A butterfly cinquain for Colleen’s challenge, in response to Ritu’s photo.
to itself, lit up like
High Mass—bathed in sanctity, fear,
Crowd of curious rubbernecks,
moths to a candle, we
listen for the
For Colleen’s weekly challenge.
with big nose and
big ears, looking older,
some grey hairs, still lithe and racy,
circuits of the field are enough
these days. Fleet feet, fleeting
years, one life not
For Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday challenge, a butterfly cinquain.
in a still pool
and ripples race, breaking
reflections of the sky into
wavelets of the ocean sky flow,
ebb, reform unbroken,
A butterfly cinquain for Colleen’s photo prompt.
Photo ©2019 Willow Willers
her story offered in
open hands, bared, indelibly
His hands are an unwritten page,
secret. He smiles, reads, takes—
her story is
For Colleen’s tanka Tuesday challenge. A(nother) butterfly cinquain.
we have some peace,
asks the earth, in these fields,
these woods, dappled lakes and rushing
Will the guns ever fall silent,
or will we live this now
of cold killing
For Colleen’s first challenge of the year, a butterfly cinquain. Inspired by this morning’s tragic news. The body count goes up.
new clouds, new night,
peace falls here though the sky
blazes elsewhere, stars fall, trailing
lives. Who hears tears on such a night?
Who sees the hands waving,
the last words breathed,
A butterfly cinquain that doesn’t quite fit the remit for Colleen’s challenge as I have only used a synonym for one of the words.
that shakes the trees
is the wind’s, the voice that
calls in the night and stirs your dreams.
to its wild song woven with threads
of moon silver and the