Being Human

Posted: August 22, 2017 in nature poems, thought stream, urban poems

At dverse Grace hosts Poetics and is looking at borders. Our task ~ if we should accept it! ~ is to include the word in a new poem.

In mist-light the great white house
is blue-grey. Sucked into a
murk where borders fade.
Where the certainties of hedges,
fences, a double gate are suddenly
exposed as quicksand. Like
comfort
income
security
ambition.

From across the river I watch
the house slip in an out of view.
I wait for the sun
knowing it will come.
Like phases of the moon,
like the herb robert flower
on a roadside verge,
like the departure of
tree summer leaves,
like the cycle of life
I’m riding just now.

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Living In The Wrong Dimension

Posted: August 14, 2017 in thought stream

After a break dverse is back and it’s Quadrille night ~ a 44-word poem to include the word ‘dream’.


He says not a word,
sits as she reads to him
and after a silence
asks him two questions.
 

But his eyes are locked on the street,
seeing nothing. In his dream-state
he is lost in a spring
that is now two seasons away.

At dverse tonight it’s time to celebrate our 6th anniversary ~ and we’re doing it with a Quadrille this time set by Grace and to include the word ‘flicker’ Here’s something that happened in town earlier this evening.


It’s a plague, of sorts.
The evening semi-thick with ants.

After months underground
they’re stupid with light and flight.

Lace-winged walking along footpaths
or bumbling through the air.

Black spots pock marking late
sun streams. Swifts flicker high

readying themselves
for an evening banquet.

At dverse tonight it’s Quadrille time set by Kim to celebrate the 50th anniversary of The Beatles iconic Sgt Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band album. Consequently the poem is to include the word ‘pepper’.

He peppers his conversations
with her name, all the time
saying she is now of no consequence.

His favourite story is when they
flew to Oslo. Last minute
to see the northern lights.

He is anchored in a deep water harbour,
still not casting off.
No longer captain of his ship.

At dverse tonight it’s Quadrille time: a 44 word poem to include the word ‘storm’. This is actually something I saw while driving home from Exeter this afternoon.

He is working hard,
wing tip feathers flickering
like a silent movie,
tail constantly twisting and flaring.

He fights to hang his body
while behind a storm builds,
wind racing ahead of it .

Finally the buzzard surrenders,
is gathered up, hurled at the hills.

Recycling

Posted: May 9, 2017 in nature poems

At dverse tonight Bjorn Rudberg wants us to write a poem about soil.

Under a microscope
is an avalanche
of rocks and minerals

Boulders and stones
have been crushed
by elemental forces,

pounded out of vision.
Take a handful
of the remains,

fill a pot,
plant a seed.
Wait for a new world.