Now–a church in Philadelphia,
a sanctuary harboring
immigrants—
as medieval churches
once harbored
fugitives.
Then–my grandparents,
immigrants escaping
hate, fear, pogroms,
the shtetl, the Pale—
traveling—
to faraway ports–
chasing the American dream
through the Depression
always seeking a safe harbor–beyond
Lillian at dVerse has asked us to write a quadrille using the word harbor.
He is quick,
(slight scruffy boy)
but she is quicker,
grabbing his arm
(so thin),
his hand clutches an apple
from her market stand.
Flutters in her womb–
quickening. Life.
(He could be my son.)
She gives him bread,
more apples . . .
lets him go.
Louise Moillon, “Market Scene with a Pick-pocket,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
A quadrille for dVerse, where de Jackson (aka WhimsyGizmo) has asked us to use the word “quick.”
There is a silver spring
where golden fishes dwell
between the banks of sweet brown earth.
There, wondrous scarlet finches sing
in warbling notes, as if you to tell
(with constant mirth)
“Both skies and horses can be blue.”
You decide, dream-world, or true?
Franz Marc, “Large Blue Horses,” [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
A quadrille for dVerse. Kim asked us to use the word, “earth.”
In my mind, a perfect world would include blue horses.
I put my wishes in a box of sparkling air
send them off so you can share–
send them—there!–
to fly through star-filled skies,
scatter, fall, like meteor showers
land, bloom as luminescent flowers
of hope and joy,
on worlds restored, not destroyed.
I just put up a post about my new books, so now for something completely different–a quadrille for dVerse. De Jackson, aka Whimsy Gizmo, has asked us to use the word “box.” This is my anti-darkness quadrille. 🙂
I dream of huge white blossoms flaming and shooting off petals into the sky, turning it dark with flowery ash. Wondrous and a bit terrifying, this puzzle of my mind.
Moon silvers the trees,
green leaves pale in midnight glow—
dreams waiting to bloom
Anonymous, Südländische Ideallandschaft bei Mondschein, [Public Domain] via Wikipedia Commons
A Haibun quadrille for dVerse. Mish has asked us to use the word “puzzle,” or some form of it, in a quadrille, a poem of 44 words.
Spring breeze bewitches,
twitches–
fills you with an itch
to stretch and grow,
to flow
with rivers
you quiver,
undulating in delight.
Fall breeze calls–
unhitch–
enthralling you,
you switch
your sights–
to fly with geese
in victory’s V,
fleeing
through gloaming’s violet light.
This is for dVerse, now celebrating its seventh anniversary. Happy Anniversary! Grace has asked us to write a quadrille (a poem of 44 words) using the word itch.
“We’ll know as children again all that we are
destined to know, that the water is cold
and deep, and the sun penetrates only so far”
~ Jim Harrison from Death Again
Torn from parents
hearts ripped apart–
how it starts–
the cycle of hate
spinning behind gates.
Business we’re told,
souls are sold
in heat or dank cold
children are taught
the rotational fear,
fraught frontiers–
till some break free
to lead us
from insanity.
This is a quadrille for dVerse, where Kim has asked us to use the word cycle, and a response to Day 18 of Jilly’s 28 Days of Unreason, inspired by the poetry of Jim Harrison. Last night we saw Audra McDonald in concert. One of the songs she performed was a medley of “You’ve Got to Be Carefully Taught” from South Pacific (Rodgers and Hammerstein) and “Children Will Listen” from Into the Woods (Sondheim).
Cobble me
lights, shiny bright
stepping stones–
a path to roam
up in the night,
past the moon
and her humming tune,
lightly skip
through Pleiades–
those starry seas–
make this road
wide enough for two,
and when through,
we’ll turn around
homeward bound.
This is for dVerse, where De Jackson (aka Whimsy Gizmo) has asked us to write a quadrille, a poem of 44 words, using the word cobble.
Such rainy rain
fell–
dropped
for days it plopped,
then finally stopped,
so she could play
in shiny coat and
rubber boots,
skipping and prancing
and stomping and splashing
into those puddles
dashing–
Asked why, she replied
to step into the rainbows,
hiding inside.
Embed from Getty Images
This is a quadrille for dVerse, where Kim has asked us to write a poem about rain.
I’m getting sick of rain and writing about rain, but then I remembered a recent conversation I had with one of my now-grown daughters.
Muddle my mind
with syllables that sing
the zing of spring.
(Fevered believer.)
Befuddle me with blackholes and space–
see the moon’s humming face,
timeless, timebound,
her fullness, lost and found.
There the dying star
glowing from afar,
it’s unmuddled light,
clear, still bright.
Morning Moon
A quadrille for dVerse, where De Jackson (aka Whimsy Gizmo) has asked us to use the word muddle.
