Hunters. Moon.

Orion strides across the sky,
chasing a golden moon. His children
are out hunting – owl holds still,
listening: the world a syncope of heartbeats;
fox slinks smoothly through a pewter world
overlaid with multi-coloured stinks
and weasel dreams of nut-plump fieldmice –
all the world is glimmering and rustling,
feasting before the winter starves us all.

We’re writing moon poems at dVerse tonight. I’m hosting. Come and have a look.



The trees catch fire –
flames flicker in the wind –
gold and red and amber –
and then the nakedness
of branches, ash-grey
against an ash-white sky
and deep deep down
embers are waiting
for a single breath
to leap up fresh and new –
green flames

I’m the host at dVerse tonight – it’s always a thrill to host the quadrille! Our word tonight is “ash”.

Nine and nine

Laura’s hosting at dVerse tonight. She always comes up with interesting and challenging prompts – I think of them as architectural. Tonight we’re thinking about nines – nine line poems and nonets. Laura has given us some lines from great poems to use as the basis for our own work. I couldn’t resist having a go at both halves of the prompt.

Here’s my first one. The first line is taken from W.S. Merwin’s “To the Light of September”/

Summer fading

It seems as though you are still summer
clinging to the last pink roses,
but the early morning chill
lasts a little longer
every day. Autumn
is so close now,
cold fingers

And here’s the second, which is based on this line: Those/ pale /flowers /might /still /have/ time/ to /fruit from Karina Borowicz’s ‘September Tomatoes


Those geese flying overhead
pale wings spread out, like
flowers on a blue bedspread
might fly on. They are so strong, they
still have miles to go. It’s
time to seek out warmth,
to hunker down. Autumn’s brought
fruit and frost and morning mist.

Autumn for dVerse

Mist spills

From each long

Cleft valley. 


We are cocooned


Rise up from

This place

Where the land

Holds us

Gently into

Clarity, look

Across the cold

Burning world,

Mist spilling

From each long

Cleft valley,

Cold sun


For Kim at DVerAutumnse – an Autumn prompt. Round about now.

Summer changes into Autumn – haibun for dVerse

We float here in these golden days between the seasons, like gossamer drifting across the garden. Summer is fading and drifting gently into autumn. Flowers blanch and burn; seed heads form, altering the architecture of the borders between lane and field; leaves change their pigment- from greens that have dulled over August, to golds and oranges and pinks, a mellow patchwork stitched from flame and fire. Some mornings, we wake to find mist floating milk white, between us and the other side of the valley – as if we are alone, cut off from the clashing noises and colours of the world. There are berries everywhere – bright crimsons and purples singing from the hedges, calling us and the birds. There are apples – acid green, russet, shockingly yellow, dull red – to be held and examined. We store up treasures before the winter – sloes turning gin into liquid ruby; jams and jellies, jewels piled into jars; golden heaps of apples. We wait for the world to turn beneath us, carrying us into winter.
Sunlight diffracted
By mist, drifts through autumn leaves
Gold echoing gold.

Toni has opened up the bar at dVerse and has asked us to write about change. At the moment it feels like we are in the borderland between summer and autumn – so much change happening all around me. I love this time of year. 

Summer’s slipped by – circle poem for Jane Dougherty

Summer’s slipped by:
I felt a chill this morning,
Warning of coming frost,
Lost last night’s light early.

Pearly mist’s lifting here,
We’re picking the apples –
Dappled with light and shade –
Weighed, each in the hand, with care.

There in the bottom ground
Round the old tree
We gather, wondering how,
Now there is cold beneath
Heat of the sun at noon,
Tune that the wasps hum –
Summer’s slipped by.

Wednesday wouldn’t be Wednesday without a challenge from Jane. This is a circle poem – check her site out for details of the rules of the form. It was trickier than I expected. 

Leaves – quadrille for Dverse

She leaves notes, scattered,
Haphazard, or tucked
In unexpected places.
She counts the swallows
Gathering on the wires,
Numbers the sloes turning
Midnight in the hedgerows,
Doodles webs in the
World’s margins. And each note
In her fading hand says, simply,
“Autumn is coming”.



This is a quadrille for Dee at Dverse. The magic word is “leaves”.