Feeling the heat

It was a slap, more than a punch.
A Spanish back of the hand,
more than a puñetazo.
No warning.
No leading up to the main course
with some pequeños platos
to help acclimatise,
to give one a taste of what was to come.

Coming to the end of our visit to Cordoba, in Andalusia, South Spain, where it has been scorching. The heat really hits you! Linking this to d’Verse poets and this week’s Monday Quadrille which is brought to us by Whimsygizmo aka De Jackson who asks us to write 44 words of poetry which include the word ‘punch’ or variation thereof. https://dversepoets.com/2022/09/19/quadrille-160-poems-that-pack-a-punch/

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What Can Dreams Tell Us?

https://leemadgwick.co.uk/

Illusion or solid?
Droplets begin their tap dance.
On my window,
Or on the lode?
Flatlands of sleep,
Or marshes of the East?

I have goose bumps of premonition
As finally I shake the dust
Of a dream riddle
And wonder –
Has the journey started
Or reached its end?

Linking this to d’Verse poets and Sarah’s invitation to write an ekphrastic poem to a selection of artwork by Lee Madgwick. See Link below:

Keep the Noise Down

https://www.pexels.com/@tdcat/

Work complete as day turns night,
Deities play with giant dice,
Rumble rock cubes in the sky,
Clash their jugs of mythic wine,
Sparking jolts of metalled white,
Whilst mothers bolt the windows tight,
Worried bairns would wake affright
As the thunderous clouds ignite.

Linking this to d’Verse Poets where Lisa was serving at the bar last night, inviting us to write a Quadrille using the word ‘work’ . (We had a hum-dinger of a thunder storm last night. Awesome lightning illuminated the garden as the thunder clashed above the house. )

Waking up to dervishes.

https://www.pexels.com/@quang-nguyen-vinh-222549/

Morning tugs at the fog,
like a child tugging at its mother’s sheets.
Hills, shoulders, emerge from the night,
blinking in virgin light, unsullied with the day.
Gulls and shrill voices fill the air,
whirling dervishes of energy,
looking for scraps, fingers of toast.

Linking this to d’Verse Poets Monday Quadrille. This week Linda Lee Lyberg is hosting, and has chosen the word ‘morning’ for our 44 word quadrille. See more at:(https://dversepoets.com/2022/08/22/quadrille-158-morning-has-broken/).

Holding On

The boat rocks unmercifully, buckets of waste slop onto the boards, women moan and children faintly mew. The air is so fetid it is difficult to breathe. I close my eyes and feel myself succumbing to an inevitable despair. I am surely lost. We all are. My mind scrabbles vainly at imagined roots, looking to grab anything that will lead me back to happier memories. Then, just as it seems hopeless, as if I have fallen so far into dark introspection that I will never be able to pull myself back up through the deep caves of thought, I hear a voice that sings a familiar song. It is a song from my homeland, sung in the dialect of drystone walls, dusty paths and black carob pods rustling on branches. One voice becomes two, becomes four, until the whole deck fills with its comfort.

Linking this to Prosery Monday at d’Verse poets (https://dversepoets.com/2022/08/15/dverse-prosery-monday-a-voice-that-sings/). The quote Lisa has asked to insert in our prose (of 144 words or less) is: ‘Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings’ and is taken from The Chambered Nautilus by Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr.

Get the Picture?

Image courtesy of Pexels.com, Suzy Hazelwood.

A silver tongue tarnished.
Promises scuffed where a clumsy hand
Has wiped over half-truths.
At times, perhaps, a case of over exposure.
Popularity short-lived,
Usurped by a public that preferred transparency,
And a less polished performance.
Less elaborate. Less acid.
Less of a daguerreotype.

Linking this to d’Verse Poets where De Jackson is hosting tonight’s Quadrille Monday and asking us to pen a poem of exactly 44 words to include the word ‘type’ or version thereof. (https://dversepoets.com/2022/08/08/quadrille-157-whats-your-type/)

Things I notice

https://www.pexels.com/@yaroslav-shuraev/

The shoulders resist the call to fall.
Fall to the call of gravity and age.
Age is a mean master, but I notice,
Notice on you anyway,
Way after the rest of the body submits,
Submits to the pull and puff of life,
Life has not reached your shoulders.

It’s the freckles that give an air of youth,
Youth that walked down our road that day,
Day I first saw you, through the nets,
Nets I dropped when you looked up,
Up through your mane of hair,
Hair that touched your strong freckled shoulders.
Shoulders that still look young – did I mention that?

Grace is inviting us at d’Verse poets to write a Loop poem (http://www.shadowpoetry.com/resources/wip/looppoetry.html) tonight. See more of her post and examples of loop poetry at: https://dversepoets.com/2022/07/28/poetry-form-loop-poetry/

Melting Medley

https://unsplash.com/photos/LDrSJ3cjauY

Melanin turns us daily darker,
We lose our newcomer pale,
Wear less,
Walk slower,
Feel the lanquid holiday heat
Wrap itself around us,
Until we are absorbed into the
Melting medley of
Coconut scented suncream,
See-through sea water,
Carafes, cocktails
And deliciously lazy siestas.

Mish is on duty at the d’Verse bar serving up Monday’s quadrille and the word ‘wrap’. See more of her post at: https://dversepoets.com/2022/07/25/quadrille-155/

Summer Sizzlers

Photo courtesy of Pexels.com
Sizzling under a Greek barbecue
Marinated in wafts of sweet coconut
Lobsters gleam in lines along the shoreline view
Exposing parts that rarely see the light, but
On this, the annual cooking ritual.
All caution's thrown into the deceiving breeze,
Offering tender skins, sacrificial,
Lying on canvas altars, toasted crispees,
Waiting to be dipped in a splash of blue brine,
Then soaked in the heady juice of local vines.
So, a perfect holiday, a perfect time.

Linking this to d’Verse Poets and Grace’s invitation to write an Eleventh Power poem. Having problems copying the link on my phone, sorry. I will try to add it later. Needless to say, my attempt is prompted by all the sunbathers we are surrounded by…

Worthless Words

Lustred jewels and promises draw our eye,
Halt us in our tracks. Spellstopt by words
we foolishly took for wisdom.
They’re no more than paste baubles.
A cheap trick. Yank on the
fraying string and watch
them skittering
down the path
one by
one.

Linking this to The Sunday Muse Blogspot http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/ with Carrie’s smoking selection of images and also to d’Verse Poets https://dversepoets.com/2022/06/13/quadrille-154-casting-a-poetic-spell/ where Sanaa is serving tonight’s quadrille challenge to write a poem of exactly 44 words using the word (or form thereof) ‘Spell’.