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
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