This is the first time this hibiscus has bloomed since I planted it. Nice surprise this afternoon!
This poem was inspired by a misread line in Jan Wilberg’s Red’s Threads blog. What she said was, “Everything is very still here.” How I at first read it forms the last line of my poem, which also fulfills the dVerse Poet’s prompt of “Blue.” In place of one quadrille, the poem is actually composed of two quadrilles, the last line of one rhyming with the first line of the second:
It’s not that I’m lonely. I’ve plenty to do,
and yet for some reason, I’m just feeling blue.
The thunder has stopped, though the night’s overcast.
The stars I saw three nights ago were the last
interrupting the dark that surrounds like a shroud.
Here I am still apart from the world’s rowdy crowd.
My dogs curled up in slumber, my cats in their bed,
all of my company curled in my head.
All alone in my house with familiar things near,
everything, everything’s still very here.
Once I was unstoppable, but now my moves are tentative.
My tones once sweet and wheedling have now turned argumentative.
My salad days gone limp, “cute as a penny” turned to brass,
people take as vitriol what once they saw as sass.
My image has been shattered. When I look in the mirror,
I prefer to view me far away instead of standing nearer.
I once was an ingenue with all the roles I wanted.
I faced the cameras brazenly, unfiltered and undaunted.
But now I find the only lenses on my face
are trifocals. The cameras? Gone without a trace.
For Cee’s FOTD
Nervous Nibbling Prior to the St. Patrick’s Day Party
I’ve secured the decorations and I’ve bought the party food.
I’ve put out all the shamrocks and soon the whole damn brood
will descend en masse for the St. Patrick’s celebration.
I fear that by the end of it I’ll need a small vacation.
Green salad and green curry, green bean casserole, green beer.
Every single item of refreshment that is here
seems to be of verdant hue. I’m finding it most shocking,
and soon there will be over-drinking and much over-talking.
Everyday on March 17th, I find it is the same.
If we run out of green cuisine, I am the one to blame.
Every other day of March, I’m totally secure.
It’s only the 17th day I find hard to endure.
This green ice-cream is melting and I fear it will be wasted.
It cannot last much longer. It’s a shame it’s gone untasted.
It looks so delicious. There are bowls there on the shelf.
Do you think it would be callous if I ate it all myself?
Our water comes from a deep hot mineral water well with so many minerals in it that it leaves deposits on the leaves of the trees and succulents when we water them. Too bad, but it surely is wonderful to bathe in!
For Cee’s FOTD
Who will place the final piece?
Rainy Season Rag
How can you be so cavalier
with so much lightning flashing near?
Do you not see? Can you not hear?
It’s raining harder. Have you no fear?
The dogs both circle, growl and peer.
This vigilance is their career.
They’re prodding you to move your rear,
Forsake your hammock. Grab your beer
and make a run. The house is near.
Vámonos ahora, my dear!
For the Weekend Writing Prompt: Cavalier in 64 words.
It’s the birthday of feathers! The dinosaurs grew them.
Who knew evolution was going to do them?
They wished for relief from plodding the earth,
so they lightened their bones and depleted their girth.
As they worked on their balance, were they assuming
that soon they’d be soaring and swooping and zooming?
It’s true evolution gives gift after gift,
but nothing more magic than providing lift!