How much?

For the dverse prompt, an Ottava rima.

Coming, going, the waterbirds don’t leave a trace (Dogen)

No weight to feathers, nothing quite as light
As bird-drift, hawk-glide speckling the blue,
Or sailing silent ‘neath the stars the night,
The owl that passes needing scarce a clue
To find her prey, scurry of rodent flight,
And passing leaves the air seamless anew.
We gaze at wonders men have made and see
More worth than in the eagle flying free.

The place where love sings

Since Colleen is off on her travels, there is no Tanka Tuesday. Since Colleen isn’t around to make the rules, I have used last week’s prompt again (Past and Future) to make an ottava rima.


The sun has set on that long ago day,

Hundreds of times—these small deaths of the light,

Snuffed out by the dark, since you went away—

And I walk alone with shades of the night.

Echoes of laughter and sunlight still play

In the halls of the past, bright birds with no flight.

Through mists of tomorrow I search for my wings,

Feathered dreams, flying home to the place where love sings.

Summer storm

The poem (ottava rima) is for the Secret Keeper’s prompt. The painting is by Sanford Robinson Gifford and I love the drama, even it isn’t exactly the style I was looking for.

This week’s words are:



Cloud-heavy, heat hangs from the sky’s dark edge,

Summer stillness banished into ripples,

Storm threatens in the rustle of the sedge.

Blowing up, the wind strews rain and stipples

Lake water, lily-fringed and bulrush fledged,

Furrowing with frowns the water’s dimples.

Tossed the wavelets, scattered songbirds piping,

Thunder cracks, the sky with lightning striping.

Children of the night

Since we’re in ottava rima mode for dverse, here’s another one for the Real Toads prompt, based on this quote:

“’Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!” – Dracula


When sunset’s fire fades to deepest dark,

Midnight’s children scatter through the sky,

A mantle woven from the primal spark,

For this, each day, the sun’s fate is to die.

Music of the stars, song of the lark,

Work their magic, dreams spread wings and fly.

I walk the paths of day and skim the night,

On swallow’s wings into the birth of light.

Night hunters

For the dverse prompt to write an ottava rima poem.


When wandering cloud obscures the full moon bright,

The hunters prowl in shadows dark and deep,

While vixen in her lair far from the light,

Curls round her cubs to keep them safe in sleep

Until they pass—the dangers in the night,

With stealthy tread, her secret night paths creep.

And in this world of silent, withheld breath,

The stars are still, for nothing stirs in death.