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