Spring grey

A quadrille for dVerse. The theme is spring.



the colour

of cloud-swirled skies

and rivers swollen with steely rain.

Gales sweep and gulls swoop,

grappling the bucking branches

of river logs.

Grey seeps and sucks

in tidal mud,

but on the banks,

where the green begins,

celandines splash

their yellow joy.


Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

44 thoughts on “Spring grey”

  1. The word “spring” did not appear, but the reality of it, the budding of it pierced the grey-gray gloaming; nicely done gentle & drizzly rocking of the prompt.

  2. Hi, Jane. You have included so much movement in this poem that it creates a contrast with the gray reality of what I call in-between seasons. Beautiful write. To clarify, the prompt does ask for the word spring, however you use it.

  3. I do love the tone of your grey spring Quadrille, Jane. Up until the weekend, it was grey here and I find monochrome as expressive as colour, as proved by your poem, with the extended alliteration on ‘g’ and the grey images. I can’t imagine clouds, gulls and swollen rivers any other colour. And then, at the end, the colours I saw at the weekend: ‘celandines splash / their yellow joy’ and I find I do like colour after all!

    1. All the flowers on the river bank seem to so be yellow: buttercups, kingcups, celandine, marsh irises, and it’s beautiful. Glad you enjoyed the poem, Kim even if, as has been pointed out to me, the word ‘spring’ isn’t in it πŸ™‚

      1. Oops! I didn’t spot that! It’s in the title. Maybe you could sneak it in; in retrospect, maybe change the opening lines to : ‘Spring grey colour of…’ or something like that.

    1. They’re lurking from very early in the year but the sunshine brings them on. Soon there’ll be buttercups and kingcups and marsh irises and you won’t see the grey mud at all πŸ™‚

  4. Spring storms swelling the banks and ravaging anything in the water’s path while spring flourishes beyond. What a lovely poem, Jane. It’s the side of spring we most often forget about until the rains come, Excellent imagery.

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