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

Forever Grooving

d’Verse Poets Pub – Quadrille #135: Shake that Poem Groove Thang

Forever Grooving

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.

Quadrille #135: Shake that Poem Groove Thang

Time Traveler

d’Verse Poets Pub – Quadrille 131 – with Brian Miller
the word today is “Juke”

Time Traveler

she has her own Jukebox
an antique with colorful neon lights
she has filled with her favorite 45s
oldies that take her back to dances in the gym
and a boy with slicked back hair
she pushes B5 and dances alone
with her memories

Quadrille 131 – with Brian Miller

A Curious Deception

A Curious Deception

 

It’s curious how the moon glides calmly

through the night sky, serenely shining down

on peace and wars alike, when all the while

it is tugging and pulling at this planet earth

silently directing time and tides and

migrating birds and you and me

Lost In Cyberspace Perhaps

d’Verse Poets Pub -Going…Going…Gone Poeming {Quadrille #122}

Lost In Cyberspace Perhaps

where have they all gone, those shots of
flowers and bugs, trips, happy children? I went
to look for them and they had disappeared, snuck
away, without telling me they were going. Have they,
perhaps, found other lost pictures to share my memories with?


I recently lost the photos stored on my computer. Luckily, most of them are
floating in some cloud. 😁

Waiting for Santa

d’Verse Poets Pub – Quadrille #118: In the Inglenook

Waiting for Santa

She fell asleep beside the slowly dying embers
and dreamt of warmer climes, sunny skies.
She only meant to rest a while, hidden in the shadow
of the inglenook, until the clocked chimed midnight
when Santa would return home to grant her Christmas wish.

Bummer

Quadrille #110: Shall we bum around a bit?

Bummer

This poem is feeling rather bummed out.
Tired of just bumming around, all alone,
unable to even bum a ride with a friend
It’s turning into some kind of fashion bum,
In gummy waist pants and baggy shirts,
sitting around on its round bum.