We haven’t yet attended to the ground.
Well, I’ve been busy. It’s been on my mind,
but now it’s May. The May Queen has been crowned,
and still we haven’t touched it. I’m resigned
to a poor season, though I think that you
are not. But the house is clean, the dust
is blown away, the windows shine. Who knew
there could be so much light? We lost
ourselves a little in the dark. You know, we love
the sun, we open to it, and we spent the winter curled
up tightly, we were seeds ourselves. And I approve
this spring uncurling, reaching for the world.
A poem for Laura at dVerse. You can find the challenge here: /https://dversepoets.com/2023/05/04/take-a-four-line-alternate-rhyme-scheme-its-a-steal/. I really struggled with this one. I spent ages looking for “end words” I could work with, and then thought “Pff!” and went with the Edna St Millay “Dirge without Music” that Laura features in the prompt. I love St Millay – she has such a deftness of touch, and works so well with rhythm and rhyme – so it was hard to get away from her original piece. Those rhyming words really dictate the poem in many ways. Or maybe that’s just how it feels when you take it apart.
All I can think of is paper.
So easy to tear, to cut, to burn,
and they way it holds everything:
joy and death and tax
2 a.m., and it won’t get darker,
and all I can do is stand vigil,
while shadows become monsters
and monsters become shadows,
and all the night noises
are breath, and footsteps,
and the weight of it. The weight.
Not the big guy
in the suit, or the woman
with the gun. None of them.
It’s only love that matters,
that takes the bullet,
that bears the pain,
that steps up and holds you.
For Laura’s prompt at dVerse.
By the time the moon rose, its clear light
freezing, like a veil of ice, in that moment, our
passion was the only warm thing there. It burned.
At our first touch, the world itself flared, turned
its gaze on us – seeking out that fierce, hot power
blossoming between us, wild and brave and bright.
For Laura at dVerse, who invites us to take a line from a “kissing” poem, place it vertically, and make a poem from it. She also invited us to use a form – I’ve gone with a sestain, with a rhyme scheme ABCCBA, just because I like it. I chose the line “by freezing passion at its blossoming” from Neil Carpathios’ poem “The Kiss”. If this doesn’t make sense, check out Laura’s explanation over at dVerse.
talking to you –
just words, tumbling spillling –
building pathways, bridges, doorways
we’re building walls,
smooth and pale as marble,
so high it’s hard to reach and place
we bring out steps
we make the effort, climb
ladders, raise those white walls ever
harsh words, shed tears
into the stone. We set
our fear, our anger, solidly
fire, flood, storm, something fierce –
reminding us of what we stand
A Crapsey cinquain for Laura at dVerse.
Right now, it’s just me and the blackbird
him singing, me wording. Oh, and the fresh,
new leaves on the crabapple,
wondering at the world. And the daffodils,
of course, still hanging on.
And the cherry blossom, and the celandines.
It’s morning, and the world is still
pulling the covers over its head –
except the magpie hopping down the road,
and the rook circling, and the blackbird
singing, singing, and me wording.
A slightly smug morning poem for Laura at dVerse.