Ace

And while I was within
An ace of falling for your lies,
Believing your cries of devotion,
Waiting for Spring to begin.

I heard my heartbeats.
Louder than words,
Moving me towards,
A life that would not repeat,

The pain of loving you again.

***

44 words Quadrille for this week’s d’Verse Poets prompt: ace

Still waters

We spoke for hours that dusty cloud day,

Grandfather and I in a dented rowboat,

Fishing lines poised over a cool, still lake,

Trolling shallow.

Yet with water surrounding,

We caught by surprise, threads interweaving,

To something deeper, a gathering place.

Respect,

Understanding,

Love.

 

44 words for d’Verse this week. The prompt: Troll

Sip

Together, our moments, first gently, awaken this
Unexpected, fragile flicker.
Warmth rises from deep within,
Blush rushes to my surfaces,
Exposing my quietest secret.
Your voice is autumnal afterglow,
Baritone whisper a sip of fine wine.
My lips part, always wanting one drop more.

This week’s d’Verse  Poet’s Pub’s quadrille prompt (44 words): ‘sip’. 

Broke

Nelson keeps his deformed left hand in his jeans pocket, rolling a two dollar coin between his three fingers. No matter what happens, with this coin in his pocket, he’s never broke. With two bucks, a person just can’t be broke.

He zips his sleeping bag closed with his right hand, then leans back against the boarded storefront, underneath a gray awning that sheltered him from most of last night’s rain.  Waiting for Old Man Russell to move spots paid off, and Nelson is determined to keep this space for himself, even if it means a few more bloody fights.    

He squints his eyes, blurring his vision and softening the surrounding scene of cement, garbage cans and rusty cars. When Nelson squints, he sees only the centre of the picture: maple trees bursting autumn within the confines of the tiny city park across the street.

Crimson. Pink. Gold. Brightest red. The same colours that painted the horizons of his childhood. His family’s home, nothing more than a rundown shack if he’s honest, had the best view on the reserve. Aunt Gladys said they never had to decorate inside because nature provided decoration enough for anyone. Nelson closes his eyes, carrying his aunt’s words and the fantastic colour, a phantom of comfort, into his sleep.

In his dreams, his family are happy. They sit at picnic tables, waiting for the day’s salmon catch to cook on an open fire. Children play and run around. The adults are telling stories and laughing. But Nelson strains to hear their laughter. It’s blocked out by a loud crackling – the sound of brittle leaves as a strong breeze passes through the tree branches.

And now Nelson can smell smoke, can actually taste smoke from the air. Light wafts have grown into thick billows, raging out of the untamed fire. Salty resin catches in his lungs and takes hold of him.

Bystanders are too distracted by the flames to see a two dollar coin roll into the street.

Rapport

We could not capture the rhythm nor rhyme of each other’s stories.

Conversations weaved and wandered, mundane and misunderstood.

We heard sentences not sentiments,

Feigned commitment to our cause.

Curiosity faded so we cast hopes towards the stars.

Too many explanations spoiled our love.

44 words for d’Verse Quadrille prompt today: ‘Spoil’

Extinguish

What molten rage appears behind frosted windows
Your panic rises, scorching, then cools icy and remains
Tempers your home cannot, scarcely, contain
Trembling crumbles your well planned calm
You’ve known the truth for far too long
A wink, a blink, a flash, you’re gone.

d’Verse quadrille: 44 words using the prompt ‘wink’ (which admittedly I used in a darker way).

For this and more, I give thanks.

This year, I’ve discovered poetry. Yes, of course I knew of its existence previously. I had even rhymed and waxed on about a few words. But now, I delight in it.  I often participate in the biweekly Quadrille prompts over at d’Verse Poets Pub.  It’s a lovely way to shake up my thinking and staid, stale writing habits.

I’ve settled down. I know I’m slower but I tell myself it is because I’m more deliberate in my actions. No flitting, no flouncing, no sudden movements.This includes my thinking. No flitting or sudden movements of thought either. What a relief. Maturity has settled in and I’ve made it my friend.

I’ve realized the beauty in engaging others help. This actually began a couple of years ago when I called in 1-800-got-junk to take away the inherited broken patio furniture on my balcony. Three eager young people arrived, took it away, swept the balcony thoroughly. They insisted I just sit (playing to my strengths there) and point out what needed doing. Here’s the thing. I’d worried about that ‘stuff’ for a long time. It was a burden. When they took it away, I realized just how much it had bothered me. I pledged to myself to take the kinder, gentler way from then on: ask for help when I need it.

Quiet. It’s been months since I turned on the television. While I have always enjoyed listening to the news, and watching old movies, the noise of tv stresses me. When I get home from work, I like calm quiet (as much of it as a city neighbourhood can provide). I keep up to date through online sources, and at low volume.

Vegetarianism. I don’t think I can label myself truly vegetarian as I still eat seafood. But, the label isn’t as important as taking the action. It was a gradual change but one I felt called towards. I’m not an exciting vegetarian, I’m a mundane one. No fancy recipes, no moves to become vegan. Just me. Me and my carrots.

For all this, I give thanks.  In celebration, here’s Yo-Yo Ma, with Kathryn Stott, playing one of the most beautiful pieces of music ever written. The Swan encompasses the seasons in the arc of a life. At least that’s what I think. Perfect for autumn and Thanksgiving.