High wind

A quadrille for the dverse prompt. Theme word, creak.


High wind,

trees bow,

boughs bend,

masts creak,

and the world strains at the joints.

Water leaks

between planks,

and dolphins laugh

in the foam-dancing waves.

House crouches on the hill,

battened down,

its shuttered hatches,

behind, we wait,

for the wind to abate.


Where milky moon pearls sleep

For the Secret Keeper’s writing prompt.

The words this week are:



I dip my hand into the stream,

To reach the place of dark weed stream,

Where stray sunbeams on fish scales gleam.


Full fathom five in water deep,

Is where the milky moon pearls sleep,

And fallen stars and lost ones weep.


The line plays out and square sails swell,

I hear the ringing of the bell,

But where you went no one will tell.

Storms at my fingertips

Instead of one poem from each of four sets of words, I took a second poem from the first set. I had a feeling the oracle had something to add.


But blood is lazy,Screen Shot 2017-10-21 at 14.57.32

it sleeps still and cool,

waxes only at madness,


Like the storm shadow

on the sea,

beneath, lies smooth water.


Sea rocks,Screen Shot 2017-10-21 at 15.16.35

bitter black,

crush ships

like eggs.

I wade in the shallows,

storms at my fingertips.











There is a road home now

One of the last Jim Harrison quotes from Jilly.

“We walk the bottom of an ocean we call sky”

WordPress is being funny today, tells me I don’t have any media and asks would I like to upload something, then tells me an error occurred, tells me I can’t upload any media, tells me I don’t have anything in my gallery, then uploads a monster version of a normal sized file. I should maybe have turned WP off and restarted.

Road home

There is a road home now

That we never trod before,

Where we walk in tree shadow

As we’d walk the ocean floor,

To woodpecker music,

And the drum of acorn rain

On the musky, minty earth,

That beats a wild refrain.

Beneath green branches scented

As any rocking sea,

It sails our footsteps homeward,

Where we were meant to be.

Pale-coated hound

Going out night-walking is a new experience for us, new and a bit unsettling. There are no street lights, no houses and no cars, so it’s dark—very dark. For the dverse open night.


Pale-coated hound in the moonlight,

Silver-haired and silent tongued,

Listens to the sounds of the shadows.

Beneath the thin moon, acorns tumble from the tree,

Branches crack and the music of the poplars

Is like waves on the strand.

I peer into the darkness between the moonbeams,

Where the hound sniffs and pricks his ears,

Where a subtle world of half-tints and whisperings

Creeps and pads through dew-damp grass,

An orbit, parallel but never touching

The banal and sharp-edged, puddled reflection,

That is our meagre human realm.