Southern Seasons...

November heralds summer heat

where cool and warm entwine and meet

with plans for weather hotter still.

Clothes from winter are stored away

blankets fewer on beds today

as birds begin to sing and trill.

Christmas goods displayed to entice

have you been naughty or quite nice

 with children's stockings soon to fill.

Grace at dverse poets, has prompted us to pen a seasonal/November poem in the Nove Otto style.

Here is the link: Nove Otto Poetry

 

 

Game Over...

Many moons of long-ago

 dragons flew the skies;

from their lairs in lofty peaks

soared these dragonflies.

With fiery breath and clawed feet,

mean eyes plus barbed tail;

they ruled the skies far and wide,

 scale by scaly scale.

One day the peaks roared to life,

 with fire and with flame;

all the dragons left for dead,

'OVER' said the Game.

Kim @ dverse poets has prompted us to pen a poem about 'dragons'. Here's the link: Legendary Creatures

 

At the Going Down of the Sun...

What would you do

 if war came for you

hide in a box 'til done? 

You may be scared

 the blasts and the red,

blood baths tactically run.

One way or another

 a mother or brother

in a box at the red setting sun.

De Jackson, at dverse poets, has given us todays prompt for our 44 word quadrille. It must contain some form of the word 'what'.

Here's the link: What's Next?

'Til Death Do Us Part...

 September was the month that caused the old man the most grief. He sadly remembered when out of the ninth month midnight had forever darkened his soul. Happiness was no longer attainable as far as he was concerned, for his wife had shot through with his best mate that dark night, leaving the man bereft. He vowed he would never forgive her. Never, ever!

Thus, alone he lived and alone he remained, until one particular day when there was a knock on his door. Upon opening the door, he found his wife standing there, bold as brass. She looked him in the eye and announced that she was back! No sorrow or regrets were expressed, nor did she seem bothered by what she had put him through.

Slowly the old man reached for the rifle that he kept behind the door...

Dora, at dverse poets, has prompted us to pen a prosery of 144 words, or less. We must include the line:

'out of the ninth month midnight' ~ which is from Walt Whitman's poem 'Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking.'

Here's the link: Prosery Today

Not What She Had in Mind...

 You promised me the earth

but things have not panned out;

my mother said I had made my bed

therefore I must not pout.

I was hoping for red roses

entwined with lilac lace,

not the actual dirty soil 

that's for our gardening space!

Lillian at dverse poets, has given us our quadrille prompt for today. It must be exactly 44 words and include some form of the word 'promise'. Here's the link:   Promises Promises

A Collection of Things...

 One ancient old coin

soon a drawer full ~

a collection of things.

Grandma's old china

plate by cracked plate ~

a collection of things.

Paint tins and brushes

dried and useless ~

a collection of things.

Seashells and driftwood

arranged in a line ~

a collection of things.

Keepsakes or reminders

stored in square boxes ~

a collection of things.

Lodged in our thinking

what is worth keeping ~

a collection of things?

Dora, at dverse poets, has prompted us to pen a poem that incorporates repetition.

Here's the link: Repetition and Mantras

The Poet...

He was a word-cutter

 with a pen-butter,

 to smoothly apply the lines;

a rhythm-counter,

a quick-surmounter

who knew his poetry signs.

A sweet-talker,

a poetry-stalker

whose heart was always on fire;

a language-lover

 with a published first-cover,

truly a loyal word-crier!

Bjorn at dverse poets, has prompted us to pen a poem which contains 'kennings'. In the link to dverse we find the explanation of what kennings are. I'm not too sure if I have executed the form correctly.

Here's the link: Getting to know Kennings

 

Blink Three Times...

The porch light would blink three times

signaling it was time her girls came inside,

yet boyfriend kisses lingered long into the night.

Three daughters, three boys and three cars,

parked before the house causing worry 

that virtues could be stolen.

Blink, blink, blink!

De at dverse poets has given us our Quadrille prompt for today. It must be exactly 44 words and contain some form of the word 'light'. Here's the link:  Light Quadrilles

My quadrille is a snapshot of my two sisters and I in the 1960's. Our mother would really do this! Hehe.

