The hills call siren-like and steep.
Two children share a wooden sled,
new snow is beckoning and deep,
the hills call siren-like and steep.
They landed in a shattered heap,
too fast to suffer, it was said.

The hills called siren-like and steep.
Two children shared a wooden sled.


Well, this started out to be a quadrille (44 words) including the word “steep” to link to dVerse Poets’ Pub, but somehow it turned into a dark triolet.  Theat’s an eight line, iambic tetrameter poem with the rhyme scheme: ABaAabAB, where capital letters indicate repeated lines.  I haven’t written one of these in ages.


One day I will eat
egg whites in purgatory
with my sins stacked beside me
like pancakes

Today I wait
between the pages of a book

In the kitchen
a lone wasp circles
around the light

Outside snow gathers
in the low spots
I take out my biggest pot
this is a soup night