A Measure of Tears



“Moscow Metro” by Michael E. Arth (via Wikipedia Commons)


Her stoic mother kissed her,

the day the man took her away,

Smolensk to Moscow, a measure of tears


that never flowed for the Motherland–

there is duty, and there is love–she remembered

her stoic mother kissed her–


not the first time, but definitely the last,

while the embarrassed sun sulked behind the clouds

the day the man took her away


to that gated place. She learned to dissemble–and excelled–

yet inside a child remained, hurting–

Smolensk to Moscow, a measure of tears.


A wisp of a story in a cascade poem for Jane Dougherty’s prompt, using the above image, Moscow Metro by Michael E. Arth, as inspiration. I picked Smolensk because that’s where the character Elizabeth Jennings came from on the show, The Americans.










In the Dream Time: NaPoWriMo


“The Future Began Here,” ESO/B. Tafreshi [CC BY 4.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0)] via Wikipedia Commons: “This week’s picture was taken by ESO Photo Ambassador Babak Tafreshi at ESO’s La Silla Observatory. The bright lane of the Milky Way can be seen streaking across the skies above the Chilean Atacama Desert, beneath which sits the New Technology Telescope (NTT), one of the ten active telescopes located at the observatory. La Silla is the oldest observation site used by ESO. . .”

The moon hums, and the stars sing

and the souls go a-wandering,

to dance in a shimmering ring.


There is no past, no care what future brings

as they float and whirl and swing–

while the moon hums, and the stars sing,


the owls hoot along, then they take wing,

and the trees remember—everything–

as the souls go a-wandering.


Perhaps I dream? Time circles, springs

when souls fly high in gossamer strings,

to dance in shimmering rings.


Off prompt today for NaPoWriMo. I just couldn’t face sad, and the first two lines came to me at the gym. (Don’t ignore the muse!) This is a cascade poem. I wrote of a cascade, but I didn’t actually write a cascade poem for Amaya’s prompt the other day on dVerse, so I’m doing this one for Open Link night. 
















Chiming the Hour


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.












Secret Treasures


By Acabashi (Own work) [CC BY-SA 4.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

“And the secret garden bloomed and bloomed and every morning revealed new miracles.”

–Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden


She opened the hidden gate,

eyes bright, but hands atremble

eager to discover treasures in a secret garden.


Greeted by scents of summer joy,

she tasted them, fresh and tender, green and bright.

She opened the hidden gate.


Digging here and there, uncovering roots and buds,

ensorcelled by the buzz of bees and trills of birds,

eyes bright, but hands atremble,


she pricked her fingers on thorns of roses,

saw flowers wondrous strange, she danced in delight,

eager to discover treasures in the secret garden.


This cascade poem is in response to Secret Keeper’s Weekly Writing Prompt


This week’s words are: Open/Strange/Taste/Fresh/Tender








In the cascade of tumbling water, I find peace

calm between the iridescent streams,

flowing like silver tresses rippling in the wind.


My beloved fawn keeps watch beside me

both of us seeking refuge in this place,

in the cascade of tumbling water, I find peace.


Once I longed to abandon my virgin state,

now, I hunt with arrows and bow, then rest

calm between the iridescent streams.


An eagle soars high above me, I think of him

he, gilded by moonlight, the grape vines heavy with fruit,

flowing like silver tresses rippling in the wind.


This is in response to Jane Dougherty’s Poetry Challenge.

The challenge this week is a cascade poem. There is no rhyme scheme. The first line of the a three line verse becomes the last line of verse two; the second line become the last line of verse three, and the third line of verse one becomes the last line of the verse four. For a longer cascade poem, add more lines to the first verse.

The prompt this week was the picture above and these words: cascade/tresses/eagle/abandon/rippling