The January House

The January halls
are empty;
they echo
with thin, pale memories

The January house
is bare and
spare,
empty

There are no tchotchkes
no collections
no trophies
no books
no pictures
to distract the eye,
or absorb the sound
of a single pair
of slippers
shuffling
through the January halls.

Hollow echoes
bounce
off the hard,
bare surfaces.

The January house
stands empty,
waiting
to be filled

This is for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads where we are challenged to write something springing from the word hollow.

Changes

Today is unseasonably warm
The shed wall is thick with Asian beetles
We’ve had once-in-a-century floods
the past three years.

Running through my brain,
insistent as an unfed cat,
is the thought
this isn’t right

Is it too early to panic
or too late?

This is in response to  dVerse Poets,  whose writing prompt is a quadrille (44 words) including the word ‘early’.

Malaise

There is an emptiness
in these days, a barrenness
Surely we have
taken a wrong turn

Birds keep searching, calling
to one another
endlessly circling the skies
but they find nothing 
with which to build their nests

Oceans are punishing
the shore 
stealing it away
bit by bit
and no one seems to notice

The land sighs and shrugs under
its bitter coat of snow
It has forgotten
how once it
enticed seeds to germinate

I try to turn inward, but
there is a wall
everywhere I look
topped with razor wire

Somewhere there must be a door
but I cannot find it

Caught in the Wind

leaves blown

Caught in the wind
like lonely crow’s caw of despair.
Caught in the wind
words spilled, lost to the world, then pinned
against a branch – a scrap of prayer,
tattered and flapping, yet still there,
caught in the wind.

This is a Rondelet (see below for sepcifics)  written in response to “Fussy Little Forms” at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.

I couldn’t find who took the photo.  If it’s yours let me know and I’ll either credit you, or remove it, as you choose.

The Rondelet is a seven line French poetry from with the following rhyme and meter:

Line 1 :: A—four syllables
Line 2 :: b—eight syllables
Line 3 :: A—repeat of line one
Line 4 :: a—eight syllables
Line 5 :: b—eight syllables
Line 6 :: b—eight syllables
Line 7 :: A—repeat of line one

Woman with Long Hair

woman-with-long-hair-1929.jpg!Large
Woman with Long – Hair, Man Ray, 1929

I am the woman with the long hair
grown through years of want
and waiting

I am the woman with the stillborn dreams
feeling them dry up within me
throughout my gestation

I am the woman with the red shoes
dancing for my life
as the crowd looks on

I am the woman with the arching back
bent to your will
always aching

I am the woman with the bloody hands
reaching for a cigarette
sick of all the bullshit sacrifice

This is for the November Photographic Challenge at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads.