It was a gray day – gray sky, gray dreams. Rolling fog came pushing it’s way across the ground masquerading as a goblin, and I looked for a safe place, a hidey hole. Hope hung limply, like a worn out chemise, until a small trumpeter with a black cap chirped notes of promise into the air.
This poem’s been dragged and bagged and now it’s lagging behind – trying to flag down some scallawag staggering by, wagging an extra word or two that it needs to snag if it’s ever going to be able to brag about itself properly, on paper
d’Verse Poets Pub – Quadrille # 137: Throwing Poem Stones Duck! De Jackson has us throwing stones at each other.
I rescued a katydid from the pool this morning, laying it gently on the deck, hoping it will dry out, crawl away. Rain is in the forecast, so I move it to a stone under a broad leaf. I hope it’s a lucky stone.
d’Verse Poets Pub – Poetics – Dungeons and Derivatives Quite a challenge today! Choose a line from one of Sanaa’a poems and write your own poem using derivatives of its words. Here is my attempt using the following line:
5 “The rustling of leaves; I have stood many a time at the doorway of dreaming.” – Buck Moon ~ Part two: Seeing things.
The Coming Change
Flower petals hang limp and faded their leaves spotted with disease The sun’s warmth is abandoning us –
tilting away to warm the faces of others leaving no heat to see us through the night Even the geese mock us, honking as
they fly across the sky in formation Gentle breezes have turned a cold shoulder and Rusted leaves stand in the doorway of my dreams
The needle dropped into the groove of the old 45- scratchy sounds of rock’n roll filled the room. Her hips and heart began to sway, images of a high school gym filled with teenagers floated behind her closed eyes, and she felt groovy again.