Curtain of Night

A quadrille for De who hosts today at Dverse Poets Pub. A quadrille is a poem, any form, sans title, of exactly 44 words using the prompted word. The word today is “crack” or any variant of the word crack.

strong>Curtain of Night
“I would rather be a superb meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy and permanent planet.” – Jack London

the earth passes through the remnants
of Tempel-Tuttle asteroid.
Fire flies past quicker than thought,
in the blackness of the night,
the curtain cracks
letting the stars pour forth.
sit motionless and silent
becoming one with the stars.
gaze through the window of night.

Ghosts

For Bjorn’s prompt at Real Toads.  He asks us to flashback to a time and place in our memories.  Smells, songs, words will all take us there.  Thank you for the interesting prompt! 15 lines on the 15th in Honor of Shay Fireblossom, a true poet and friend.

Ghosts
“Ghosts don’t haunt us. That’s not how it works. They’re present among us because we won’t let go of them.” ― Sue Grafton, M is for Malice

The sign said, Pansies for Sale.
I closed my eyes and remembered
pansy eyes.
I am surrounded by ghosts.
I remember lovers, chefs, drugs, family.
Mostly I remember the pansy brown eyes
of my grandmother dying from bone cancer,
my mother’s pansy brown eyes
as she lay dying from the effects
of dementia and heart failure.
Even in winter I remember that perfect June day.
She closed those wilted pansies
for the last time.
I remember that perfect June day
not long after she died of your dying by your own hand.

 

Cold

An American sentence for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub. Lillian is hosting.

Cold
“It’s too cold outside for angels to fly.” ― Ed Sheeran

On a dreary street corner the addicts huddle together for warmth.

First Snow

For Amaya’s prompt at dVerse, birth or birthing. For Poets United, Sumana’s mid-week motif, Winter Poems.  In Japanese, the word for first snow is hatsu yuki. It is a holy event.

 

First Snow
“When snow falls, nature listens. ”  Antoinette van Kleeff

Today the November sky opens up and gives birth to the first snow.

first snow2

Dark Country Road

This is for dVerse Poet Pubs, Prosery.  I don’t get Flash Fiction.  I hope I did okay.  I thought this had to be written in prose form but apparently, it doesn’t. I will do as I will next time.

Dark Country Road
“A swift rhythm is played out by my hands, a cadence known only to those who have strung tobacco. To many, the meter and rhythm of stringing is the only poetry they’ve ever known.” ― Brenda Sutton Rose

Hot night in July – needing to be out of the city, rolling down a smooth country two lane blacktop, Black countryside, no lights showing in the few houses. All are sleeping the sleep of exhaustion. Folks have to get up early go to work in the surrounding tobacco fields. Rolling past rows of tobacco broken only by the dark houses.  Past another small house, dark. Ahead off to the right a dirt road. I pull off and go down it slowly. Dust invisible but I can smell it, thick whiffs of sharp iron and sweeter lime. In the headlights the road is pale pink but in the daylight, it will be red as blood. A meteor shower explodes in the night sky. I stop in the middle of the road to stare, amazed. If it’s darkness we’re having, let it be extravagant.

 

tobacco farm and barn

Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off

For Anmol’s prompt at Real Toads, perspective.

Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off
“You say potayto, I say potahto. I say tomayto, you say tomahto…” George Gershwin and Ira Gershwin

I say a shite poem is a shite poem.
You whine and get angry because I didn’t
say the usual that it is epic, wonderful, blah blah blah.
the critic says the play is a flop,
the audience gives it a standing O.
the customer sends the dinner back
and says it is garbage.
The chef laughs and calls the customer a
boor with the palate of a cement mixer.
It is a matter of perspective,
of opinion of taste.
So Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off.
Let’s not be honest anymore
and only speak in emojis and superlatives.
Let’s give it a AAA when it deserves
an F-…okay?

Forgetfulness

Posted on Poetry United, Pantry of Prose and Poetry #3  For me, a long poem.

 

Forgetfulness
Time, we say, is Lethe; but change of air is a similar draught, and, if it works less thoroughly, does so more quickly.” ― Thomas Mann, The Magic Mountain

it is cool, finally.
The hot breath of summer has stilled,
fallen into the arms of Morpheus
seeking there the river of Lethe.
*Ameles Potamos is sluggish
and yet it is crowded with the souls
of the dead leaves,
all of them drinking to
forget the summer that was.
the leaves clog the creek
at the foot of the hill,
drinking, drinking.
autumn rains will come and flood the banks
washing their corpses away.
frost covers them with sparking lace
dressing them for their funereal best.
I cup my hand and drink from the icy waters.
I close my eyes and sleep.
I awaken no longer remembering the heat of summer.
I awaken remembering only autumn and winter cold.
The beaver moon shines bright in the sky,
frost sparkles in its light.

 

*Lethe also known as the Ameles Potamos (River of Unmindfulness), the river flowed around the cave of Hypnos where its murmuring induces drowsiness. The shades of the dead were required to drink from its water in order to forget their earthly life.

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