The January sun is slow to rise
she shakes her flaxen head,
then dabs a bit of light—
there some color, bright
against grey, wheat, white,
the silvered-lawn sparkles–behold!
What’s to come? Black crow calls—more cold–
before summer blooms in colors bold.
A quadrille for dVerse, where De asks us to use some form of the word dab.
“We are such stuff as dreams are made on”
William Shakespeare, The Tempest.
We soar past sleep,
stop to eat
the stars—swallow as they glide,
we abide
outside and within–
of such stuff, our dreams begin
to flutter-float, winging high
to fly upon some glittery boat
then with a quivery sigh,
they drift away, whispering goodbye.
A quadrille for dVerse. Lisa is hosting and asks us to use the word, “abide.”
Somewhere in space, impossibly it seems,
the stars always sing. They bring to rings of light,
celestial rhythm, a chance to dance, a sort of space romance,
a stellar pas de deux.
In whirling-waltz, they swirl possibly unaware,
of sparks flame-shot in incandescent flares.
A quadrille for dVerse, where De has asked us to use some form of the word possible.
In shadowed mood, I river-walk
see heron in the gloaming-light,
and deer that shyly peer, then sprint
in white-flashed flight to rock-strewn beach.
Is this happiness, or calm release
of anger stored, of finding peace
in the susurrous wind sighs–
a promise, hope’s rise.
Lillian has asked us to use the word happy–or some form of it–in a quadrille for dVerse. It usually makes me feel better when I take a walk, and especially if I see “my” heron or some deer.
Inconstant,
the magnetic north roams
to Siberia
under rocky plates it riffs, shifts, reverses course
in search of answers
we all seek–
but encompass me in moonlight,
(not) polar opposites,
we spin, sing, bodies electric,
attracted, charged,
surging, urging—so, star-dusted cling–
luminosity bring.
A quadrille for dVerse, where De asks us to use some form of the word magnet.
Newborn babes swaddled against February cold,
my mother with end-of-life chill, carefully wrapped
in snowflake dotted red, like a holiday gift.
My cat on his cozy throw, dreaming
as a crunch of russet leaves
blankets the grass.
Under covers, entwined, we wait for spring.
A quadrille for dVerse, where I’m hosting tonight. The word is blanket.
Trees and birds kiss the sky
in blue-on-blue reflection
and today, I’ll sky the world with you
without pause or hesitation.
In mirrored lands we’ll float
on dreams, the clouds our boat
watching the heron squawk, soar–
this is enough, I need nothing more.
A quadrille for dVerse, where De has asked us to use the word, sky. I think the rhythm of this one is more soothing than my previous post this morning. I don’t know why I’m stuck on couplets and rhyme though today.
In early America, neighbors eavesdropped
from other rooms, behind the shed, from a bed.
Now, the surveillance is also electronic
from devices, lovers (or friends platonic),
scammers and crooks hear what you say—
the powers-that-be, also may—
hear all. Who knows
where conversations go?
Kim is hosting dVerse, and she has asked us to use the word eavesdrop in a quadrille. My dissertation/first book was on marital discord in eighteenth and early nineteenth-century Pennsylvania. Court papers and divorce depositions often included the testimony of neighbors or people living in or visiting the household. And yes, sometimes listening to a sexual encounter while lying in the same bed.
In guarded gardens, flowers grow
ordered, only the fittest fit–
tethered and trellis-trained
conserved, cared for, chromatic beauties
we pay to see
this oasis between highway deserts.
Yet, the unguarded blooms, guileless,
persistent, propagating
through buzzed bees and birds’ peck,
specks drop, imbed, again.
Wildflowers and plants, West Deptford, NJ
For dVerse,where Victoria asks us to write about gardens in a quadrille. Top photos are of a trip to Longwood Gardens one February about 10 years ago on my husband’s birthday. We had a freak warm spell with temperatures in the 70s F by the afternoon. It snowed the next day.
I’ve been doing lots of walking, and I often take pictures of the wildflowers growing all around my part of the world.
Portrait in Blue Goose on the Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield, July 2020 ©️Merril D. Smith
Blue where water meets the sky,
beyond the space where spirits fly
to dance upon a snowy crest
of waves, indigo and azure dressed–
and there the seabirds drift, serene,
and there I watch—for past has been—
strangely content to view this blue.
A quadrille for dVerse, where Kim asked us to use the word blue. This day started as a blue Monday with a poetry rejection in my in-box, but then I went for a walk in the beautiful morning, which cheered me up. I already wrote my Monday Morning Musings and used the same photo above. BUT–it’s just too perfect not to use again. So, I’m posting twice today, and with the same photo.
A quadrille is a dVerse form of exactly 44 words in any style. I chose to rhyme today.