When Irish Eyes are Smiling...

 Blue eyes didn't run in the family. It was green eyes all the way! Olive skin, green eyes and dark hair, seen generation after generation of the O'Connor dynasties. However, a spanner in the works was about to be witnessed.

    Colleen O'Connor became pregnant. She wouldn't admit to who the father was but lived out the nine months with a smile on her face. When her baby was born, her family rallied to see the baby.

 "Look!" exclaimed the grandmother. "There! You can see a very small patch of dark blue, framed by a little branch, pinned up by a naughty star!"

The baby indeed had blue eyes, with fine light eyelashes and eyebrows, which framed the baby's eyes. As for the naughty star? It was the grandmother's way of pointing out that Colleen had had an improper liaison, not that Colleen minded.

Kim at dverse poets has prompted us to pen a prosery of 144 words. It must include the following lines from 'Novel' by Rimbaud:

 'There you can see a very small patch

 of dark blue,

framed by a little branch,

pinned up by a naughty star.'

Here is the link:  Prosery

Strings and Strands...

Knit one, pearl one, 

camphor and violets

fine wool and pearls

patience and love.

Knit one, pearl one,

hands and fingers

wrinkles and folds

kindness and grace.

Knit one, pearl one,

 memories and strands

 lavender and lace

strings of attachment

   to a bygone era...

Lisa, at dverse poets, is hosting our 44 word quadrille challenge today. We must include some form of the word 'string'.

Here's the link to dverse: Plucking Strings

 

 

Berth [sic] Control...

Each and every generation has gaps to navigate, for change is a constant cog that turns and burns endlessly. Yet, change is often overlooked by the status quo, a safe harbour where many drop their anchors. 

 Mrs. Goodman was one of those harbour dwellers. She knew her place and to deviate from it was unheard of. Thus, year after year Mrs. Goodman popped out yet another baby to add to her brood, cooked endless meals from scratch, all the while wearing a 'floury' apron as her only adornment.

  Dr. Walker though, thought differently. He despaired at how the mothers under his care were always tired and care worn.   

"I am haunted by how much our mothers do not know", he would lament to his colleagues. "I propose birth control to be freely available for them." 

  Mrs. Goodman was the very first to weigh anchor...

Melissa, at dverse poets, has prompted us to pen a 144 word prosery. It must contain the line 'I am haunted by how much our mothers do not know.' This line is from the poem 'Love' by Tina Chang.

Here's the link: To Know or Not

A Funny Insight...

There's rumour going round 

that humour can be found

within one's bodily parts;

now, whether this is true,

known only by a few,

I'll look at the medical charts.

Now, I'll bet my money

that there's not any 'funny'

found anywhere near or far,

within the blood network

unless it may lurk,

in the vein called jocular!

Then I take another look

at my anatomy book

and view the skeletal zone,

and much to my alarm

I discover in the arm

we all have a funny bone!

So, the rumour must be true

when the body we view,

even if we cut it in half;

there is humour to be found,

and you'll maybe hear the sound

of a giggle, or a chuckle, or a laugh.

Mish at dverse poets, has asked us pen a poem about laughter. Here's the link: Just for Laughs

Spinning a Yarn...

 'Help! I'm spinning out!'

said the old spider to the bird;

'I have lost my equilibrium

which for me is quite absurd!'

The bird then calmly took the spider

within its' sharpened beak

which stopped this poor arachnid 

to ever spin or speak!

De, at dverse poets, has prompted us to pen a quadrille of exactly 44 words, sans Title. It must contain some form of the word 'spin'. Here's the link to dverse poets: Spin Cycle

Political Correctness...

There's always an edge here,
this place of in-between,
where men do bravely sing
as from the cliff they glean.
Now, do not rock the boat,
please suffer no offence,
yet the edge of acceptability
makes neither rule nor sense.
Lookout below for guano,
there's a daily fresh supply,
cast near and far without a thought,
enough to blind an eye!

Andrew, at dverse poets, is our guest prompter today. One of the options he has suggested, is to write a poetic rant about something we feel strongly about! Here's the link: Stormy Rants and Rumblings

A View from a Window...

