The rain, the wind and foggy dew

Another triolet for the dverse prompt.

The rain, the wind and foggy dew,

And all at once, bright dandelions,

Cloak the field in mottled hue

Of rain and wind and foggy dew

And painted birds; the dark times flew,

A fresco dappled, starred Orions,

Rain in the wind and foggy dew,

And all at once, bright dandelions.

The wind blows bleak

For the dverse prompt. I do love a triolet. Thank you, Frank!

 

The wind blows bleak and wild today,

And blossoms falling cloud with white

The rain-soaked earth, the heavy clay.

The wind blows bleak and wild today;

Gusts bend the kestrel’s wings away.

While spring rain falls through silver light,

The wind blows bleak and wild; today

Plum blossom falls in clouds of white.

From far away and long ago

 

From far away and long ago,

Memories of life beginning

On the winds of autumn blow.

From far away and long ago,

The everlasting rivers flow,

Dust of stars and light years bringing,

To add to far and long ago

Memories of life beginning.

Grey-leafed

Just got Internet back (again). The OctPoWriMo prompt, about ways of looking at things just about works for the triolet I wrote yesterday.

This sky is heavy with grey-leafed cloud

And rests on tree tops, dusty blue,

Waiting to pour its river loud.

The sky is heavy with grey-leafed cloud,

Branching, spreading over ploughed

And empty fields where barley grew.

This sky is heavy, and grey-leafed cloud

Rests on treetops misty blue.

There is no moon

There are a dozen things I should have been doing, but I’ve spent the best part of an hour worrying away at this triolet, which I would say is a harder form than the villanelle.

 

There is no moon, no stars to light the way;

I have no lamp, owl’s eyes alone can see

To pierce the shadows, chase the dark away.

There is no moon. No stars to light the way

In sky’s dark coping hang, to dance and sway

To fair folk’s songs when wary mortals flee.

There is no moon, no stars. To light the way

I have no lamp. Owl’s eyes alone can see.

The warm world trembles

A triolet for the Secret Keeper’s five word prompt.

TREMBLE | HIT | DESIRE | ALTER | DEPTH |

 

The warm world trembles in this winter cold,

The depths of darkness hold all in its grip

And change green shoots to black twigs stark and bold.

The warm world trembles; in this winter cold

Strike ice arrows, leaves in furred frost enfold.

Desire shrinks, we hang onto the lip

Of trembling world, while in this winter cold

The depths of darkness hold all in its grip.

Phantom fog

 

We start the day in fog that clings so wet

And coats the trees in grey of mud made air.

Not bitter cold this solstice time and yet,

We start the day in fog that clings so wet.

With thoughts of sunlight and regret,

That winter gnaws the bones and strips them bare,

We start the day—this fog that clings so wet

Coats phantom trees in grey of mud made air.

I read some poison

I have just read a thread of tweets about the Sandy Hook massacre that has filled me with disgust. Excuse me if I vomit in public, but amid the stream of messages of remembrance, parents mourning dead children and hopes that something will one day change, was the denier thread.

There really are people in this sad world who will post their ‘well-researched findings’ that prove that Sandy Hook never took place, that it was a sham to gain credit for the anti-gun lobby, that one of the fake victims was later seen standing next to President Obama at a meeting. Anyone who sympathises with that ‘opinion’ is invited to not voice it on this blog.

 

I read some words drawled from a deep, dark hole,

Denying that those children really died,

Fake news, he said, to crush the nation’s soul.

I read those words drawled from a deep, dark hole,

Just to wring out tears, make church bells toll—

Our rights, our guns, he said, the truth denied,

With poisonous words that crawled from out his hole,

Fake news that would crush any human soul.

Owl triolet

 

Another voice at midnight clear

Fell from the sky so high and cold—

I’d touch the stars, they seemed so near.

A wilder voice, at midnight clear,

It echoed soft, the feathered fear,

Its hunting song so sweet, so old,

An owl-fierce voice at midnight clear

Fell from the sky so high and cold.

A sea of stars

We’re in the big build up to the commemoration of the 100th anniversary of the signing of the Armistice in 1918. This triolet came out as a small tribute, and was inspired by Paul Militaru’s lovely photo. Thank you, Paul for letting me borrow it.

 

The river rolls, an ocean full of stars,

A constellation tossed upon the waves,

A pebble tossed, the sky’s bright tribute mars.

The river rolls, an ocean full of stars,

Embroidered notes of ghostly brass fanfares,

A coverlet of light for unmarked graves.

The river rolls, an ocean full of stars,

A pebble tossed, the sky’s bright tribute mars.