Spring coming

Spring coming

Inside
the cold day-blue
is the soft brown flutter
of new birds cloaking bare trees with
heartbeats.

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Red rose

Colleen Chesebro’s weekly challenge uses an image of a winter rose for inspiration. If you would like to join in, the details are here. She recently wrote a post detailing the cinquain form, so here are two contrasting cinquains on the rose theme.

Red rose

Showy
she winter-blooms
hoar-frosted candy-crisp
until the sun her upturned face
strokes dead.

Red rose

Wan sun
so wintry pale
that coaxes buds unfurled
their frosted petals touch with care
and love.

Of mice and fish

We still have mice. As far as the cats are concerned, it’s a non-issue. Trixie is more interested in sardines. At 11 this morning, I started preparing them (the sardines) for lunch, keeping one eye on Trixie sitting on the sink next to me, the other on Bix and Redmond, hovering behind, waiting for a moment’s inattention.
Suddenly, Bix leapt away, around the table, skidding on the carpet, Redmond following. Trixie sat and watched while Bix crashed around in the veranda, overturning the furniture. He was bouncing about, trying to get behind a big wooden chest. I had a look. Mouse. The mouse made a dash for it, Bix on her tail, another chair knocked over. When Redmond saw what the fuss was about, he gave the canine equivalent of an eye roll and went back to watch the sardines.
That was 11am. It’s now 5.30pm. Redmond is asleep in his bed, Trixie is asleep outside in the porch, and Bix is still standing in the kitchen, staring at the place behind the potato crate where the mouse appeared. We still have mice, but at least now we have a mouser.

Heat cracks
brittle as bones
in a dry river bed
sky bright as mirror scales glitters
blinding.

Nature worship

A trio of cinquains for the dverse quadrille prompt.

Nature worship

Cool green
celebrant of
tree praise, the stream ambles,
strumming root and fallen branch with
music.

Skywards,
the poplars rise,
oriole-filled, silent
in the crushing heat, except for
leaf-hiss

and the
warbler’s ceaseless
song, soft as rain-patter,
building epic nest myths in the
quiet.

Cats

Cat sits
in the long grass,
immobile, patiently
waiting, watching the burrow till…
vole bolts.

Muscles
flex, vertical
leap, an instant of life
before the shrill cry—another
small death.

Winter moon cinquains

Ingrid @Experimentsinfc is on a short form poetry binge over on twitter. Join in. It’s fun. Here are a few cinquains I’ve posted.

This day
of rain and wind
closes at noon, bruised cloud
swells, a rain-tossed sea, where kestrels
plummet.

Moon night
soars the bright rim
bathed in rainglow, puddled
light roaring through grassy ditches,
running.

Moon slides
mountain cloud slopes,
snow bright with silver light
and steely shafts of rain spears where
waves wash.

The lost heart

Another challenge (Colleen’s Tanka Tuesday promp) I’ve let myself be drawn into. I love John Bauer’s illustrations. This is little Princess Tuvstarr.

 

The child
by the dark pool
searches for her heart, caught
among the branches of dream trees—
lost gold.

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.

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?

Fragile

For Colleen’s photo prompt.

 

Between

the melting ice

and heating storm-rocked air

our hothouse world of beauty wilts

and dies.

 

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.