A quadrille for the dverse prompt. Theme word, creak.
and the world strains at the joints.
and dolphins laugh
in the foam-dancing waves.
House crouches on the hill,
its shuttered hatches,
behind, we wait,
for the wind to abate.
For the Secret Keeper’s writing prompt.
The words this week are:
REACH | DEEP | SQUARE | FULL| PLAY
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.
For Ronovan’s weekly haiku challenge.
Wild wind whips the leaves
to the wrong side of autumn—
cold touch of winter.
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,
it sleeps still and cool,
waxes only at madness,
Like the storm shadow
on the sea,
beneath, lies smooth water.
I wade in the shallows,
storms at my fingertips.
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.
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.
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.