Moths

A butterfly cinquain for Colleen’s challenge, in response to Ritu’s photo.

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The house

draws attention

to itself, lit up like

High Mass—bathed in sanctity, fear,

of what?

Crowd of curious rubbernecks,

moths to a candle, we

listen for the

sirens.

Finbar

For Colleen’s weekly challenge.

Finbar Cristmas

Big dog

with big nose and

big ears, looking older,

some grey hairs, still lithe and racy,

but four

circuits of the field are enough

these days. Fleet feet, fleeting

years, one life not

enough.

Star falling

For Colleen’s first challenge of the year, a butterfly cinquain. Inspired by this morning’s tragic news. The body count goes up.

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New year,

new clouds, new night,

peace falls here though the sky

blazes elsewhere, stars fall, trailing

failing

lives. Who hears tears on such a night?

Who sees the hands waving,

the last words breathed,

trailing?

The hand that shakes

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.

 

The hand

that shakes the trees

is the wind’s, the voice that

calls in the night and stirs your dreams.

Listen

to its wild song woven with threads

of moon silver and the

gentle questions

of owls.