These first pale golden days announce the spring,
the swelling of the buds and then the song
of birds and water running from the source.
A sunrise crisp brings deer up to the source
to drink, where clustered violets frame the spring
that courses through the grass with silver song
down to the willow-shaded stream. The song
That stirs the shoots and roots lies at the source
Of all this golden frothing that is spring.
All this golden spring, song is the source.
A tritina for the Secret Keeper’s weekly five word prompt.
DANCE | INNER | BREAK | HUE | LOST
Daybreak colours, hard to place
When beauty springs in every hue
Yet fails to move hearts with its dance.
Leaf fall, bird flight bright colours dance;
Before the inner eye takes place
A pageant dressed in every hue.
I’d take a palette of each hue
And paint the feathers of the dance,
But who would see in this lost place?
Dead is the place where beauty’s hue is a forgotten dance.
It’s a long time since I wrote a tritina, and the day is damp and grey. Again.
I wake to grey, a veil of rain,
Cold winter light streams wet as tears,
And all the world is silent weeping.
Keep your songs, too loud the weeping,
Drummed tattoos, gunmetal rain,
Perhaps spring sun will dry our tears.
Buttercup, daisy, flower tears
Spring from the grass this time of weeping;
Thrusting shoots poke through cold rain.
Rain or tears, the clouds are weeping.
A tritina for the Secret Keeper”s writing prompt.
NIGHT | LINE | HEAL | THRILL | TIME
Silver nets catch star fish in the night,
And lines cast from the cloudy depths of time
Ravel up the dreams that mend our sleep.
When all our loves and hopes are drowned in sleep
And drift like phantom feathers in the night,
We shiver in the yawning cold of time.
Life spins so fast and leaves us little time
To waste in the oblivion of sleep,
I count instead the haul of star-stitched night.
Night time, I will sleep amid a shoal of stars.
It’s a liberating feeling to have got a story out. I thought I’d be able to write a poem taking me somewhere completely different. Didn’t work out quite like that.
A tritina for the Secret Keeper’s weekly writing challenge
TAME | PEAK | TALE | TOT | REST
The mountain wreathed in mist is never tame,
It draws down cloud and wraps itself in rain
While children sleep and dream heroic tales.
When winter winds blow round the fire, tales
Are told to drive away the dark, its terrors tame,
Of mountain slopes, wolf-stalked, beneath the rain.
While children sleep, outside the storm and rain
Howl down the chimney, we sit telling tales
Of heroes once could wolf and mountain tame.
We sing, tame wolves, of soft rain in our heroes’ tales.
Daily word count achieved = poetry treat. A tritina for the Secret Keeper’s writing challenge. The words:
DOWNPOUR | GENTLE | SHOOT | PEAK | YIELD
No gentle downpour this, of cooling rain,
But shafts of heat, sun-spears that bring us low,
From heights of haze, the shimmer falls.
Blue, the water colour of the river falls,
Silver, sharp, a tingle on the skin, the rain,
Red-gold, the sun at evening, dropping low.
As burning day gives way to night below,
The touch of evening, gentle on skin falls,
Almost as silver cool, moon pale, as rain.
Rain, with low sounds, falls.
A tritina for the Secret Keeper’s five word challenge. The words are:
NUMB | MOTION | FAME | RULES | SMASH
The motion of the stars sends me to sleep,
On nights when owls rush through the darkling trees,
And thoughts rain down like fish caught in a net.
I feel no pain, swept in the sky’s wide net,
Eased by the glitter into thoughtless sleep,
I let the moonlight dapple windless trees.
Silence breaks with owl cry in the trees,
Some small thing trapped in nature’s red-raw net—
She rules the scampering night while others sleep.
Sleep rocks the trees in the stars’ glorious net.