Known, All Along ~ quadrille

Known, All Along

Would I peel back the layers,
only to find what I’ve known
all along? Never, the need for that,
when knowing your many sides
is what makes you so dear to me.
To have my heart held within
those layers is more than enough

This is my response to Quadrille #98: Peelings… Nothing More
the prompt from Mish at dVerse, which is to use the word peel
in a 44-word poem that does not require meter or rhyme.

Image source: teepublic.com

The Final Peak ~ quadrille

The Final Peak

Was it really limitless, expansive
in its capacity to carry me forward?

Surmounting any obstacle,
daunting, then,
minuscule, now, looking back.

The final peak draws nearer, the end
closer, the time that fills this vessel
less, the further it climbs.

Some mountains are insurmountable.

This is my response to Quadrille #97: Filling the Page — the prompt from De Jackson
at dVerse, using the word fill in a 44-word poem that does not require meter or rhyme.

Image source: pixabay.com

Any day in the life of a retiree

This list poem is my response to What day is it anyway? from Sarah at dVerse Poets Pub, where the prompt is to choose a day, then write a poem about the way that day feels to you.

Any day in the life of a retiree

Sleep in
Coffee
Watch the bird feeder
Breakfast
Read the news
More coffee
Read poetry
Watch the bird feeder
Housework
Write poetry
Go kayaking
Watch the bird feeder
Go hiking and take photos
Fill the bird feeder
Grocery shopping

Check
Check
Check
Check
Check
Check
Check
Check
Check
Check
Wait, that’s tomorrow.
Check
Check
Check
Or was that yesterday?

What day is it anyway?

Isn’t every day Saturday?

Asleep, with Grieg

Asleep, with Grieg

I drift to sleep to the notes of classical music, to see
our table lit, in an otherwise dark and empty restaurant.

Before me sits an ivory porcelain bowl, with broth shimmering
between silver and gold as my spoon breaks its surface.

My hand raises the spoon to her lips,
notes floating into the air as they leave the broth.

Her lips glow as the spoon touches her lips,
the notes spreading through her body.

The last notes of Edvard Grieg’s Piano Concerto in A minor
fade and my eyes open as I understand the rapture of this moment.

The music resumes as I return to my slumbers.

I am sitting at my mother’s bedside, stroking her hand
to soothe away her worries and fears.

The peace she now feels flows from her hand to mine,
seeming to lessen my own burdens.

My concern for her dissipates as her warmth
flows into me, yet a dormant fear remains.

Like a new sunrise easing my worries, I am roused
by the last notes of Grieg’s Peer Gynt Suite No. 1, Morning Mood.

I drift off, once more, to the opening notes of The Death of Ase,

to see the light of dawn filtered through a sheer curtain of gauze
into a darkly paneled room mostly in shadow.

Sitting in an overstuffed chair of worn, forest green velvet,
I am dimly lit in the yellow light of a table lamp.

Tassels hanging from the cream colored shade rustle
as I reach for a gilded letter opener beneath the lamp.

Raising the blade to my neck, I draw a shallow line
that is no more than a scratch.

One small drop of blood forms and falls to the green velvet,
bringing the room to life and taking with it all of my fears.

I wake briefly, then drift off once more to the notes still playing in my mind.

This poem, regarding a dream, is in response to Tuesday Poetics with Lillian
at dVerse Poets Pub. I was reminded of this incident by Lillian’s Haibun True.

In 2006, my mother had come to live with me. It was 2008, a few months before her death, when I had this short series of dreams, all within a twenty minute span. I got up right after the third dream to write an account of something that I felt had immense significance. This revision into verse is meant to retain the lyric sense I originally intended.

Shaming ~ quadrille

Shaming

Within the lies that tell of wonders wild
there lies the truth that wonder stolen
at the cost of freedom is nothing more
than a false face placed on the truly noble
as we don a face of false bravado
and our true shame.

This quadrille is inspired by, and a response to, Taming, from erbiage.
The prompt for Quadrille #96: Wild Monday is to use the word wild
in a 44-word poem that does not require meter or rhyme.

Image source: DailyMail.com (© Nina Zotina – east2west news)

Placid Waters ~ quadrille

Placid Waters

Wild only in its freedom,
there is no white water here,
just a paddle caressing
its surface, a stillness
marred only by ripples
of trees dancing as they reach
from the bow of a kayak
to the shore that holds
steadfast their stately canopy.

This is my response to Quadrille #96: Wild Monday — the prompt from Kim at dVerse, which is to use the word wild in a 44-word poem that does not require meter or rhyme.

Image: Ellicott Creek, Amherst New York
(click image for larger view in new tab)