Winter is here, stop and wait, it is time to hibernate
Snow is drifting all round, a white blanket to replicate
Rest your eyes, rest your head, until all the snow’s fled
Sweet dreams through the night, ’til spring comes back with the light
Written for dVerse Quadrille #238
Where did my head go?
I’ve searched high and low
The counters hold dirty dishes
And the bones of fossilized fishes
In the cupboard’s only some jam
Chips, moldy bread, and spam
My head’s not on the table top
Nor under (the floor could use a mop)
Checked the couch cushions; not there
Not even some stray strands of hair
It seems my head’s not anywhere about!
Guess I’d better get the old unicycle out
And cycle on down to the shops instead
I’m in desperate need of a new head.
Written for dVerse.
 | |||||
| Photo by ActionVance on Unsplash |
 |
| Photo by Edward Howell on Unsplash |
Roses are red
Violets are blue
The world’s an explosion
Of a kaleidoscope hue
From the tip of the mountain
To the last ocean view
Of hickory and alabaster
Marigold, indigo, and emerald too
Lilac and teal that never will stop
All exclaiming that I love you
Written for What Do You See #275
 |
| Photo by Majharul Islam on Unsplash |
Pressed with a thousand needs
I repeat a familiar creed
One thing at a time
It’s the whole of my rhyme
Like the echo of a chime
One thing at a time
Slowly, like a sprouting seed
I look up and see I’ve done the deed
Written for Wea've Written Weekly.
 |
| Photo by Annelies Geneyn on Unsplash |
Children sit beneath the spreading trees and read
Read
While the impatient wind turns the pages, wanting more
More
For who can ever have enough of such wonderful books?
Books
Sparrows above stop to peer down at the pages wherein
In
Dragons govern, heroes rise, fairies frolic, and villains lie
Lie
Even squirrels share stories while collecting scarlet berries
Berries
Written for W3: Wea've Written Weekly
 |
| Photo by Hans Eiskonen on Unsplash |
When my fairy godmother gave me this room
It was green and fresh; ready to bloom
Light filtered in one sunbeam at time
Filling the space with possibilities sublime
Here a chair and there a shelf of books
And a wave of a wand would make a cheerful nook
A place to take a seat and rest and sing
To take shelter from every trying thing
Alas, what great curse has come upon me?
What witch cackles at my sufferings with glee?
Where once I sat sheltered from life’s storm,
The light is darkening fast and goblins swarm
The room is weed-choked and far too stale
And I, only a princess, am far too frail
To lift up a hand and lift this vile curse
Is there no rescue from this wretched verse?
And yet - if I move this chair, throw out this box
Scare off the goblins and banish the rotting socks
Perhaps I can at least begin to reclaim my own;
Yank out the weeds and dust around my throne
Find the edges of the room and let the light back in
When the room is clear once more; at last begin
To wave a magic magic wand at possibility
And recreate a majestic haven of tranquility
Written for dVerse.
 |
| Photo by Aditya Chinchure on Unsplash |
Row, row, row your boat
Gently down the stream
Scarlet flowers bloom ahead
Bobbing in sunbeams
Row, row, row your boat
Gently down the stream
While the sun strikes the water
Flashing like ice cream
Row, row, row your boat
Gently down the stream
Race the sun until the end
Catching one last gleam
Written for What Do You See #274
 |
| Photo by SilverGardenia |
Music from a charming fellow
Pulling notes from an elegant cello
Glides over small flowers yellow
Sweet and soft and mellow
Written for dVerse Open Link Night
 |
| Photo by SilverGardenia |
In the shadow of Shakespeare, a summer's day begins
In the shadow of Emily, feathered hope flies up and wins
In the shadow of Wordsworth, daffodils shine bright
In the shadow of Tennyson, a mirror flashes with reflected sight
In the shadow of Anne, refining fire burns strong
In the shadow of Christina, goblins sing a scintillating song
In the shadow of these giants, perhaps my own will grow in alliance
Poets and poems referenced:
William Shakespeare, Sonnet 18
Emily Dickinson, “Hope” is the thing with feathers
William Wordsworth, I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, The Lady of Shalott
Anne Bradstreet, Verses upon the Burning of our House, July 10th, 1666
Christina Rossetti, Goblin Market
Written for W3: Wea've Written Weekly
 |
| Image by tuptus1703 from Pixabay |
down falls the drizzle
without a hiss or sizzle
as slowly it chisels
against pale cloud frizzles
adding to the sky’s grizzle
until at last it all fizzles
with the last drop of mizzle
Written for Moonwashed Musings
 |
| Photo by Pascal Bernardon on Unsplash |
She walks where waterlilies bloomed
Nearby the hanging boughs of yellow leaves
Lift on the breeze before falling doomed
Rippling where the watered mirror receives
Anything it can from the open air’s open hand
Here she removes two well worn shoes
Paying sure tribute from the upper land
And wades where e’re she’ll choose
dVerse challenge using these words in order near – can – remove – sure