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


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.


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

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.

I choose

I choose to sink
I choose to curl over myself, like a fox
I choose to lie in the dark
I choose deep water, I choose to hide myself down in the dim light
I choose to be wounded
I choose my wound


I choose love, always love
I choose to open my heart to the sky
I choose flight, the high circling flight of the hawk
I choose flight, the slow hum of the bee
I choose to stand on the shore, I choose the noise of the sea –
I choose to feel the wind pass through my skin

you know

I choose both
I choose light and shade
I choose stillness and movement
I choose this

I choose it all

Big time repetition – we’re looking at anaphora at dVerse. Come and join in!


‘All has become quiet in Moscow.’– Count L N Tolstoy, The Cossacks,

She stands in silence
holding an empty sign

because words have lost
all meaning now

words have become sounds,
the way a gull cries,
the way a fox barks in the night –

the way a bullet flies
the way a bomb falls

the way a boy cries


A poem for Linda at dVerse, who gives us a selection of famous first lines.


and now, everything is confetti –
the flowers are confetti,
the birds are confetti,
and they throw their songs in the air
to float down round us, like confetti

come June, we’ll be plumper
and drowsier, we’ll be soft,
but right now, we’re urgent –
we’re rushing to leaf and to bloom and to shoot,
to confetti.

A poem for my prompt – colour me poetry – at dVerse.