He didn’t glance back before falling forward
Into the still unknown of shocking cobalt.
No one there to fuss or hold him
No one to cry out at just the right moment
Into the midnight afternoon breeze –
For those he’d loved always, eventually
Let go of his hand.
Left him stranded.
And when he realized this, his fate
He’d grieved. Hardened.
Become impenetrable stone.
Then (against even the quirkiest laws of nature)
Frozen to fragile ice, cracked, shattered.
If not submerged within this serene, sharp sapphire
Where else was he meant to be?
Written for dVerse, an ekphrastic poem responding to a work of art. Here that work is a beautifully complex, yet simple, evocative painting by Fay Collins
Zippo snaps, sparks the flame,
Essential for this daily tinder routine.
Zig zags contain dusty, seedy remains of
His birthday stash from Lex and Jean.
Dad’s lighter, used over years
Engraving’s worn off and disappeared.
What a crazy old ride from cigar to spliff.
Photo by Evan Phillip on Unsplash
Written for this week’s quadrille prompt on d’Verse: use some form of the word ‘zip’.
My days as dangerous and echoing as a tin with razor sharp edges thrown into the bin.
Then summer. You.
Your free spirit like birdsong, trilled,
Found me, loved me, filled my world to bursting.
Egg shells cracked mosaic-like,
Fledgling life peaked through.
For Monday’s d’Verse Quadrille prompt: Egg
Sinewed hands grab my shoulders, shove me sideways down unfamiliar streets.
Glowing in the distant dark there shimmers a landed mermaid, enchanting, enticing,
Melting in the tarnished silver spoon I wasn’t born with.
Burns my hands. Burns my veins.
Soundless, the world is ash.
44 words (quadrille) for d’Verse. Prompt word: burn
When he speaks plain truth to himself, not often that is,
He whisper-tells that when he twists door handles, enters,
Rooms chill into icy, stony-silent, thin air.
But his deliberate shuffle awakens low-register murmurs,
Piercing, hot hissed hums.
Air full, no, fat.
44 word quadrille for today’s dVerse Pub
Lean down and let me kiss your furrowed brow.
Let me sweep away the shadowy doubts,
Brush them aside with symphonic flourish,
With a lover’s grand, poetic gesture.
An ode to our unparalleled connection,
A canto for the exquisite years we’ve left to be.
44 words for dVerse Pub’s quadrille prompt: poem
Tired times, waiting, fleeting, stolen.
Moments meant for someone else’s life,
Descend like sparse crumbs fall from the dinner table.
Mine to capture, hide, and cling to for all I’m worth.
Ricochet your guilt if you must.
Bounce back to me. Soon.