Heirloom Gardening

Weekend Mini Challenge: People and Places
Welcome to the Weekend Mini Challenge with Kim from writinginnorthnorfolk.com!

Heirloom Gardening

she spent the summer bent over
and I watched from my kitchen window

an old woman with a cane she used to search for
and I was the beneficiary of her labor

now I am the old woman in a garden
sowing seeds
by her
and I harvest a bit of her with each picking

Choir of Angels

Of Angels and Monsters – “Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!” – Dracula
There are angels and monsters in the Garden

Choir of Angels

it was the angle of the angels
that made them wonder
a spring in the wings
that made them doubt
the tilt of tarnished halos
that caused disquiet
until the heavenly sound
of three-year old voices
filled the auditorium
making believers of them all


d’Verse Poets Pub: Form for All–Ottava Rima
Frank is tending bar and has challenged us to try this abababcc form


it was a stray whisper, did you feel it

did you see it as it passed through the tree

did it touch your cheek, just a little bit

did it curl into your ear like a plea

invade your mind and there it paused to sit

until words tumbled from your lips to me

with them was just a hint of discontent

a sour thought allowed to grow, ferment

Wistful Gardening

In Case You Missed THE LIST–dVerse Meeting the Bar
Victoria is checkin our lists over at the Pub

Wistful Gardening

every Spring I make new lists
seeds I want to start
plants I want to buy
bulbs I should move
natives that need divided
I buy a new journal to
track progress
and fails
record weather
bird sightings
butterfly activity
and every Fall I find those lists
tucked in the back of
an empty journal

PAD Aftermath

d’Verse – May ’17

Quadrille – echo
De has us listening for echoes over at d’Verse Poets Pub

PAD Aftermath

there is nothing left
an empty chamber
cleared of words, rhymes
no letters lying about
ink blots flung on the walls
no thought or even ideas
can be found rattling around
my muse is on hiatus
not even an echo of a poem remains