My muck magnet
mud splattered
puddle stomping
jam smeared
crumb dropping
sticky fingered
paint splashing
pen scrawling
finger printing
juice spilling
boy
became
smart shirted
svelte suited
shiny shoed
smooth socked
slick haired
sparkly smiling
sweet scented
freshly shampooed
softly spoken
smooth talking
man
A quadrille is a 44 word poem. We write them at dVerse. De is hosting tonight, and our magic word is “magnet”.
Weave me a blanket
of moonlight and mist,
of sea-fret and sunbeams,
to wrap me and rock me
and soothe me to sleep.
Fill me a pillow
with starlight and shadows,
with snowflakes and whispers,
to coze me and doze me.
Good night.
A little quadrille for an autumn evening. Merril is hosting at dVerse tonight, and our word is “blanket”.
I suckle on the sky –
drink it like Kool-Aid,
until my belly swells
full with
the blue of it –
the blue that seeps
into my fingertips,
my lips,
my hair,
until I piss blue,
sigh blue,
weep blue,
until I float,
fade,
disappear.
The inimitable Whimsygizmo is hosting at dVerse tonight. We’re quadrilling, and our word is “sky”.
Rook eavesdrops on our conversation,
a black shape, rising when he’s heard the news,
dipping across the field, finding his gang –
and me, I eavesdrop on his chattering,
the calls from branch to branch,
wondering what news he shares,
what mockery, what love?
A quadrille for Kim at dVerse. Our word is “eavesdropper”.
My midnight garden
has a lavender shimmer
jasmine-flower stars –
and candles that glimmer –
see fluttering bats
and moths agleam
as the scent of roses
inspires sweet dreams –
the moon swings low
and the moon swings high
in a silver swing
made from lullabies
Victoria is back! Guest hosting at dVerse,where it’s quadrille night. Tonight we’re quadrilling about gardens.
You are scratched and stained,
purpled with juice
– autumn came –
and the fattest berries
hang just out of reach
or at the limit
of your stretch
and those bramble thorns
dig into your clothes
so that you have to wait
impatiently
to be released
Linda is hosting quadrille night at dVerse. Forty-four words – our prompt word tonight is “bramble”.
She won’t march
to the beat of your drum
she’ll only dance
to the sound of her heart
he won’t fight
to the call of your drum
he wants to dream
to the sound of the rain
yet you still drum
For Mish at dVerse, who’s drumming her fingers on the bar waiting for our quadrilles. In a good way.
The hedge is heavy with summer.
The deer is suddenly there,
suddenly still. We freeze.
One ear flicks forward.
Our eyes meet – we are not predator –
as suddenly she slips off the lane,
into some place of myth
where we can’t folllow her.
Linda is hosting quadrille night at dVerse today – and our word is “slip”.
I mixed a bit of Fix-it
to fix a pesky hole.
The Fix-it fixed my fingers
to the Fix-it in the bowl.
So if you mix up Fix-it
I suggest you use a stick:
if you stick your stick to Fix-it,
so what?
A very silly poem for De – WhimsyGizmo – who is hosting at dVerse tonight. See if you can guess what the word is.
Let’s get silly
in the kitchen –
let’s be indiscreet –
let’s crank up
that music and
cook up
some hot beats –
let’s knock out
a rhythm
on a baking sheet –
crash some
saucepan cymbals,
bang some spoons
and stamp our feet.
A more cheerful quadrille for Lillian at dVerse. We’re being silly tonight.
