Poor Little Poem
This poem’s not feeling very bold
In fact it feels a little cold
Its edges have begun to fold
Its ink is fading, truth be told
The muse has hassled and cajoled
But its ideas seem worn and old
Unrolled
Paroled
Retold
And unsold
–
Category: quadrille
Candied
d’Verse Poets Pub – Quadrille #166. “I Like Candy”
Candied
I’ve been candied
A hard shell has been poured
over my soft center, protecting it
from constant poking and prodding
Hiding in the creamy sweetness
of my heart is a tiny morsel of
hardness, waiting to defend it from
any who reach too deeply
In Celebration of Green Beans
In Celebration of Green Beans
We planted rows of beans.
Surrounded them with fencing – the kind
to keep rabbits from nibbling on the tender
shoots. We watered, weeded, cheered
when their white flowers were pollinated by bees.
Now we are holding a celebration in honor of
fresh green beans.
Forever
Forever
I will not have a tombstone –
when I die
A piece of rock to mark
the place where my bones sleep
My soul will not lie down beside those bones
It will soar freely among the clouds,
and stay forever at your side
Spinning Seasons
Spinning Seasons
Like a Merry-go-Round ride this old
blue planet spins round and round –
tilting now and then just to add a
touch of seasoning, a smidge of reasoning
far enough away from the flame
of that burning star that we feel its spicy heat
Bragging Rights
Bragging Rights
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
Dee brings out the silly in me
A Salty Tear
A Salty Tear
Like a clown, this poem paints
on a happy face and goes serenely
about its day cooking, cleaning, caring.
All the while there is a small salty
tear waiting at the corner of its eye –
waiting to be released when
no one can see.
Dancing in the Dark
Dancing in the Dark
My friend, the moon, is hanging about
In the dark waiting for me to come outside
and dance with him. The wind is whistling a
waltz, so I kick off my shoes gliding across the
grass, as dew drops nibble kisses on my toes.
The Howling Moon
The Howling Moon
Clear winter night, no clouds,
perfect for watching the full moon rise.
It’s called the Wolf Moon.
I can see my breath, suspended in air, and
wonder about that name. Do you think
this cold winter moon howls for the many
who shiver tonight?
—
The Rescue
d’Verse Poets Pub – Quadrille # 137: Throwing Poem Stones
Duck! De Jackson has us throwing stones at each other.
The Rescue
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.
Quadrille # 137: Throwing Poem Stones
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