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.

Smug aubade

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.