Quadrille Monday: Kick

Monday it is Quadrille Monday. De is the pubtender. what is a quadrille? It is a poem of exactly 44 words, excluding the title. The quadrille must include a prompted word. today it is “kick” – kicked, kicking, kicks, kickle, a form of the word kick. Come join us for these fun and short poems.  The Pub opens at 3:00 pm EST Monday.

Kicking Leaves
I like my morning walks
especially in autumn –
leaves have fallen –
they lie stacked up on the sides of our lane.
I kick a group of them up in the air.
A snake goes flying.
Now, ain’t that a kick in the head?

copyright kanzen sakura

Dreaming November

This is for Angie’s prompt over at Real Toads. She found a wonderful book with suggestions for and lists of words for inspiration: Sandford Lyne titled, “Writing Poetry from the Inside Out:  Finding Your Voice Through the Craft of Poetry.” It seems a most excellent book I shall check out this afternoon. Come visit us at Real Toads: http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/11/get-listed-november-edition.html She gives us several lists with four words in each. I chose the list with November, layer, stones, throat to write a poem of 100 words or less.  I am also posting this today at dVerse Poets Pub for their Open Link Night. I am also posting at Poets United Poetry Pantry.

Dreaming November
rust-colored November
settles into the stones
in layers of newly fallen leaves
old leaves rotting leaves –
a smell that catches in the back of my throat
and makes me want to put down roots.
November is the calm before the winter storms –
stones sleep
beneath the leaves
beside the creek
flowing clear over rounded stones
before settling into the
pool at the end –
sleeping leaves dreaming of summer.

copyright Kanzen Sakura

Haiku

Sleepy woodland pool:
Leaves drift on surface dreaming
Of past summer sun.

leaves

October Haiku

 

Golden leaves drip dew.

Pine needle path leads us to

Fragrant  adventures.

 

Hidden among dry leaves

Empty hulls nestle.  Pecans

Wait to be discovered.

 

Red flags of sumac

Wave against an ocean of

Blue sky.  Clouds race.

 

Burgeoning leaves.

Parti-colored crayon box

Of gold red orange brown.

 

Faded leaves beautiful

In their fallen array.

Ageless pattern a reminder

That beauty is not

Always young.   

Fragrance is not always green

And strong, but delicate

And to be savored slowly.

 

First frost covers the

Grass.  Morning sun

Melts until night comes again.

 

The taste of rain cold

and sweet falls from iron sky.

My lips ask for more.

 

Darkness falls too fast.

Sun fades and disappears

Like summer flowers.

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