dVerse Quadrille #37: What Leads to Fear – 2/8/17

Running that’s the truth
And tipping, tripping, lie, or tie me down
Too late
Unexpectedly at the sheer drop
Arms windmilling
Against the fearful drop
And back I tip
Running again
Whipping though lovely foliage
In dancing copperplated heels
Down amongst the laughing trees.



Following the prompt at dVerse – Quadrille #37–Be Not Afraid.

Please let me know what you think, constructive criticism is always welcome!


One Poem Every Day, Poetry

No. 205 23/7/16

Have all the words been spoken,
Have i used up all the space,
Given to me to fill with words?
Will the former words never be erased?

Or will they give me endless buckets,
For my everlasting word flow?
I’m not scared of getting buckets,
But what if my flow of words run slow?

What if I never fill a fountain pen,
Or half the notebooks I’ve bought?
Will I one day stare at pale skies,
And find that I have not even one thought?


One Poem Every Day, Poetry

No. 198 “I Live on the Ocean” – 9/7/16

A listing boat on listless sea, amber sunsets to catch,

Heading home by the long way to a house with a roof of thatch.

Made endless lists on the way home, noting all I have made,

Out in the glaring sun, the sail casts little shade.

Am I the least bit original? Out here I’ll never know,

I think I’ll lose the alphabet, the ocean can take it and go.

Do you remember that feeling? from no water and too much sun,

We used to forget to drink water when we were little and having fun.

Well that’s what I’m feeling now, scorched from a wood fire,

Homey wood fire is not crashing waves and how quickly of it I tire.

On land my words are off balance, used to the shifting waves,

They tilt an crash into porcelain cups then go off and hide in caves.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are, come and play in the sun”

But I miss my afternoon oceans, each moment the ocean stuns.

Do you know when I love the ocean most? When it’s flat and quiet and still,

A luminous pale blue, tinged with green and pale yellow chill.

When there are never any waves and the breeze is made of candy,

Though the inky night will soon pounce, and all that is left will be sandy.

Which is not at all pleasant, so I rinse thoroughly in the dark sea,

And dry off under the silent moon, and go to sleep under olive trees.