Discovery.

Photo by Yong Chuan Tan, Unsplash

Did the walls come and go,
like night and day,
as hot tongues licked the black
and thin bones split the crackling air?

Did she feel the changing mass
from grit to paste
as wet drooled from her lips
onto the cooling ash?

And as she placed her hand
upon the sheltering stone
and marked a sooty outline on the wall,
a leaf of fingers splayed,
did she feel a ripple rising from her throat
and hear it echo into dark below?

This began as a prompt to write about a room. My mind wandered to the first rooms, prehistoric caves, and the spine-tingling artwork that was created thousands of years ago. And what that felt like …

Fallen.

white and red train beside building at daytime
Photo by Tomas Jolmes, Unsplash.

I could have sauntered.
The train delayed.
Police incident – mumbled words,
‘fallen’ was all I heard.

No need to rush,
Jumped on the bus,
Though my ticket
Didn’t ride with the driver.
He made me pay
For my delay.

A hitch, a glitch,
That’s all,
Pity the soul,
The platform fall.

Linked to https://sammiscribbles.wordpress.com/2022/01/29/weekend-writing-prompt-246-saunter. This word prompt, on Sammi Cox’s site, challenges the writer to submit a poem or a piece of prose using exactly 51 words and including the word ‘saunter’. See more via the link above.

A Quick Nap.

Bed shop Images - Search Images on Everypixel
Photo from everypixel.com

The bed is dented from your dreams.
High thread sateen
bears the markers.
Were you starkers?

Tugging at the crumpled edges,
slept-in wedges.
Smooth the bedding
after zedding.

You know your wife would be appalled
seen in the Mall,
naked nodding,
when you’re shopping.

Grace is at the bar tonight and offering the minute poem for us to get our teeth into. (https://dversepoets.com/2022/01/27/poetry-form-the-minute-poem/) I found the strict syllable count quite tricky, and hope the narrative (albeit very daft) of the poem remains intact .

The Minute Poem is a 60 syllable verse form, one syllable for each second in a minute. The theme should be an event that is over and done completely, as in a minute. Since the dominant line is short the effect is likely humorous, whimsical or semi-serious. It was created by Verna Lee Hinegardner, once poet laureate of Arkansas.

The elements of the Minute Poem are:

  1. narrative poetry.
  2. a 12 line poem made up of 3 quatrains. (3 of 4-line stanzas)
  3. syllabic, 8-4-4-4 8-4-4-4 8-4-4-4 (First line has 8 syllables of each stanza. Remaining lines has 4 syllables in each stanza)
  4. rhymed, rhyme scheme of aabb ccdd eeff.
  5. description of a finished event (preferably something done is 60 seconds).
  6. is best suited to light verse, likely humorous, whimsical or semi-serious.’

The Looker Down. (Reversed Etheree)

“In truth each day is a universe in which we are tangled in the light of stars.”- Horses, Jim Harrison

white and black crescent moon
Image by Ashwini Chaudhary, Unsplash.

Some moments are held for the merest fleet,
some tumble along while carving deep.
I am a map of clefts and lines,
lunar woven over time.
I see the crescent shine,
monochrome of light,
catascopus
looking thus
at my
life.

I am linking this to d’Verse Poets and Lynda’s prompt to be inspired from a choice of lines from the work of Jim Harrison. (https://dversepoets.com/2022/01/25/poetics-songs-of-unreason/).

(Note: Catascopus is Latin for a light vessel used for reconnoitering)

Exposure

Woman in White Dress Shirt and Blue Denim Jeans Sitting on Chair
Photo by cottonbro from Pexels

Words left his mouth, shivering into the room,
naked in the light of others.
Their skin pricked with their own awareness,
stumbling together for comfort and warmth,
and retreating back to the safe haven of his thoughts.

Next time, he told them, next time.

Merril at d’Verse Poets is leading this week’s quadrille with the word ‘Shiver’. (See more at:https://dversepoets.com/2022/01/24/quadrille-144-shivering/).

At Last

Image by Dee Mulrooney

‘It’s only a story. A flipping daft made-up thing Ma used to tell us. It’s not true, for crying out loud!’
But I could see fright in my sister’s eyes and she was holding the door handle so tight her fingers were white.
‘Let me by,’ I shouted as I wrenched her out of my way. ‘Or come with me and see if I’m mad.’
The sun was slipping low as I ran from the house towards the sea. As I reached the cliff edge, the movement of ground was barely visible. But I could feel it. The slow heave and thrust of the land as the cliffs moved their rocky feet and shuffled further into the ocean. Ropes of deep red sunlight pulled the limestone beasts further in, crimson ripples tugging from the horizon, coaxing them. An eyelash of new moon hung faint in the east, watching as eventually the cliffs shuddered to a halt. Loose stones tumbled down into the dusky water as a shoal of laughing nereids emerged from the foamy pink splashes. They swam and swirled, throwing the fading ribbons of sunset from wave to wave. I watched, entranced by their grace and beauty.
And from the writhe and glint of skin and scale, I heard a voice I had always known, call out to me:
‘It’s time, my love.‘
I let myself fall down, past the crumbling edge, into the spinning water far below. And as the waves covered my body, I felt the strength of many hands support me – at last.

This was written in response to the latest Visual Verse prompt, and published on their site. The link to their site is below.

Perfect Ending.

person writing on white paper
Photo by Eugene Chystiakov, Unsplash.

Friday night, the weekend looms,
Oh, clever, clever Week.
You know exactly when to stop
And end it, so to speak.

You favour five as working days,
Your reasoning proficient,
Anymore would be de trop
And less would be deficient.

So help this poet recognise
How best to close her lines,
For starting is the easy part,
Its ending that’s the swine!

Fishing.

I hooked a sound and watched it quiver
over my blank page.
I let it drop and dribble thither,
thereupon its stage.

Beseeching it to act its part,
in true poetic form,
I cast for more embellishments,
for words inspiring awe.

Laura at d’Verse Poets (https://dversepoets.com/2022/01/18/poetics-the-poets-store-house/) charges us to write a sounds-inspired or Thesaurus-related poem. (I have opted for the sounds- inspired suggestion, using the words from Laura’s list: quiver, dribble, beseech, poetic and embellish).

I have reformatted the lines since first posting.

Dorset Dreaming

I imagine a beast that rose,
lifting its broad back from the depths of dun clay,
pushing up into the loamy mantle,
curving up, over and over.
A teacher from the sea,
birthing white rock,
writing lessons, soft and powdered,
verdant baized,
high enough for us to stand and wait,
and hope to spy a glimpse
of our past.

Another day, another walk in the beautiful Dorset countryside. My photo does not do it anything like justice. The steep hills that form a basin around our town create breath-taking views. Only a few minutes’ walk and you are surrounded by mile after mile of Dorset beauty. An added bonus is it provides a great work-out for the lungs and heart!

Beware the Ooladniv!

Drooling, schmooling, rubber-smacks,
No muttly-mutter what,
This flumbly-grumbly scoff machine
Impossy was to stop.

Thurbles of the pookest kind
Storgly were they snaffed.
When mitty-witts could not be found
We knew they had been baffed.

Until one day, an ooladniv
He glarped in gobfull face.
It splotted blotted in his juts
And blurst him into space.