Category: d’Verse Poets Pub

Upon Her Return

d’Verse Poets Pub -MTB: The Death Sentence
Here’s the challenge –
one sentence, improvised, end of civilization as we know it

give it a try over at http://dversepoets.com

It had been only three weeks since she kissed
Him goodbye, escaping the gloomy skies
Of home for a dose of sunshine, (something
She craved in the middle of winter even though
He did not), but something had gone awry while
She soaked up those healing rays and he sulked
Under the gray clouds because as soon as she
Stepped into the house, before she could even kick
Off her shoes, he slumped off to take a nap, signaling
The end of the world as she knew it

Deep Pockets

d’Verse Poets Pub – Quadrille #97 – Filling the Page
De is hosting in the Pub tonight and looking for us to fill our pages in just 44 words.
Play along at http://deversepoets.com

—

I have deep pockets –
but don’t ask for a loan
or hand-out. My deep pockets
are in my favorite jacket, the
one I wear on walks along
railroad tracks and they are
filled with treasures –
bird feathers, bits of broken glass,
wild flower petals

Sleep Interrupted

Tuesday Poetics with Lillian –
what are your dreams made of?

—

Seven-year olds are wise in the way of dreams –
which shows to avoid too near bedtime
In order to dodge sketchy dreams.

Which ones could lead to full-blown nightmares.
Shows that feature mummies or yetis
are at the top of the list, along with anything that dies.


Only shows that make you laugh are allowed.
I should have heeded the warnings.

—
Check out the dreamers at http://dversepoets.com

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.

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”.

Bird Song

d’Verse Poets Pub – Meet Jackie Hurlbert

– photo by Jackie Hurlbert-

–

Bird Song

When evening tip-toes in

To calm the industry of day

When light begins to dim and wind

Becomes a gentle breath

These are the moments birds whisper

Songs to me, filling my dreams

With the hope of their voices

Early in the Morning

dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: On Wandering & Observing
—

Early in the Morning

 
She likes to go for a wander
in the morning – before the sun
heats up the day too much.
She strolls along the fitness trail –

passed easily by joggers and
serious walkers – most listening
to something other than the bird calls.
If she is lucky, she gets to watch a

Great Blue Heron fishing among the reeds
that line the shallow end of a small lake,
or laugh at the Little Blue Herons and Swallows
swoop and dive across the water – as if

playing a game of avian tag.
She often stops to sit quietly, whenever she
comes to a bench, looking for a pair of turtles
that sun themselves on an old log – grateful that

someone thought to provide a perfect
spot to just observe. And that is when she
begins feeling a little sorry for the runners
and fitness walkers who miss out on

the benefits of a good wander.

Left Behind In May

d’Verse Poets Pub – Poetics: Limbo
Take a break or keep writing? I think I know the answer to that.

—

Left Behind in May

 

this poem has been left hanging –
languishing in limbo, cast aside,
out of date, too late for PAD
it is twiddling its thumbs
humming on an empty stage
with its meter running low
it’s a free verse for the taking
marking time on sore feet
until opportunity comes again
as leaves flutter down

The Magic of Moonlight

d’Verse Poets Pub – Poetry form: Lai and Lai Nouveau

“This form looks to be a very simple form comprising of a five syllabled couplet followed by a two syllable line. The number of lines in each stanza is fixed at nine and the couplets must rhyme with each other, as the two syllable lines must also rhyme. In English this line is probably the most difficult part of the poem.

The Lai is a very old French form and tradition states that the short line must not be indented, it must be left dressed to the poem. This is known as Arbre Fourchu (Forked Tree); there is a pattern meant to be set up as a tree.

The number of lines in each stanza is fixed at nine. The number of stanzas is not fixed and each stanza has its own rhyme pattern. The stanza’s rhyme pattern is… a. a. b. a. a. b. a. a. b.”

 

Here’s my first attempt –

—

The Magic of Moonlight

 
It happens at night
Sky no longer bright
Just dark

The moon shines soft light
Lightening bugs take flight
In arcs

Two true hearts ignite
Wishing stars delight
A spark