A New Respect For Snakes

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She’s a lady
Who stretches her skin
Like jeans too tight
Slipping it off
But first, one placed beneath
No reminders every day
Leaving fur and fiber to be dusted away
Not fretting who she was or becoming
Free to be who she is

 

dversepoetspub.com Quadrille Monday, the promo word is “fret” an exactly 44-word poem excluding the title. This is one form I can always have fun with. And I don’t even like snakes!

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We Exist

How we recognize
Poets by their poetry …
Metaphoric malaise
Swirls of subtle syntax
I tell all without admitting any
I reveal me
In tones of enjambment
Highlighted silhouette
Or I just shout it boldly
Because I can
I am a poet just like you

 

 

dversepoetspub.com open link today. Any poem, any form. I realize how I am knowing many of you. I go to read and say, ah, I expected this because as different as one poem be from another, you are always there.

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A Childhood Memory

Warm bread from our oven, stuffed in white wax bags, no ties
We sat on the back of the station wagon, laughing cries
Mom couldn’t see and we ripped one in half filling our bellies
So many aromas mingled and vowed to keep our lies

Sultry air in the market mixed scent and sweat reminding
Those who labor reap sweet rewards of their finding
Fields and ovens, all bake after kneading and plowing
And children’s lies all share in the mercy of a bleached sun blinding

 

dverse prompt is ‘market’. There are still a few and mostly on a Saturday, and sometimes I get to them, not often. My mother baked bread and delivered it to the open market. I helped her but always made sure I was rewarded! She would wonder out loud about being one loaf short, but probably just to let us know we were kidding no one.

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When No One Hears

Silence lingered. His eyes dropped downward and not even a rustle of the leaves beneath his feet gave credence to any reality. He was real, he knew, for he could see and move and breathe, yet even his breath offered no sound. His thoughts were loud whispers in his head, his voice mute as he mouthed the mimicked words.

Others were there, but a ways off, interacting with each other. They too, even without vibration. It didn’t seem to bother them. They paid him no mind at all. He asked himself, “Why am I being ignored”? For a moment he thought perhaps it was a dream, but no, in dreams you are watching yourself. You know you are the actor and the audience.

Suddenly…when far away an interrupted cry…

A child’s voice, “the volume on the tv doesn’t work! I can’t hear anything!
Dversepoetspub.com asks we write a 144 word flashfiction, (Prosery), and include a line from Robert Frost’s poem ‘acquaintance with the night”.
My word count is exactly 144 words, excluding the title.

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We Are All Most Beautiful In Shadow

Personal Photo

He crouches hiding from the sun with a salad of clover and grass
Unaware of his beauty in someone else’s reflection

Personal Photo

  Attention is no more than light stopping by as it passes
A splendid display caught in one’s reflection

Personal Photo

Without contrast, I meld with the masses
Losing sight of my own reflection

Synthetic light slowly deceives till it crashes
All mirrors where I sought for my reflection

Perhaps in shadow, I find true rest
Valid light will seek out its own reflection

When the light finds me I will no longer strive
To conform to another’s reflection

Today at dversepoetspub.com we are still exploring the Ghazal. Not yet perfect and not the easiest form for me.

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Kill Me, Kill You

Douse my flames
Smother me
Till I am not even a glowing ember
Throw your dagger
Aim at my heart
The moon will howl
The stars darken
The sun will cease to rise
Who is the dragon
That you slay
But your mere reflection

 

dversepoetspub.com it is quadrille Monday and the prompt is ‘dragon’.

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A Buried Treasure Unearthed Is Me

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Like a Matrioshka doll
I wandered through
The neighborhood of my youth
Nothing looked different
Nothing looked the same
Past and present through one lens
Observing my Winter years
Unwrap Spring
And Summer now is small
And so am I
Again

dversepoetspub.com prompt is “wandering and observing” a few years ago I visited my hometown after about a 30 year absence. This is my short summary of that walk.

Image is from Pixabay

 

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