Tag: quadrille
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dVerse Quadrille #18
Forty-Four Words About Clouds I watched white-eyed clouds today as they gnawed at the sky, carved shapes that sang of twisted and turning lifetimes. They were incarnations of dreams, of paused imagination forged like cast iron mountains and stretching long as cirrus grass. I lay there. Watching. Drowning. dVerse’s Monday Quadrille (i.e.., 44…
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dVerse’s Quadrille #17
Moonlight I am under the shadow of white. There where night falls in response to the turn of the moon. There where time is an old squabble, a stopped stone, that moon-hard slope. I am an apparition. Faceless. Cold blue and dim as dusk. dVerse Quadrille #17 including the word shadow
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Poetic Bloomings Dances a Quadrille
7:15 Coffee is made. Plates on the table. Radio’s on, but silence takes over. The dog sniffs the air; falls back to sleep. A morning cough from upstairs, emptying lungs of sleep. Rain drips from the gutter as I sip coffee. Silence never tasted so good. © Misky 2016, 3 August: Quadrille, 44 words.
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dVerse Quadrille #13
A Fluttering Folly Time’s not making this any easier; I wear your memory like a ring. Twist it when it’s too tight, curse it like a floundering rite when it aches. Memories of all my failures, fluttering follies like sails on little boats fleeing this journey. © Misky 2016. For dVerse Quadrille #13…
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dVerse Quadrille #11
Bound to Mine Steal a moment from this mad procession, lie with sunbeams; long, slender as fingers. Come and steal away on mossy green and wreaths of ivy. Bind your desires to mine like perfume, like your morning-scented robe, and we’ll spill this world on weedy rocks. Poetic Form: Quadrille (44 words including the…
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dVerse Quadrille #10
A Bit of Lunch with My Cousin A piece of me came to visit, a genetic piece — my cousin. We shot the breeze over lunch. Fish and chips by the seaside, Bank Holiday Monday. Weather poured down on us, and the wind howled fury — my hair tangling in ketchup and chips. My…
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dVerse Quadrille 9
It’s Deeper Than Skin We are each other’s skin, an inherited thorn touched by lineage, memory’s echo. Soft as silk, as green is to spring. I sleep in quilted flesh. I dream to breathe, my heart; its voice. Skin … my moral default when I wander far and flooded. for dVerse. Quadrille…
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dVerse: Quadrille #8
Virgin Green These days are virgin green. A sultan’s feast upon our eyes. Satin pillows, violet’s spring, bluebells skipping a breezy song. A child sits, picks bouquets. Daisies. Clover. For her mother. These are her brightest days. Her curly head unaware of lonely nights. Broken hearts. for dVerse: Quadrille #8. 44 words…
It's Still Life 