A place for poems and pics
Holes in the Heart
How sharp does a word need to be
to pierce the shield woven around a heart?
As sharp as a knife blade or the thorn
on a rose bush, or could it
be a single pin prick couched in the soft folds
of tenderness?
Quadrille #197: Look Sharp, Now! (Let’s write a poem.)
A Simple Request
She didn’t want much –
a touch from a moonbeam
or some such response to
her nighttime entreaty
to the moon that shone down
with benevolent light.
Something she could clutch,
like a sprinkle of stardust
to serve as a nightlight when
nightmares appeared.
Something to Crow About
The murder of crows flew up
like synchronized dancers –
rising up from the WalMart parking lot,
making black smudges on a gray sky
One had a prize pinched between its beak
like a lucky bargain hunter rushing home
to brag about its find
Quadrille #193: Poems in a Pinch
Snow Day
this poem is taking a snow day
a let the wind blow day
a curl up with a book and cup of tea day
an adagio kind of day
and if it finds peace in this day
this poem might take a snow week
Art Me
Sketch me a small pine tree,
scribble me a forest.
Draw a sky full of inky stars, and then
smudge a thumbprint moon.
Erase the cloudy haze of fog
that hides the owl and rabbit.
Pencil us into the peacefulness
of this charcoal world.
Quadrille #190
Free Falling
I stood on the brow of the mountain
watching clouds cast shadows below me.
Vultures were gliding on warm currents of air.
As I watched, a single yellow leaf released its grip from
a bare tree branch, twirling in a free fall of delight.
Cat Nap
This poem would like to fold
itself up, like a napping cat,
curl its tail over its eyes,
block out the raucous world.
This poem is tired of scribbling
words of peace that don’t work –
lines of ink that fade before its eyes.
Quadrille #186 – Fold
Wee Fairy Queen
She was a fairy queen of the piney woods
Her crown was fashioned from pine cones
And her throne was a soft pile of pine straw
The squirrels and chipmunks were her royal subjects
Until the sun set and her mother called her home
Brighten Up
This poems wants to add a PoP
of color to its black and white lines
Maybe slip a pair of red shoes on its feet
Tie a purple scarf around its stanza
or meter out some magenta syllables,
shining like bubbles, just for fun.
Flies in Disguise
They dress up like a bee
hovering, zooming
around each tiny flower of
the Lamb’s Ear in my garden.
They seem fierce in their quest
to chase others away.
Some would back away, keep
their distance, but I know
they are just wee flies
—
Zoom on over to d’Verse Poets Pub for some quadrille poems, if you dare
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