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.
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.
d’Verse Poetics prompt: what images or senses fill your minds when you think back on your school days?
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
In the warm cocoon of a calm childhood, sleep descended, downy soft
Air inhaled-exhaled easily, soft skin on crisp cotton sheets
Bright, crayon-box dreams were standard production of cosy nights for years.
But frights found their way through unfamiliar movement, harsh words
Whisper hissed behind doors quickly-tightly shut
Secrets came-in-went-out through the kitchen door, heavy footsteps fading, leaving.
Cold shivers replaced blankets as your night cover
No rounded thoughts or multi-worded sentences were shared
The most important detail of your life story spoken casually, chosen carelessly, by another.
And no matter which way you turned your ear to the pillow, you couldn’t ever hear it.
**a poem I’ve written and re-written. I keep wanting to improve it because the subject matter is so personal. This is the April 2017 version. **