For the dverse prompt, a serpent’s tail poem. Seems appropriate.


The touch that lights,

ignites the creeping,

seeping flame in the blood—

buds swell and burst,

thirst never slaked at your well.


Tell me no lies,

eyes swear the truth.


Tooth and nail

pale into caress,

pressing the places,

faces that lip-touch,

such deep joy set free.



For the Secret Keeper’s five word prompt.



Against the rapping on the wall

and the grinding of hinges,

the stamping of the ground,

the rasp of water breaking stone,

some nights, there is no defence.

The barred door will break,

claw marks in the oak,

and the print of bare feet on the flags

the only traces.

When the owl cries,

no one will listen,

no one will hear

except the wind among the rafters.

Plum bones

A quadrille for the dverse prompt—spoil. In old French, and still sometimes in the the Midi, fruits don’t have stones, they have bones.


Around the plum tree,

wasps gathered,

humming through clenched teeth

where fallen fruit lay.

Sun baked,

sugar wept from bruised wounds,

and the smell of spoilt fruit festooned the hot air

with scents of Christmas.


Bare now the hard earth

except for plum bones.

No lamps

I read a lovely poem of Merril’s which is called a cherita haibun, in turn inspired by Janice’s poem which is in response to the carpe diem prompt on the theme of ‘autumn lamplight.

This is mine.


No lamps on this quiet lane


Only moonlight shows

where meadow ends and road begins.


After dark, hare and pheasant

take the man road home,

easier than long grass and brambles.


Autumn leaves drift

across the lane—hideaways

make in the hedges.