Disappointments descend, flutter, circle down, surrounding me
Like autumnal crimson leaves fall to rest at the base of a maple tree
Like layers of discarded, crumbling leaves, covering me up
Like last night’s blankets and denied possibilities
Like last night’s dreams
44 words for this week’s d’Verse quadrille prompt: up
And while I was within
An ace of falling for your lies,
Believing your cries of devotion,
Waiting for Spring to begin.
I heard my heartbeats.
Louder than words,
Moving me towards,
A life that would not repeat,
The pain of loving you again.
44 words Quadrille for this week’s d’Verse Poets prompt: ace
Together, our moments, first gently, awaken this
Unexpected, fragile flicker.
Warmth rises from deep within,
Blush rushes to my surfaces,
Exposing my quietest secret.
Your voice is autumnal afterglow,
Baritone whisper a sip of fine wine.
My lips part, always wanting one drop more.
This week’s d’Verse Poet’s Pub’s quadrille prompt (44 words): ‘sip’.
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’
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).
Though I cannot touch your shirtsleeve, I reach out.
You answer me, pull me close with softly written words.
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.
d’Verse Poetics prompt: what images or senses fill your minds when you think back on your school days?