Grey clouds clump

vying for space

until they merge

a day that lacks

yellow and blue

has been set.

Grey road and 

grey foot path are

 a matching pair

as cars drive past

they also align

with this solemn hue.

A grey sedan day,

bereft of colour

cannot last.

The girl waits,

dreaming of spring

  and pink blossoms...

Merril at dverse poets, has set us a challenge to write a triversen poem using 3 line stanzas [tercets] where each tercet is a sentence. They are broken by breaths, the accents and rhythms of normal speech - 2 to 4 beats per line and are not rhymed. Six stanzas/18 lines are suggested. Here is the link: Triversen Poems

I'll Have a Full English Please!

The sizzle, the splatter

the best rinds are fatter, 

delectable bacon is frying!

The tomato, the sausage,

puffed up like a gossage,

  a brown egg or two is worth trying!

The toast, lightly done,

crisp soldiers for one,

border the plate that is offered.

The napkin's stained yellow

the tummy feels mellow,

the full English breakfast now scoffered!

Sanaa, at dverse poets, has prompted us to pen a poem about food! Here's the link: Food Poetry

The Dark Side of Pride...

Pride's affliction stiffens necks

that can, but will not bend;

gold and glory deceive the proud,

is there hope they'll ever mend?

A humble heart soothes the soul,

self-righteousness must flee;

the neck once stiff and surely stuck,

becomes now loose and free.

Lisa @ dverse poets has prompted us to pen a 44 word quadrille which must include the word 'bend' or any form of that word. Here's the link: Poetry that Bends

An Epitaph...

To walk in other's shoes, past the sentinels,

on cold stone steps that lie in the dirt

where the moss of history dwells.

Lillian, at dverse poets, has suggested, as an option, we pen an ekphrastic poem, using one of two photos she provided.

Here's the link: Ekphrastic Poetry

 

 

  

 

Sweet and Sour...

 Fastening her jacket while fastening her eyes

on the possible win and the possible prize

she walked with an air of fait accompli

to the table of trophies where people would see.

She bowed to the people and then to the Judge;

'First prize must be mine with my chocolatey fudge.'

But up on the stage her sweetness turned sour

on finding her fudge did not feature this hour.

'A mistake has been made! It's simply not fair!

The prize should be mine!' the woman did glare.

She bowed to the people and then to the Judge

and collected her pride along with her fudge.

Melissa, at dverse poets, has prompted us to pen a poem which contains a 'zeaugma'.

  A zeaugma [noun] is a figure of speech in which a word applies to two others in different senses. I have used two zeaugmas - one in the opening line and one in the last line of my poem. A great prompt which really made me think!

Here's the link: Zeaugmatically Speaking

A Perception Distorted...

 Life had not been kind to Margaret, not kind at all. Well, that was her perception, for she was not familiar with gratitude nor with the glass half full theory. Poor Margaret.

"You kids!" she'd tell her children. "You don't care about me. Never have, never will!"

In response they would smile, stroke Margaret's arm and attempt to reassure her of their utmost love for her. For indeed, they did love their elderly mother, very much. Margaret would just snort, humph and growl. 

"Before you lot came along my life was less complicated. When I die I will be gone from this empty world and I'll bury my soul in a scrapbook, with the photographs there and the moss."

Her gracious children would just smile, stroke Margaret's arm and tell her they loved her.

Dementia was a cruel master, which they understood very well...

Kim at dverse poets, has asked us to pen a prosery of 144 words sans title. Our prosery must include the lines from 'Take this Waltz' by Leonard Cohen. 'And I'll bury my soul in a scrapbook, with the photographs there and the moss.'

Here's the link: Prosery Waltz

Blackboard Screeches...

Screeching white chalk

teacher's drone talk

history class in motion;

focus now lost

paper bin-tossed

the students don't have a notion.

Jarred wide awake

for pity's sake

teacher quite frustrated;

pulling his hair

he does despair

 that his students will not be rated.

De, at dverse poets, has prompted us to pen a 44 word quadrille that must contain some form of the word 'jar'.

