Here is more spring-like quadrille
With delight, the robin sings
amidst his vernal wandering,
each treble note
seems to float
over newly surfaced yellow-green,
and we are keen
to feel the warmth, to taste the air,
to go about without a care
to listen to the songs of spring
By J. M. Pearson (Own work) [CC BY-SA 4.0 (
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons
I’ll make borscht today,
let it simmer in the pot
comforting and hot,
red like blood,
or flowers that
if ever spring returns,
ice now covers branches, leaves, and souls
twisted with cold,
memories of warmth faded
till ladled in a bowl
This is a
quadrille for dVerse. The prompt word was spring.
We got some snow yesterday, but then we got rain and sleet. Everything is coated in ice.
giggle when tickled by the breeze,
they bask in light,
their faces bright,
listen to the robins sing,
melodies of spring,
flowery laughs join birdsong,
till day is gone, all unspun,
the moon rises with a hum
his is for dVerse . The Quadrille Monday prompt from De Jackson (aka WhimsyGizmo) is “giggle.” (Doesn’t the word giggle make you giggle?) This photo is from a few years ago. Our daffodils haven’t bloomed yet, but they are starting to come up. They make me happy. A quadrille is a poem of 44 words; it is also a dance.
He watched them dance out on the beach,
watched them dance, just out of reach,
he stood and gazed, in a trance,
time stood still, or was enhanced,
a ghost flitted near and took his hand,
he joined the dance, for he was damned.
Thorvald Niss, “In the Morning On the Beach,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
This is for
dVerse, Quadrille Monday. This week it’s hosted by Kim from Writing in North Norfolk. The prompt word is ghost.
Dawn awakens, pink and red,
while from below, still in their bed
sleep fragrant flowers.
in morn or noon,
I’ll wander through sweet bowers
by the hours,
dance to April’s showers,
winter’s gloom will soon abate,
I’ll dream and wait.
This is for
dVerse, Quadrille #25
In 1799, George Washington died,
the nation cried,
with solemn faces,
tears leaving traces,
salt licks of grief.
we look at the past,
and fear the future casts
black shadows—so we mourn,
between hope’s whispers, freedom’s shout,
resist, watch out.
Another quadrille for
Current Events, History, Poetry Tagged
American History, Day of Doom, Despair, George Washington, Hope, Inauguration Day, Mourning, Presidents, Quadrille
Once, long ago, love whispered in her ear,
and she had dreamed,
heard the stars sing,
though her skin now ivory crepe
once glowed pink, luminous–
come, love, I’m tired,
Forever, she dances amidst the stars.
This is for
dVerse. The prompt was the word “whisper.”
Winter winds lash the trees,
the clouds sail, schooners
on an obsidian sea,
shimmering stars, sparkling dots,
pulsing to music of the universe,
echoed in our beating hearts–
remnants of other worlds
gone for a millennium,
here in your arms curled around me.
I’ve never written a quadrille, but I was intrigued by the idea–a poem of 44 words exactly. This is for
dVerse, and we were to use the word “curl” in the poem.