Posted in poetry

Under Covers

d’Verse Poets Pub – Poetics: Kafka for Kids –

“I do not see the world at all; I invent it.” from The Diaries of Franz Kafka, 1910-1923

Under Covers

*

I do not see the world at all
Behind my eyes so tightly closed
But I can feel a summer breeze
And smell the perfume of a rose

I hear the lovely symphony
Of birds and cows and bugs and such
The sloppy kisses of my dog
Tell me he loves me very much

Here in the darkness of my room
Beneath the covers where I sit
The world becomes what I may choose
When I imagine and invent it

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Posted in poetry

Carolina Parakeet

d’Verse Poets Pub – Quadrille #88: And the Word Is… extinct

Carolina Parakeets

*

There once were parakeets

here in this un-tropical

Northeastern clime

Small green birds with cheery

red and yellow faces

Friendly, social bids that brightened

the landscape – until they were gone,

completely disappeared, became extinct

I wonder if the mocking bird still repeats

their call

Posted in poetry

Change of Plans

d’Verse Poets Pub – Quadrille #87: Quick! Nick us a poem!

Change of Plans

This poem has its nickers in a twist –

Is in a bit of a snit.

Someone has nicked the

words it wanted to wear today –

fancy words, high-heeled party words.

All that’s left are some everyday,

comfy words like

tea, books, you

Posted in d'Verse Poets Pub, Poetic Bloomings, poetry

Lenny

dVerse Poetics: On All Things Feline!

The cats are taking over at d’Verse Poets Pub

Lenny – (a Lannet)

*

We buried him beneath the garden bench

where I would take my morning cup of tea

to share the highlights of my yesterday.

I often thought I heard his rumbling purr,

although I knew it’s just my wishful heart

imagining that he was still around,

still chasing after bugs, both real and not.

Still crawling under sheets when I make beds,

still hiding deep within a paper bag

then jumping out to grab me as I pass.

He followed me around just like a pup –

a nosey, noisy, sleek white, furry friend.

Quiet unexpectedly we found him gone

and buried him beneath the garden bench.

Posted in poetry

A Scattering of Seeds

d’Verse Poets Pub : Quadrille -…and the most beautiful words are . . .

Thanks to Lillian for sharing the 70 most beautiful words in the English language – according to a survey conducted by the British Council.

Today’s challenge is to write a Quadrille (just 44 words) using the word tranquility.

She scattered seeds and hoped for sunflowers

that would provide for birds and bumble bees.

She nurtured those small seedlings like a mother,

danced under her umbrella when it rained, and

giggled at the sight of a rainbow.

She scatted grace and found tranquility

Posted in d'Verse Poets Pub

The Last Cousin

d’Verse Poets Pub – Prosery #3: Love After Love

I’m Kim from Writing in North Norfolk, welcoming dVerse poets to the third ever Prosery prompt, when we ask you to write a very short piece of prose that tells a story, with a beginning, a middle and an end, in any genre of your choice.

As it’s flash fiction, we have a limit of 144 words; an additional challenge is to hit 144 exactly. The special thing about Prosery is that we give you a complete line from a poem, which must be included somewhere in your story, within the 144-word limit.

For the third Prosery, I’d like you to write a story that includes the following line from ‘Love After Love’, a poem by Derek Walcott:

‘You will love again the stranger who was your self’.

The Last Cousin

I carefully pack a dozen jars of homemade grape jam into a cardboard box. Each jar is wrapped in newspaper to keep them from banging together on the three-hour drive to Lake Erie. The buns and a tub of peanut butter are already in the back of my Jeep.

It’s the annual ‘Cousinfest” weekend. I’m the only one left of five. I plan to hold a remembrance ceremony on the beach. I’ll stay up all night eating PB&J sandwiches, that had been our tradition since we were teenagers. In the morning, I’ll scatter the ashes of cousin Number Four in the rose garden of the beach house.

I don’t know how I’ll carry on without those girls who were closer to me than sisters.

I hold tight to the last words of Number Four, “You will love again the stranger who was your self”.