Present

We rush through
a tinderbox world 
with an armload of matches
as the wind picks up

Skies darken
lightning flashes
but no rain falls

Ignorance and Want
follow us
track us
trace our steps
drawing ever closer

Then high above
the vultures begin to circle
and all our bad victories
catch in our throats

 

These 55 words are woefully late for Joy’s FF55 at Verse Escape.

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Mid-Night

There is a time
closer to night than morning
when parties fall
into ruin
and the moon wearies

There is a time
when dreams are forgotten
and shades
lose their way 

There is a time
when the clock
gives up its hands
and the hours pool
on the ground
running to regret

This is my time

This is for my friend Joy’s FF55 revival at Verse Escape, even though it’s not Friday, and if you’re counting, there aren’t 55 words.

Band Member

Signing up with the Sargent 
audition unrehearsed
first chair potential

the score, peppered with notes
unwarranted, unanswered, unsent

and I, virtuoso in
a minor key
play
plucking my heart
con dolore

transmuting
pain to melody
oxidation to harmony
and regret to

solo

 

This is for dVerse where we were asked to write  a Quadrille (44 words, including title) including some form of the word, “pepper” in honor of the anniversary of Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band.

Half Life

As I drift off to sleep I hear voices
like a radio playing, softly
in another room
just below
the threshold of understanding

In the morning
the voices are gone.
There is no radio
playing anywhere in the house
and so I go
about my day

Each night I listen
but I can never, quite hear
enough
to understand
and I cannot remember my dreams

 

This is written for the Sunday mini-prompt at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, where we have been asked to think and write about hearing voices.

 

Night in the Portrait Gallery of My Ancestors

The dead watch me
as I walk down the hall

I hear them whisper
among themselves
mournful, mindful
urgent or ironic
I cannot tell

when I turn
to look
mist gathers
behind my eyes
and they are still, silent,
poised within their frames

waiting…

 

This is a quadrille (poem composed of forty-four words) for dVerse Poets Pub.  De also asked us to include some form of the word “whisper” in our piece.