A place for poems and pics
A Quiet Transfer
The year does not go out with a bang
in spite of the fireworks –
in spite of the music and horns.
While the people sing and celebrate
the old year and the new quietly shake
hands as the mantle of responsibility is exchanged.
Quadrille #214: Going out with a Bang!
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.
rhymeswithbug 