Never plucking your strings
Invite your prey to play their dirge,
Lighting only to drink.
Does my vintage meet your standards
A late entry for Day #13 (it figures) of the National Poetry Writing Month PAD Challenge. Supposed to write an insect poem but got stuck on a nasty one and froze in terror. Just before bed, I thought to try something from the old days, a micro poem of sorts, a cinquain. And just like that, along came this spider who sat down beside her. My muse, that is. And frightened my block away.
once my aerie
lair of suburban peace
now where finches sing lullabies ~
A semi-cheating (it’s tiny, even for me) poem as my Day 14 catch-up for my poem-a-day NaPoWriMo quest. It’s my version of an American Cinquain style. And yes, those now-poetized house finches built that nest up there in the bottom swing of my Spring/Easter wreath two days before I was going to take it down…which was two weeks after I should have. Oh, and we’ll be sharing the front doorway for another three weeks, by my calculation. Ahh, Hesch, the misplaced suburbanite.
Mourning Dove_5786 (Photo credit: Bobolink)
sings plaintive song to one
in tones gray as his feathered hope
tossing for no reason
except for the look you gave me
Tablets and phones (Photo credit: tribehut)
you hold me as I you
my love and devotion never…
And this oldie…
- heart of stone (Photo credit: jasleen_kaur)
are sculpted words
hammered out of feelings
on the soft workbench in my heart
I wrote these in response to a prompt from my dVerse colleague Tony Maude’s Form for All challenge of writing American Cinquains.