A place for poems and pics
d’Verse Poets Pub Quadrille #30
It’s a ‘drizzle’ kind day with Mish tending bar at the pub
This is one of those poems that took off and wrote itself 😉
~
Sculpting En Plein Air
Drops began to drizzle
The day work began
His spirit began to frizzle
Under rainy clouds
Desire began to fizzle
He had lost the sizzle
Of sculpting his true love
She began to shiver
Could not hold the pose
He put down his chisel
D”Verse Poets Pub – Does your dog wear a raincoat???
Lillian is tending bar with the animals today
~
Feathered Friends
people sit beneath this tree
watching you, watching me
spilling secrets from their hearts
not suspecting we are smart
enough to even comprehend
the bond between two special friends
so we just sit and until they leave
astounded they are so naive
d’Verse Poets Pub: Quadrille – balloon
De has us up in the air with balloons today
~
Party Girlie
I’m feeling rather bal(loony)
No one pulling my strings
No longer anchored by
Heavy thoughts
Floating along with whichever
Wind blows the sweetest
Bobbing through the day seemingly
Without direction or purpose
Looking for a party or some
Celebration where I can
Be me
d’Verse Poets Pub – Meet the Bar with impressionism
Bjorn has challenged us to write as an impressionist would paint.
~
Spring Snowstorm
snow
heavy, wet
covers every bare branch
until just a hint of red maple buds
catch the sun’s rays
every shrub, a shapeless mound
the pale gray sky blends into the
featureless landscape where
the booted tracks of a child
create random patterns
of shadow across my yard
d’Verse Poets Pub – Verbify Me
Lillian has challenged us to create a new verb.
Smoothed Out
I’ve been mayonnaised
the bits and pieces of me
swirled and blended
homogenized
until I’m smoothed out
spread flat, sandwiched
between words that comfort
and words that cut
Victoria has us repeating ourselves over at d’Verse Poets Pub
I’ll Say It Again (and Again and Again)
—
The Stars and Me
I thought I saw the stars wink at me
As if they knew my secret
I thought I heard the stars whisper
As if they might be gossiping
I thought I felt the stars hopping
As if they could share my joy
I thought I whiffed the scent of stardust
As if the stars were blooming
And so I turned my face up
To the sky and blew the stars
A kiss
D’Vers Poets
Poetics : Artisans
Kim is our host for this challenge –
“The challenge is to write a poem about an artisan or wright, for example a weaver, thatcher, wheelwright or carpenter, or any other craftsman you can think of. It can be a real person, you or someone you know, or a fictional person. All I ask is that you emulate the form and/or style of one of the Heaney poems.”
~
The Weaver
She was a weaver known by all
She’d weave for you a throw, a shawl
The wealthy of the town would pay
Three shillings just so they could say
They wore the finest ever made
By the widow living in the glade
She wove some magic in each one
A spell of peace for everyone
I sat each night upon her knee
As warp and weft she taught to me
But when she died her spell died too
And peace remained for just a few
It was to me the burden fell
To learn to weave, the chaos quell
Now to my God each night I’ve prayed
For mercy, I had disobeyed
Slept when sitting at the loom
And her sweet peace I did foredoom
D’Verse Poets Pub – Quadrille #24 -whisper
De of WhimsyGizmo has challenged us to ‘whisper’ out a Quadrille this week
~
Winter’s Grip
it came in wisp(er)-like
sat in the corner
leaned back, crossed
it’s legs, as if to stay awhile
I covered it with a knitted
afghan but it crept out
from under, crawled
along the floor
gripped my ankles
until Spring knocked on
the door
d’Verse Poets Pub – Quadrille#23 – curl
Borjn is manning the pub and he has us ‘curled’ around the first Quadrille of 2017
~
Hibernation
Leave me curled, furled
Beneath this quilt
Of many pieces
Peace increases
Breathing slows
Toes wiggle
Do not disturb
Perturb
whispered
From my lips
Fingertips hug a
Mug of warm chai
And I sigh
Leave me curled, furled
Beneath this soft thing
Until spring
D’Verse Meeting the Bar – Bob Dylan
Bellwether
He spelled out the conflict
Of our youth
Like the letters on a Ouija board
He held the planchette
Pointing to the emotions
Of the Beat Generation,
The discord of the
Flower Children
Strumming the background
Music that accompanied
The distortions of the decades
Words that have kept the kid
In me alive