Here's the link: A Jar Full of Poems

A Keening Sound...

 Cutting through the darkness

comes a keening sound,

a grief that's like no other,

deep, and quite profound.

A heart that has been broken

laments in sore-felt pain,

will he ever rise above it

will he ever hope again?

They say time is a healer

of every circumstance,

but can it patch a wound

slashed open by a lance?

No comfort can be wrought

nor stitches sewed to mend,

 this broken heart of grief

where sorrow must attend.

Punam, at dverse poets, has prompted us to pen a poem about 'grief'. 

Here's the link: A Grief Felt

The Kaimanawa Horses...

They roam the tussock grasslands,
four hundred at last count,
with an annual muster roundup
folk flock to choose their mount.

The Kaimanawa horses are gentle
yet must be broken in,
for wild they are and flighty
 with sweat upon their skin.

The brown, the black, the grey,
with manes that thickly flow,
 they pound the dusty ground
not sure which way to go.

Corralled, the horses buck,
fear shines within their eyes
as each one's then selected
as a free and wildling prize.

One hundred horses chosen,
three hundred free to roam,
on the grassy tussock plains,
  the place they know as home...

Kaimanawa horses are a population of feral horses in New Zealand that are descended from domestic horses released in the 19th and 20th centuries. They are known for their hardiness and quiet temperament. [Wikipedia] Each year they are mustered to keep the population down to three hundred. New owners choose their horse at no cost.

Dora at dverse poets has prompted us to pen a poem about horses. Here's the link: Running with Horses

  

  

Awaiting Summer...

 Summer is still to come

yet daffodils are in flower

amongst the sand dunes

where old bulbs have been dumped.

It's not officially Spring yet either

but it's warm and the days are

blue skyed and sun tinted.

Bare footed, I dance through winter.

De, at dverse poets, has prompted us to pen a 44 word quadrille which must include the word 'summer'.

Here is the link: Summer

Ellen's Eternity...

Every day unfurls as it must, with time being the flag bearer. No-one felt this more than Ellen, who at the age of one hundred had witnessed many unfurling's.

Ellen still had all her marbles, and she appreciated each and every day that GOD had given her. People marveled at her joyful attitude and often remarked that others could learn a thing or two from her happy longevity. 

So, what was her secret, people would ask at every birthday milestone.

Ellen would smile and reply that it wasn't really a secret at all. Rather it was knowing that she was deeply loved by Jesus, her Saviour.

Ellen passed away on her one hundred and third birthday. Funnily enough, flags were unfurled all through the town at her passing but not at half-mast. Instead, they flew vigorously in unison as if angels were fanning the flags with their wings... 

Lisa, at dverse poets, has given us today's prompt, which is to pen a prosery of 144 words, not counting the title.

We must incorporate the line 'every day unfurls as it must' which is from: Poem copyright©2021 by Adrienne Su, “Oolong” from Peach State, (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2021)

Here is the link to dverse poets: Every Day Unfurls

The Hiding Place...

Silence permits one to contemplate,
a walled space to ruminate,  
until the world makes sense.
Yet, not everything can be tucked in,
compartmentalized and understood 
for the world doesn't offer all the answers.
Instead, one must find the hiding place
where explanations and suggestions
weave in and out of a mind that is curious.
  Here, it's a safe place to breathe and to be...

Kim, at dverse poets, has made way for Sarah Connor to give us a prompt for today. With a few suggestions offered, I have chosen to take the lines :

" Find me a space here, tucked into the silence.”  and to reconstruct them into an entirely new poem.

Here's the link to dverse and to the challenge :   In Honor of Sarah Connor

Crab Apple Jelly...

Stewed crab apples hang in a washed muslin bag
 over a pail deep enough to catch the juice,
which drips with sticky sweetness.
The sifted juice then re boiled with added sugar,
turns the juice into pink claret jelly
   ready to be carefully stored...

Merril, at dverse poets, has prompted us to pen a 44 word quadrille which must contain some form of the word 'crab'.

I have gone back to my childhood when my mother made crab apple jelly every year.

Here's the link to dverse poets: Crabby Poetry