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”.