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’
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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).
I love the early morning on dark rain pitter-patter days
When the hours after will stretch out unspoken for
When the choices of time are only mine
The serenity of the cool pavement filled with water from sodden clouds
Bursting at the seams to unburden themselves
To share the sadness created, brought together from a thousand miles
Clouds see a thousand sights, stretch slowly, stretch slow lee across the gray skies
What do they see? Only tops of buildings, apex of trees trying to touch them
Or do clouds fill themselves with the thoughts of those whose lives they cover and uncover
Are clouds full of memories and is that why they rain?
Though I cannot touch your shirtsleeve, I reach out.
You answer me, pull me close with softly written words.
Soothe. Calm.
We shield ourselves with flannel paragraphs,
Hold life’s storms at bay,
Understanding, no matter what our whethers,
Friendship moors us in undeniable harbour.
44 words for d’Verse Poets Pub Monday quadrille prompt: harbor/harbour
At the intersection of what has always been and what might be,
A short teenage girl stretches tall, centre stage,
Her favourite blouse of red and white stripes complete with floppy bow
Distracts only slightly from her deliberately punc-tu-a-ted words,
Shared into a screechy mic atop the old oak podium.
Harsh amateur spotlight provides a momentary halo,
Trades her dark chestnut hair for light ashy blonde.
The change mimics her rehearsed act of defiance,
Trading natural, absolute shyness
For feigned, casual confidence.
A fledgling leader addressing her assembled, disheveled, constituents,
Before fifth bell dismisses classes for the day.
Sisters, unlike.
One rounded, one jagged.
Puzzle pieces never able to click-fit.
Don’t make trouble, I begged,
Never understanding she didn’t.
Her heart broken in shards, impossible to mend.
My wrists cut in bloody despair.
She salved, bandaged my wounds
Before fading from view.
*****
Itching to know the cool breeze upon her back, urging her.
To herself be a verse of possibilities rather than the chorus on repeat,
She answered yes to questions she’d dared not say aloud.
Then as they slept, she crept,
Leapt.
And walked away.
d’Verse Poets celebrate 7 years online with this quadrille prompt: itch
