Going for Coffee
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)
Upon waking from brief escape,
I’m anxious, timorous.
Sky’s darkest blue is unrecognizable.
For all-consuming shades and shadows,
Blanket dreary these cold, unknowable hours.
Is it morning or midnight?
I tuck my exhausted heart beneath the crumpled duvet,
And await a calm of light.
***
Before our worlds unraveled, then knotted,
Before life pulled our friendship apart,
Untethered our hearts, then shattered,
Do you remember,
Our laughter and blue stained fingers,
Our common goal, our only enemy,
The laden branches and brambles,
At the edge of your grandma’s garden?
44 words for this week’s Quadrille on d’Verse Poet’s Pub. The prompt: brambles.
Our voices smash against barren bedroom walls.
Questions, pleas, crash down upon the hallway floor
As we pass each other wordlessly.
The possible in life seems unlikely to us now.
We hear only the faintest, constant, drum beat,
And it metes out our days.
44 words for d’Verse quadrille.
Slid-sideways on marble, fell-tumbled at market
Sucking lemons is better than swallowing bitter pills.
No sleeve’s wide enough to wear that bloody heart.
Pouring sorrows over arching muddles
Like rain flooding gigantic puddles.
Silly isn’t it to waste a day being
bucolic,
melancholic,
alcoholic.
Jo-Anne Teal, Writer 