A second quadrille/sevenling for dverse because blackberrying is so full of images.
Deep purple blackberries
midnight blue sloes
bramble among bright green figs syrup-heavy by the lane.
stifling the thrush’s song, the orioles fluting questions
but the fruit swells and oozes with sweetness.
Windfalls gathered by fox and marten spread their sticky evidence—wasp-feast
For the dverse prompt. The first blackberries are ripe but it’s too hot to pick them yet.
Amid the tangled,
of winding, whip-snaked brambles,
and the bright red welts of torn flesh
are the berries,
sloe-black and gleaming,
always out of reach,
where spiked tendrils arc—
hark, juice drips,
sweet as the warbler’s song.
A second quadrille for the dverse prompt. Blue is a pretty enormous subject!
Pale as winter mornings
ice beneath a clear sky
a newborn’s romper
intense as gentian flowers
flags waving on the fourteenth of July
deep as Mediterranean waters
and indigo dark as the still tropical night
just after sunset
and your goodbye—blue
For the dverse prompt.
Spring gone in storms and dull days
now baked dry and petals fallen,
hay cut and baled, harvest’s in,
crickets strum chords
of trembling heat, yet
beneath the lazy wafting of limp leaves,
in a sun-dapple of rose-shade
peep spring-bright eyes
of forget-me-not blue.
A serpent’s tail quadrille for dverse.
drums on the roof
reproof —did we expect soft summer rain?
Trains pass distant rumble
tumble of hail
wail of the horn
borne on wind roaring
soaring kites sail past
last light drowning, cloud
shrouds waking the night—
light of star swarm.
Time like sea sand slips
though you close your fingers
it streams silent as stars
into the dark of space
the deep of the ocean
where you can see memories fading
pearls sinking into the murk
their tender glow gone
when the mud settles.
For the dverse quadrille prompt.
At close of day the light falls thicker,
golden syrup honey dew,
and shadows deepen in the hedges,
woodland, maple, oak and yew.
Remember when brash jingle- jangle
rattled every summer night?
The notes of blackbirds’ singing now
fill with wild beauty each twilight.
A quadrille for the dverse prompt.
Harrowing the news
these days of spring,
when fear of stepping into the snare
dogs our steps,
and every face is the face of an enemy.
Catch the trailing silver thread,
moon and sun-cast,
revel in bonds of earth-magic,
and fireworked bud-burst.
From the deepest darkest night,
when the winter-world’s asleep,
we wake with longing for the light,
rise of sap, water-creep,
watch the budburst on the bough,
listen to the west wind sough,
with feathered folk, folk of fur
waiting for the spring to stir.
For the dverse prompt.
For the dverse prompt. This was a hard one. I got stuck on Peelers and it took a while to send them back to barracks.
How do we make it like it was,
before the layered dim-dull years
of struggling at the edge of forbearance
stifled the joy?
Is there a tool you can buy
to peel them away,
the encrusted disappointments,
like careening barnacles
from an old hull?