Lisa at dVerse asks us to write a quadrille (poem of 44 words) using the word “way.” Here’s my drowsy offering as midnight creeps closer. Click on Mr. Linky to join in!
When sleep comes my way
darkness warm like mother’s milk
lulls my hungry wakeful eyes,
I sink at last in ocean light
to caverns deep where you await
a Prospero’s Ariel caught betwixt
reflections of the world above
and the mirrors of my mind.
It’s “Meeting the Bar” at dVerse, where Bjorn asks us to use the autocomplete function in Google to generate lists that transport us to imaginative poetic heights. Check them out by clicking Mr. Linky and join in!
I began with typing in “Give me” as a search term which led me down rabbit holes ending with typing in “silence” midway, trying to find my way out of the dark wood in which I’d ended. Beware Google.
Give me one reason, sister silence, give me directions home, oh sister do you hear? give me the time of day a nightingale sings Silent bays, skies, silent rage and silent lambs must sit on silent hills, searching Google in Thrace Satyr Silenus, do you hear, your drunken nights by Dionysus's side have all led you to make a king turn a daughter's flesh to gold, oh, oh, oh! Give me liberty sits enthroned, untutored, give me love lyrics for dirty ears, Alexa! ask tongueless Philomela, oh sister hear! "inappropriate predictions" don't you think? Google, show me the severed head of Itys unmourned unseen, "I'm feeling lucky," tereu, tereu Non, silento! Basta! Enough! Give me love I don't need the win, just directions home from here to there. Give me Jesus. Please.
She came sailing in —
foxgloves in murder digitalis
shape-shifters in book-covered heat
an Austen novel in her head
pharmacopœia of bottled lust
in everyone else’s closet Gothic
unholstered in a room of Macbeths
unshriven, exhumed desire
— sailing in, lighting torches
blanketed fire,
lavender swan.
Merril's Quadrille #113: "Blanket Us" for dVerse A dVerse quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words. Click on Mr. Linky to read more and join in!
The late heather blooms
In wild array, scent chill fogs
Fall’s breeze, through mists, bogs
Take hold of moors, mount the heights,
Stay, watch summer’s sweet demise.
Image attribution: wikipedia Written for Jude's The Saturday Symphony #13:"Rhythm of Autumn" -- Let us go retro this week and share a thought on the season, with rhyme and flow. Sammi's Weekend Writing Prompt: Using the word "Heather" write prose or poem in exactly 27 words
Broken shadows across the cracked ground
your grave day lost in flurried words
like September leaves across
yesterday’s hallowed ground
grief yet uninterred:
you six years gone
from my sight
till Day
breaks.
Written for dVerse’s “Poetic: 9 across for a countdown,” this nonet begins with a line from W.S. Merwin’s “To the Light of September:”
This Jolly Beggar 