A Poem Without a Pocket
This poem has no pockets
Nowhere to put the bits and bobs
it’s collected
Nowhere to stuff the laughs or hide
the tears. Nowhere to put the
pieces of joy to savor later.
This poem has no choice but to
give them all away.
Tag: quadrile
A Just Right Day
A Just Right Day
It was a humble kind of day –
not too shiny, not too dark.
The kind of day you want to bumble around in pajamas,
or sit on the garden bench watching bees
jumbled together on the Zinnias.
It was a Goldilocks kind of day.
Changing Seasons
Changing Seasons
The geese don’t protest the summer’s end, complain about the
flight ahead. They trust the seasons .
Yet we decry each age and stage of our lives, wishing to be other
than ourselves. And in our protestation, our lamentations,
miss the loveliness of now
Quadrille #354: I Protest
Sleepover
d’Verse Quadrille #27 – giggle
De has us laughing over our Quadrilles today.
Here’s my silly offering.
—
Sleepover
we booked the gig(gle)
for Friday night
and I wore a wig(gle)
just for laughs
we danced a jig(gle)
until the street lights came on
by the glow of a flashlight
we read poetry
until our eyes drooped
and the words were mere squiggles
