He keeps the window open almost always.

For he can’t shake off the dusty layer he’s gathered over time.

His elbow has a bruise, purple yellow at a glance, from bumping into walls,

Down darkening halls, he has no reason to travel.

But he keeps a distance from the door, never seems to reach it.

It used to creak, that door, the front door on the first floor,

Where many, too many, have stood in indecision

On the other side, never his side.

He can’t see the scuff marks on the once white threshold,

Where they’ve stopped, moved no farther,

No further, in his case, in any event, in an emergency he would step out, step over.

No doubt, one day soon he will, he’ll have to leave.

But until that day, until that time,

He keeps the window open almost always.

d’Verse Poetics – Oral Poetry

Photo above from Unsplash taken by Frank Busch.

There was a day

There was a day when I was twelve.

I sat upon a purple blanket, on the green field beside the park’s baseball diamond.

The sun blazed hot.

My bare toes searched through cool blades of June grass.

I had no cares except everything.



44 word quadrille for this week’s d’Verse prompt: happiness


His arm outstretched on the bar top so long

Defining wood grain has marked his skin with deep welts, lines,

Semi-permanent tattoos, depicting the aching magnetism

Of old fashioned, warm amber, honeyed,

Pain relief. Waiting.

Just beyond his fingertips, though never beyond his grasp.

d’Verse quadrille (44 word poem) prompt: magnetic (in any form)