Heron at dawn. Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield.
Early morning is heron-still,
the grey wing-brushed sky waits for feathered clouds to part,
or sprinkle diamond drops
around sunflowers’ throats, who smile and tilt their heads,
offer tiny mirrors to bees,
to see a world worked in threads reflected blue, invisible to us.
A quadrille for
dVerse. We’re getting much-needed rain today.
Dreamy sky, morning moon
My favorite time of day–
breakfast-fed cat licks his paws,
no human voices,
only star-songs’ glittering traces, and moon-hums.
on cotton candy clouds– gives a crescent grin, and I grin back, the dawn a bright-feathered promise—
crows wake with clatter-clamoring caws,
just so, they say.
A quadrille for
Frants Diderik Bøe, “Birds in the Midnight Sun,” [Public domain]
Who can count the stars in the sky,
or every type of bird that flies, struts, or swims on rivers blue-jay-bright, or soars the night on vast raven wings? Can you count all these things— pinprick lights, feathered strings connected songs, they, we sing.
A quadrille for
yesterday’s dVerse prompt—the word was type. I will be back later to host today’s Tuesday Poetics on dVerse!
Dawn arrives on golden peacock wings,
I want to hold the moment—all such magic–
not in gilded cages,
but wrapped in a downy blanket, like a baby held against my breast,
to cherish the weight
of heavy-lidded dreams–
of stars’ light
A quadrille for dVerse using the prompt word, wrap. I half-wrote this poem in the middle of the night, but then, there was this beautiful sunrise this morning.
Odilon Redon, Dante and Beatrice
How is the sky blue
when the world is grey-shrouded,
where sunflowers drip with blood,
and parades are strewn-confetti-terror?
Today, the sun and clouds are a lemon meringue pie.
Celebrate with me. Make memories of bird-dawns and moon-songs, wine-kisses and laughter. We’ll ignore tomorrow.
A poem for
dVerse. I’m hosting Quadrille Monday. The prompt word is celebrate, as we’re celebrating the 11th anniversary of dVerse this week.
Witch: “Careful the tale you tell.
That is the spell. Children will listen.” Finale, Into the Woods, Stephen Sondheim
Like beanstalks, lies sprout overnight
rising high enough to support giants, as the world withers below
a field of moon-daisies grows,
with seeds cast like spells to reflect light,
the glimmer-truth of stars,
birdsong carried and bee-buzzed
they learn. Careful, they listen.
quadrille for dVerse. The prompt word is spell. My head is full of lies and stories. Some of the same . . . I watched the January 6 Committee hearings today—more revelations about the former president’s lies. We saw Into the Woods at the Arden Theatre in Philadelphia on Saturday. Coincidentally. Bernadette Peters sang “Children Will Listen” last night at the Tony Awards in a segment honoring the late Stephen Sondheim.
Vincent van Gogh, Olive Grove
“(There are) many stories which are not on paper, they are written in the bodies and minds of women.” — Amrita Pritam
Browse the archives, finger-brush ancient tablets
looking for their names—
you may find a few,
the chattel and relicts of men,
repositories of seeds, like the Earth,
their roots in deep-time connection,
they whisper stories–
conquest, war-spoils, love, and loss, their children, don’t forget.
A double dVerse challenge:
a poem inspired by a line from the work of Punjabi poet Amrita Pritam, and a quadrille (44-word poem ) containing the word “browse.”
Some of you know I’m a historian. I’ve spent a lot of time in archives trying to uncover women’s stories.
This toddler-tantrum world
needs a nap—
as under a snowy coverlet
bulbs sleep until spring comes
to bloom without fuss or fight–unfathomable,
the beauty that makes us—and bees—swoon
gold-dusted, what are their dreams?
A collective vision, pollen-scented harmony in ultraviolet color?
This is a quadrille for
dVerse. The prompt word is sleep.
Low Tide at Pourville, by Claude Monet
never-static particles stream
in space-time light to earth-sea, crushed shells rise as limestone cliffs, crumbling
dinosaur, fish, and we fertilize the flowers– with blood and ash, the red and white,
of chalk dust
in the sunlight, sparkling like tiny stars flying home.
For today’s dVerse, I combined quadrille prompts. Today’s word is
“static,” and the previous quadrille that I missed was, “chalk.” A quadrille is a dVerse term for a poem of exactly 44 words.
John Reinhard Weguelin, The Yellow Sands
Written on the Sand
She wrote a letter
on paper made of sand, erased by surf and weather origami-folded by tides, her hand
the embodiment of collaged hope, she was a vision, dream, perhaps, a trope–
still, you glimpsed her sea-blown hair
saw peace beach-written there.
A quadrille for
dVerse (44-word poem). The prompt word is paper.