering on the edge of it, ready to fall.

sunshine
the dancing of bees
ripening fruit

A haibun for Frank at dVerse. We’re considering summer…

Poets love to write about the moon.

Give me the moon, the silver moon,
light my way with a silver light –
let me feast on slivers of silvery cake,
on silver crescents of silver lemons,
floating in silver cups, on a silver tray.
This morning, she burned everything –
armfuls of dandelions and buttercups,
bundles of letters, piles of clothes.
She laughed, and told me she loves the sun –
burn everything, she says, burn my poems –
they’ll warm the world. Burn everything, then,
but leave me this cool garden, purpled
with twilight, a stream of silver winding
like thread. Leave me a statue, a star;
fish me a silver coin from the well,
fish a white pebble from the river,
pick a white lily from the lake,
and give me the moon.

Lillian is hosting at dVerse tonight, and we’re compounding – or, rather, de-compounding. There are 3 compound words taken apart in here – moonlight, sunburn and starfish.

Waking in a strange room

Maybe it’s that moment
when you wake from sleep
and the world is suddenly strange –
glistening with
noises that shimmer at the edge of sight –
heavy with light that presses on your skin –
the smell of sunshine, lemons, clockwork –
that moment is the one
that really matters,
that changes everything

I’m hosting for Quadrille Monday at dVerse tonight – and our word is “sleep”. But I kind of had to subvert my own prompt! Come and join us, anyway. Quadrilling is fun.

May Day

I have spent too long in this tower, buried in books and grief. I know the seasons by the need for a fire in the grate, a candle in the morning, the way the light moves across the floor. It’s time, now. I have mourned enough. It’s time to take up my life again, emerge into the light, slow and blinking – for how can I be sure I shall see again?


The world on the first of May is a glowing thing, a green and dancing place. Before I left it, I was a green and dancing girl. Now I’m something else, something cracked and strange – but still the world calls me – the green light through the leaves, the scent of May blossom. I have wept and hidden from the world, and now it is time to dance again.

Bring me my green gown.

A prosery for Merril at dVerse. A prosery is a 144 word flash form, containing a line from a poem. Today, Merril has given us

“For how can I be sure
I shall see again
The world on the first of May”

–From “May Day” by Sara Teasdale

Danger

I miss
talking to you –
just words, tumbling spillling –
building pathways, bridges, doorways
for us

instead,
we’re building walls,
smooth and pale as marble,
so high it’s hard to reach and place
new stones

and yet
we bring out steps
we make the effort, climb
ladders, raise those white walls ever
higher

we carve
harsh words, shed tears
into the stone. We set
our fear, our anger, solidly
too deep

we need
catastrophe
fire, flood, storm, something fierce –
reminding us of what we stand
to lose

A Crapsey cinquain for Laura at dVerse.

Longing

This is what I dream of
when I dream of home – warmth
and light. To be rooted
in love. It’s what I dream of

when the world is big and cold,
when I’m afraid. When I’m alone,
and fear stalks the dark,
like a wolf, I dream of resting
in a green field, of life rising,
always rising. Of hope.

This is for Mish at dVerse. The painting is by Vika Muse, a Ukrainian artist. Mish says:

“Vika Muse” has given us permission to use any of her images for our poetic prompt this week. Below are many examples of her work. She has kindly added her thoughts and inspirations for each piece. Click to enlarge. You can find her on Instagram @get.muse She is also featured on this website http://www.inprnt.com

It is so hard to write about this art without touching on what is happening in Ukraine. I feel that’s not my story, and it would be presumptuous of me to try and dip my pen in that pain. However, we all know fear and the longing for peace.