A Widow’s Dream

 

A Widow’s Dream

My dreams drop in swirled grey, and there you are.
There in our time lost. We are soaked in loss. We drop.
Embrace. Our life is here, in dreams never finished, life
Beyond my awakening, where finished is the beginning,
Never the end. All we need is here, our needs by daylight
Never met but these brief dream hours are for drinking
Slow our conversation, as clouds drink rain for their want.
And the horizon calls up another sunrise, calls the finish
Of dreams where we are loved, and we say farewells again.

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Step 2 from Quickly’s Warm-up Prompt  Take six of the words and write two lines with each of them. Two lines that work together. Use your word once, or twice (or three times if you can manage it artfully). My words are: drink drop needed life finished call

Reborn to Race

Reborn to Race

She
was
a teenage tapered candle
the grand light of Africa
so swift on foot, rites said
on to Atalanta.
She
was
reborn to race. She sought
asylum in the land of Orange
swore allegiance to long gray
skies and cold frayed beaches
of the Netherlands.
She
was
a demimonde of the track
who ran with another flag.
She
was
reborn to race.

.
.
.
Sunday Whirl Wordle 174 

Inspired after watching the European Athletics Championships, where a good many Kenyans and Ethiopians ran under Dutch, Spanish, and Russian flags, claiming dual-citizenship.

Quickly’s Warm-up Remix

Turn each of these words into an independent phrase or sentence, not necessarily a verse, but poetic: drink, drop, sardines, needed,letters, terrible, life, finished, mentioned, twelve, call, oranges

Morning drinks in sweet Kenyan mountains.
Drop a dish, a cup, drop jaw, drop biscuits.
Sardines loathe a swim in tomato sauce.
She never knew what she needed.
She dreamt in letters and woke in a scrabble.
It’s a terrible noise, a hungry belly.
This load, this life, too short to carry.
He retired, and the iron finished.
He mentioned he was short.
Twelve shoes with nowhere to go.
Birds sing in the hide, a call to seek.
Peel me like an orange.

 

Remix:

It’s a terrible noise, a hungry belly,
And we drop a dish, a cup, drop jaw,
Drop biscuits, and I’m told sardines
loathe a swim in tomato sauce.
Morning drinks in sweet Kenyan
Mountains, and he never mentioned
He was short. Then he retired,
And the iron finished, too. This load,
This life, too short to carry. Birds sing
In the hide, a call to seek as she dreamt
In letters and woke in a scrabble.
Twelve shoes with nowhere to go,
And she never knew what she needed,
So she said “Peel me like an orange.”

Later: (and yes, I do plan to do this later … )

If you have some time, take six of the words and write two lines with each of them. Two lines that work together. Use your word once, or twice (or three times if you can manage it artfully)

Later, still.
If you have time for it:
Use three of the words in a poem of six-to-ten lines

When you’re finished with writing, search:
Frank O’Hara, “Why I Am Not a Painter”

 

Written for Quickly’s Warm-up for September

We Wordle 24

Misky:

Come and play with this week’s Wordled poetry prompt. Great fun!!

Originally posted on Red Wolf Poems:

wordle24

Here’s another round of wickedly wily words for your pleasure … or frustration, in which case peruse the words and only use those that make your ink flow. These words are plucked from last week’s poetic prompt #218 “Time Travel”.

And Mr Linky has joined us, so rather than posting your link in the Comments field, please use Mr Linky to direct us to your poem. You may, of course, leave a comment and say hello if you wish!

The words and contributors are shown below:

Happy Notes: life doubt swings
Misky: legs stood crashing
Debi: fight mushroom fiery
Viv: sturdy stern strokes
Ron: nose found ear
Nicole: low asylum dust
Barbara: luxury alley chills
Irene: fishnet glassy rang
Roslyn: frayed wings clasped
Sabra: water roots froze
Jules: soap salt bread
Miss Stacy: turn white soap
Hannah: crisp air gone
C.C.  proud great claim
PuffOfSmoke: miles face mirror
Anya: fence…

View original 12 more words

A Tart to the End

A Tart to the End

A lime. A jewel to drink,
A squeeze to spurt,
My teeth felled and sink.
Yes, swelled nub rounds

Of segment clipped rooms.
Swim drowned squint smiles,
Click ice gone cube. Serene
Greened into the slink of night.

You and I and juniper gin, caught
Flecks sent tumbled on tongues,
Stumbled words that grope
For a slick on a green. Of lime.

Truly a tart to the end.

.
.
Written for Margo’s prompt 12 August/14

An Eye For Curved Wind

A Eye For Curved Wind

Nothing stays straight in these parts for long,
Sound takes on the curve of an ear, limits
Country lanes to a veer ‘round old oaks
And water bends the throats of riverbeds.
It’s just the way the days are  ’round here,
Everything bends like grain wrestling wind,
It’s a low dry sound that sings like the east.

.

.

Wordle Number 173 http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2014/08/09/wordle-173/

All Legs

westport_AllLegs

All Legs

I was all legs that summer,
felt sort of out-of-body,
head higher than it should be,
and higher than just a month ago.
And Dad looked me square on, asked
When are you going to stop growing?
And I wondered when he’d ask me
a question I could answer, so I said,
Uuh … duhnt know,
which I knew would annoy him,
but it was the only thing I could think
of to say ‘cause I didn’t know.
So we stood there for a moment,
looking at waves crashing grey
into the hard packed sand,
and the wind blowing tears
into my eyes, and I looked
over at Dad and asked,
Ya wanna race?
And he took off running,
didn’t bother to say yes or no,
or shrug a maybe or why.
His answer was in his feet,
and I stood there, waves crashing,
and the wind blowing, and Dad
running and pressing his hat
to his head, and I thought,
that’s how ya answer a question.

.

.

 

Written for Red Wolf Poems. Recollections of childhood. Photo Westport, Washington, wikiCommons Library