she doesn’t drink from
would rather choke
on jagged truths
feel the cold-rush rumble
before the storm
she plucks pitch-black petals
from her garden heart
offers them up in bouquets
she types eulogies
in her sleep
for loved ones
not yet passed
For this week’s Quadrille at dVerse Poets Pub.
De has given us the word “type” or any form of the word to include in our 44 word poems.
Man, do I ever love that first stanza. Especially:
“feel the cold-rush rumble
before the storm”
Thanks De. I wrote a suggestion in the pub for you, hoping it may help you with the techy troubles.
This was an intriguing piece of poetry. Once can feel those dark thorns.
A dark reality. Some people suffer this sadly. Depression can be terrible. I can relate.
This is luscious. Those black petals, leading up to that brilliant ending.
I love that last stanza!
I’ve been thinking of what my obit will be like.
Im thinking of a eulogy form. Can I get with your lady? My wife won’t mind. I think.
A sentient black hole. A person you can love from a distance but don’t get too close. Wonderful character study, Mish.
Well. She seems like she’d be a fun friend to have! (just kidding!)
Love the opening especially, and the end. Well forged middle. I guess I like it all.
Powerful beginning that kept getting better. Love this, Mish!