Announced today, we can hug.
In the park, you watch a tiny chipmunk scamper up a tree.
A cool breeze blows through your longish, white hair.
I watch you smile.
clouds move for the sun
time slips through silver threads
nature’s drum beats on
A Quadrille for dVerse Poets Pub.
Write a poem of exactly 44 words including the word “drum”.
Doors open at 3 p.m. EST. Happy to be your host.
you win
drafting me unwillingly
one more warrior
in a choke
….hold
I. could. die.
simply thinking about
the risk
you’ve offered me
on a silver platter
like the devil, sly
with guileful grin
but this fool isn’t your fix
I choose
to live
I am an RECE ( Registered Early Childhood Educator), “Educator” being the key word. Infants, toddlers and preschoolers learn through hands on exploration, purposeful play and socialization. In the midst of a pandemic, I will soon be expected to return to this environment where social distancing is not possible and little ones require close contact. I am not a health care worker but will be expected to assume the same risk. At 59, I am forced to decide between safety or an income. It haunts me daily.
It’s Quadrille time at dVerse. De is our wonderful host.
The word is “fix” to be included in a 44 word poem.
image credit: pixabay.com
pixabay.com
Will I find the dream again? Somewhere in this new realm reeking of reality? I feel like I’m treading on the nothings of my days. Guilty of nothing. Achieving nothing. Feeling everything but nothing. Watching moments pass shamelessly into nothingness. Is that a word? I don’t even write this way. Horizontal thoughts wishing to waterfall once more. At least I’ve kept my not so subtle sense of alliteration throughout the aberration. Alas (what?) my poetic skin is paling, failing. Hmm…internal rhyme intact and that is whacked. Maybe I should slam. These words are not my jam. Who am I?
Sharing with dVerse Poets Pub. It’s Open Link Night! I am your host.
Originally written for PANDEMIC POETRY
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and my normalcy stands naked
against alien stars
and virgin skies
earth speaks of simpler things
in archaic tongues as
cinders of the commonplace
lie blatantly at my feet
She offers me seeds I don’t remember
I plant them in empty gardens
unbeaten paths
timeless, rich soils, untouched
by my aching body, my weary mind
I kick the ashes
desperate to stir the life I knew
but ashes fade fast
into the light
Written for Poetics at dVerse Poets Pub in response to a quote by Mizuta Masahide
“Barn’s burnt down, now I can see the moon”
In these unfamiliar times, as pieces of our regular life break away, what do you see?
Share your own personal epiphanies in a poem. Doors open at 3 p.m. I am pleased to be your host.
