Over night oats wait;
While crystal flakes skate
Twirling on icy air
With delicate frozen flair
Glinting in gelid starlight
Decorating the bitter night
The moon pours silver down
Covering the frigid town
In soft white counterpanes,
’Til noting else remains
To greet the distant sun.
Houses wake one by one
To wintry zeal
And steaming oatmeal.
Written for dVerse.
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.
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| Photo by ActionVance on Unsplash |
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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
Photo by Garreth Paul on Unsplash
Sep. 22, P. comes home ~ be ready
She says she’s never seen the fall
since she entered my noble hall
and became my wondrous queen.
Leaves for her are always green
they do not yellow, nor blaze in red,
so I’ll bring autumn to her instead.
I’ll robe the halls in amber wheat
spread the harvest beneath her feet;
we’ll dance across the ballroom floor
to harvest songs from days of yore.
And from among the deathly shades
I’ll recruit those with edible trades.
Cooks and chefs will prepare a feast,
with a thousand dishes at least!
Warming soups, fragrant tarts, gleaming pears,
roast turkey, and venison to spare,
that pumpkin spice these mortals crave
in endless pies and cakes and bread. She’ll surely rave!
(No pomegranates, she hates the sight,
and won’t take a single bite.)
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Written for dVerse, where the prompt is to be inspired by the Persephone and Hades myth.