Whimsy Gizmo is our host for dVerse quadrille and asks us:
Scribble us a poem of possibility using just 44 words, including some form of the word possible.
Possibly Possible
the night is filled
with the auspicious
portent of possibility
for what the sun
will bring with dawning,
possible futures
lay aside the probability
of chance and dream
of hope and possibilities
throw open the window
of second chances and
all that is possible
word count 44
Til next time ~Peace ~JP
Merril is our host at dVerse Poets Pub for prosery.
Prosery is a piece of short prose that includes a line from a poem. I will give you the line, and then you incorporate it into your prose piece. It can be either flash fiction, nonfiction, or creative nonfiction, but it must be prose, not a poem. And it must be no longer than 144 words, not including the title. It does not have to be exactly 144 words. Our prompt is:
“there is nothing behind the wall
except a space where the wind whistles”
from “Drawings By Children” by Lisel Mueller
Shattered
She could still feel the ugly red pressure of the day it happened. The dull grey and orange of the sky, the torrent of air rupturing the early morning stillness like a sonic boom. The day the light died in his steel-grey eyes while he spoke the words that shattered her heart, her world, her soul.
It should have killed her. Pain like that should kill you instantly, like an arrow to the heart. But, alas, it did not. She pulled together the fragments of her shattered self and put them back together. Differently this time. Never again know the pain of love. She built a wall around her heart and to all who knew her, she seemed whole. But there is nothing behind the wall except a space where the wind whistles in hollow agony.
Word count 136
Til next time ~Peace ~JP
Whimsygizmo is hosting this month’s quadrille over at dVerse Poets Pub and asks to polarize ourselves with a poem of 44 words, including “magnet.”
Pull of the Compass
Your voice reached my ears
and drew my eyes to you
with all the force of an electro-magnet
my heart followed
the way a compass points north
and then my mind
with unerring precision
I know in a manner unknowing
precisely where you are
word count 44
Til next time ~Peace ~JP
Kim from Writing in North Norfolk is hosting at dVerse today and would like for us to write a bit of prosery including the following line from D.H. Lawrence’s poem “Hummingbird:”
‘We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope of Time’.
For an added challenge, we are limited to 144 words.
I take his gnarled hand in mine. Papery skin seeming somehow fragile. Hands that gently bottle fed a newborn kitten also struck fearsome taekwondo punches. Big hands, strong hands that made a little girl feel safe, that wiped away the tears and lifted the child back onto the bicycle. Hands that were meant for delicate technical work, not to be the home for needles and tubes. Brothers are weeping. We look at him through the wrong end of the long telescope of Time. Somehow the giant of a man appears reduced by the ravages of years. In my mind, I turn the telescope and see the young man diving from high cliffs into the surf far below. His hand caresses my cheek, wiping away one last tear. He whispers “don’t weep for me my angel” as I watch the light fade from his eyes.
word count 144
Til next time ~Peace ~JP
The quadrille over at dVerse Poets Pub this week is hosted by merrildsmith who asks us to use “blanket” in our poem of 44 words.
Bland tans and shades of faded ocher
blanket the hills, setting the scene
with splashes of brilliant canary and saffron
Autumn comes to lay her cloak
of colored leaves upon the fertile soil,
shielding tender seeds
from Winter’s chill
rich beauty, gone too soon
California Dreaming — The Mamas and The Papas
Til next time ~Peace ~JP
For dVerse Meeting at the Bar – our host today is Björn who asks us to try our hands at “verbing”
Smoke snaking across the sky
puddling into blood-red haze
tabling my irritation for a time
I quickly google what’s ablaze
Lazy Hazy Crazy Days of Summer ~ Nat King Cole
Til next time ~Peace ~JPP
Kim881 from Writing in North Norfolk, is our host for this week’s Haibun Monday
“For this challenge, I ask you to think about your own birthdays, ones from the past, one that is coming up, a memorable one, or one you are dreading. Whether it’s birthday cake and balloons, a quiet glass of wine on your own that turned into something memorable, or a complete disaster, I’d like you to share a birthday with us.”
Birthday Magic
Born on a cusp with an aura of blue, a child between signs. Always looking for where she fit in. Black and orange confetti, fairy costumes and pumpkins as happy children dance around the cake table. A birthday wish for magic and a pony.
Birthdays come and birthdays go. Her aura darkens as does the world. No dinner, no parties, nowhere that she fits in. No need to hide her blackened eye. Alone, she makes her birthday wish for magic and love.
Moons wax and wane as life goes on. She finds love again, and trust. Purple and black decorations, a pointy hat adorned with flowers, love and laughter. Amber eyes twinkle with merriment. No need for birthday wishes, she has all she needs, she IS magic.
Candle burning bright
years come and go by too fast
blow the candle out
Strange Magic — ELO
Til next time ~Peace ~JPP
Our host a dVerse Poets Pub Tuesday Poetics is Laura Bloomsbury, who asks us for our flights of fancy. The following is based on a real life observation of a nesting pair of Great Horned Owls who were being tormented by a scold of very noisy jays. One of the adult owls defiantly lured the jays away and suddenly turned on them, snatching one unwitting fellow right out of the air.
Flight of Fancy/Dance of Death
Whump, whump, whump the air throbs
under the assault of massive wings
three powerful strokes and he is aloft
master of the thermals
He dips one wing in silent condolence
to the pitiful flightless things below
while defiantly flying straight
into the scold of jays, and through
He climbs ever higher, taunting
inconsequential forms of lesser birds
that fall behind in the chase
still jeering they cluster … until
Pivoting on one wing, he falls
with sharp talons and flared wings
like an avenging angel set to smite
their relentless taunting
A silent cloud of black feathers
announces his success
Fly Like an Eagle — Steve Miller Band
Til next time ~Peace ~JP
For dVerse Poets Pub Open Link Night. This has been a crazy summer, from pandemics to devastating hail storms. There is a moment before the storm hits when you can almost feel the sky holding her breath … waiting. This summer feels like that to me, as we deal with rising death rates, more lock downs; I’m holding my breath, waiting. The air is moist and oppressive, lightning startling in it’s beauty and power. I don’t know how this will all turn out, but I know this; the sky is always clearer after the storm.
July
July came marching in sultry cadence
as heat rises and skies darken
for a moment all is still
a breeze caresses my cheek
scented with lingering traces
of bar-b-que, sunscreen and sweat
heavy with petrichor and promise
The wind begins to sing
through high tension wires
trees sway in a frantic dance
holding fast to precious leaves
cloth billows and strains
in air heavy with moisture
the scent of roses … and magic
Black cloud castles
remain still and unmoved
anchored to the blue sky
and the lightning begins
I wonder what the storm
will leave in it’s wake
but for now, I watch
and wait
Shelter from the Storm — Bob Dylan
Til next time ~Peace ~JP
For NaPoWriMo day 4 where today we’re writing about dream images
and for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub
Clouds of Dreams
I bounce along the clouds
as they form a path before me
like cobbled stepping stones
solid and multi-hued
but translucent to the light
that pours from the sky
through me, through the clouds
through the stones
reaching down I pluck
a yellow daffodil
as the clouds begin to whirl
and shift beneath my feet
until they part, leaving me
standing in clear air
Dreams — Fleetwood Mac
Til next time ~Peace ~JPP
