Scattered
never-static particles stream
in space-time light to earth-sea,
crushed shells rise as limestone cliffs,
crumbling
like bones–
dinosaur, fish, and we
fertilize the flowers–
with blood and ash,
the red and white,
of chalk dust
in the sunlight,
sparkling like tiny stars
flying home.
For today’s dVerse, I combined quadrille prompts. Today’s word is “static,” and the previous quadrille that I missed was, “chalk.” A quadrille is a dVerse term for a poem of exactly 44 words.
Assume the world’s full of joy,
not hate,
stare at birds,
wonder at our fate
and if we’ll mind what happens after–
“the late”
they’ll call us,
if not the great–
but we’ll be gone,
beings that are not immortal
(unless time folds–perhaps a portal?)
and so, we shouldn’t hesitate
just assume the joy
of stars and earth
of moons that hum with charming mirth
then laugh, my dear–
no, stop, wait
—listen
there–the robin on the garden gate
I needed a poetry break this afternoon!
This is for Secret Keeper’s Challenge.
The prompt words were: Assume/Mind/Late/Being/Stare
Albertus Pictor (1440-1507, “Death Playing Chess”
By Håkan Svensson (Xauxa) (Own work) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/) or CC BY 2.5 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons
Life and death, becomes a game
(it’s played for keeps)
study the board,
black and white
(in a world of color)
in a world of uncertainty
predictable,
life and death,
black and white,
the stark focus of opposites,
sad, happy, quiet, loud.
Kings captured, castles fall,
we’re all pawns,
in the game
a draw
only delays the inevitable
checkmate
This poem is for Secret Keeper’s Writing Challenge. The prompt words were: Game/Study/Sad/Loud/Become
For some reason, the image of the knight and Death playing chess in Ingmar Bergman’s movie, The Seventh Seal popped into my mind. Who know where these things come from?
By Mathews, F. Schuyler, Field Book of Wild Birds and Their Music. . .,” 1922 [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0) or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
1.
Red-caped cardinal
calls, tolls, each passing hour,
leaves and lives transformed.
Spring-green ages to red-gold,
golden curls turn to silver.
2.
gentle breeze blows,
brushes a leaf tenderly,
a story revealed
in its frangible surface
life, beauty ephemeral
Max Liebermann, “The Preserve Makers,” 1879 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
At break of dawn, the robin sings,
without fail he chimes the hour
awakening spring in joyous song.
The workers rise from slumber’s dreams
as fires start and kettles steam.
At break of dawn, the robin sings.
Firmly in place, they keep sharp pace,
with foreman near, they mustn’t tarry.
Without fail, he chimes the hour.
They live and love and dream and hope–
and listen for the robin’s trills,
awakening spring in joyous song.
This is a cascade poem in response to Secret Keeper’s Weekly Writing Challenge.
This week’s words are: Place/Sharp/Chime/Firm/Pace.
The daffodils are gone now with the spring,
yet the robin cheers me with his song.
Though new buds form and birds take wing,
the daffodils are gone now with the spring.
Who knows of time, what will it bring?
Our lives soon end, we’re not here long.
The daffodils are gone now with the spring,
yet the robin cheers me with his song.
NaPoWriMo, Day 8. Today’s prompt: flowers. I wrote a triolet.
Yesterday and today: Merril's historical musings 