Song of the Night

Posted: January 14, 2019 in thought stream

At dverse De Jackson has us focussing on the word ‘change’ which, of course, can take on many aspects. We have to use the word in a Quadrille – a poem of exactly 44 words.

It’s sunset,
but the moon has been up
this last hour.
Its aggressive phase,
waiting for the day
to clear its decks.
And I’m aware
of your impatience
for this change.
So you can sing again to the stars,
filling night with your brokenness.

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Father Away

Posted: November 14, 2018 in thought stream

At dverse Sarah has us focussing on touch, the feel of things. Of course sometimes the tangible is sadly no longer available.

He is out
out touch.
So at night
when the river is a clear voice,
I imagine him as he used to sit.
Leaning forward,
elbows on knees.
As if listening
for something speaking
softly to him.

There would be a cigarette in his left hand,
ignored in these moments for most of the time.
Now he is fully locked in to that distant world of his.
My hands
and questions can’t reach him.

Igniting Dark Places

Posted: November 8, 2018 in thought stream

At dverse tonight Bjorn has us looking at the use of metaphors in poetry.

She sings in the night
and moths fly from her throat,
fragments of moon
pin-pricking dark.

Stars pulse to her song
but they are no match
for the bioluminescence
she casts out into the universe.

And at dawn she watches
that flake-of-night crow
chase night
over the horizon.

And in daylight her eyes
reflect the bone-white moon,
her fire extinguished.

Dream Foundry

Posted: May 21, 2018 in nature poems, thought stream

At dverse Kim is hosting and has challenged us to write a Quadrille ~ a 44-word poem to include the word ‘rain’

With lilac, rosemary
and birch wood
we set a fire going.
Flames tear at night
reaching for the moon
and sparks rain as if
wanting to become stars,
fire
adding to fire.
That eternal engine,
that foundry
where dreams are
lost,
smelted
and reborn.

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Inheritance

Posted: April 24, 2018 in thought stream

At dverse Kim has asked us to write poem about something in us ~ body or trait ~ that was evident in either parent.

Whipcord veins
layered over
bones,
layered under
cracked
parchment skin.
Thin vice-grip
fingers, almost
perfect nails.
I have your
tiny gold
wristwatch,
engraved
cigarette case,
your family
photo albums,
your hands.

Most of all
your hands.

 

Black-out Browning No3

Posted: April 17, 2018 in default

Sadly my copy of Robert’s poems has disintegrated which gives rise to a rather fun project for this year …..

 

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