dVerse Poets: Quadrille

Today De is hosting the pub at dVerse for Quadrille Monday. Her word is “bounce”. Or bouncer, bouncing, bounced, etc. A Quadrille must have exactly 44 words (excluding the title) and the word for the day. I had heard through the years of frozen soap bubbles. I was intrigued. It is 18F today down here in the Sunny South. So I blew soap bubbles. I was so intrigued I did not take pictures. The bubbles were so fragile they only lasted a few second before they shattered anyway.

Frozen Bubbles
Sitting on my back steps
blowing bubbles –
It is 18F degrees –
The bubbles freeze.
They lift off my blower –
They float –
No bouncing on the grass,
no lifting their way to heaven.
a few seconds before they shatter.
Ephemeral beauty – fragile – gone!

public domain image


Haikai Challenge #16

For Frank Tassone’s haikai challenge #16,Freedom. Monday would have been my Mother’s 88th birthday. This is in her honor. She did love to ride behind me!


open road ahead
blue skies above – my Ducati
and I sing to the wind

Haibun: Nyuk nyuk y’all

As a child of the 50’s, I spent many hours in front of the TV. When I got home from school I would plop in front of it with a snack on the floor in front of me. Often an apple or an orange, sometimes a dumdum sucker or a an oatmeal snack cake. The consistent part was always the Three Stooges. I loved them. Or at least I loved Curly. He was always being poked in the eyes, bonked on the head, or catching his suspenders in the door and being dragged backwards to his original starting point. I’d imitate his bark, the way he would twist his hips and do the Curly shuffle – he’d put his head down and pump his feet making the Curly sound: whoopwhoop! Ruff ruff! Nahhhhhh. As he once told bully Moe, don’t hit me in the head. I ain’t normal. Nope. Curly wasn’t normal and neither was I. I’m still not normal. I hated dolls and loved dogs and cats instead. I began reading Emily Dickinson and T.S. Eliot at the age of 11. I began writing haiku when I was six. I stood on a chair so I could make pancakes for the family when I was four. I hated school but loved studying. And I would bark at people I didn’t like. I still do. Not.Normal. Nyuk nyuk. Ruff ruff. Y’all.

times change – people change –
children discover strange heroes –
laughter and not tears

Haibun: Field and Tree Line

Mish is the pub tender today and has given us a photo prompt.  She has given us the link to https://sunearthsky.com/  Sharon Knight is the photographer and the collection is called Meditations from the Midwest.  Some are black and white and others are in color.  She has given us permission to use her photographs for this prompt.  We are to pick one or more that speaks that to us.  This photo reminded me of my great-grandparents farm.  Come visit us at dVerse for this prompt and the poems that spring forth.

field and tree line – sharon knight used by permission

So many times I walked these fields – either by myself or as a child, tagging along behind my great-grandmother or another child of the neighborhood. The spring the fields were awash in tender green shoots of corn and in the summer, rows of full grown towering corn. Snow would cover the field in winter and in the fall – well, the fall was my favorite time. The late fall to be precise. How I loved the monotone quality of the colors and the light, the straight rows of stubble, the tall white birches surrounding the field – like a fortress. I’ve seen hawks circling overhead, crows skipping along the rows nibbling corn seeds or pulling out worms. The farm dogs ran and chased each other, their raucous barks filling the space with doggy laughter. I often chased after them, running behind. This field has enticed me in the winter, covered over with snow – slowly melting into the earth and watering the soil underneath. Winds would sweep the leaves across in small whirlwinds or gently caress the fields in warm brushes of soft kisses. And now, the farm was being sold. The fields will be farmed by someone else or worse, all the trees plowed under and houses built – some ugly subdivision under the pitiless sky. My heart aches at the thought. But it is all out of my control. All I will have left are my memories and a few faded photographs.

fields sleep in winter –
trees shiver in the cold –
memories of a child

Haibun: The Winter Moon

A haibun for Victoria’s for dVerse’s first haibun prompt for 2018 on Fuyu No Tsuki, the winter moon. A haibun is non-fiction prose with a seasonal haiku to end it.

The temperatures have been in the lower teens and hovered at 0F the past few days. With my husband recovering from a concussion and pneumonia, we decide to stay in on New Year’s Eve. The outside is brutally cold but the inside of the house is warm and redolent of savory cooking. We sit at the table and ladle French Onion Soup to our mouths and sip wine. Outside the moon shines through the window. I tell my husband about it being a wolf moon and how it will also be a blue moon. Later that evening, I hear the air horns and fireworks going off at midnight. My husband sleeps, tired out from a long day. The moon shines through the curtains, shadows of lace fall on the floor and my husband’s sleeping face, calm and still as the moon itself. I put on my coat and go outside. I stare up at the moon luminous as a glowing pearl. A bit of movement – a raccoon trying to scare up a garbage can to rustle. I throw out some bread I had in my pocket, waiting there for such an occasion.

full winter moon
shines through lace curtains – shadows
quiet as the stars

public domain image blue moon and wolf moon

#Haikai Challenge #15

For Frank Tassone’s  Haikai Challenge:  #Haikai Challenge #15 (1/6/18): Winter Storm or Artic cold #haiku #senryu #haibun #tanka #renga #haiga. Also posted for Real Toads Tuesday Platform.


Three haiku for the challenge:

winter storm brings snow –
birds huddle on branches fluffed
against the arctic cold

arctic cold freezes
snow into sheet of ice –
prowling cat slips slides

putting seeds out –
the winter storm is so cold
birds don’t fly away

Dorian Gray’s Baby Sister

For Real Toads Camera Flash imagined by Kerry.

Firefly 1907

Dorian Gray’s Baby Sister
You sit in the shadows
fondling your pearl –
staring straight ahead as if to say
what am I doing here?
dressed in black
you asked the photographer
to pretty please make it soft looking
to pretty please print the black and white
film in sepia tones –
As if it were the olden days
so you would look softer
and more romantic.
And of course he did.
And of course you got your way.
You always get your way.
You want to look soft and sweet
but we all know
you are soft as iron
cold as a sharpened blade
ready to slice through reality
in one blow.
So no one would ever find out
about the dead men in your basement
folded away like used tea bags.
You drank them up
slowly and with a bit of sugar and cream.
And of course
you always get your way.
From 1907 to 2018.
Soft and sweet looking.
Like a candy coated snake.

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