Coming of Age–dVerse Quadrille

Coming of Age
a Haibun/Quadrille

Outside my office tree house, the once-huge robin’s nest seems crowded, small. Three growing babies fluff their wings, itching to fly, it seems. But still, they cuddle to mother’s soft sunset-red breast.

ready to be free,
still gaping beaks, huddling close,
teenage robins wait

Linked to dVerse Quadrille Monday. The word to include is itch. The poem, excluding title, calls for exactly 44 words. I am getting nothing done these days watching this wondrous process of nesting, birthing, nurturing and, soon, fledging.

Happy Anniversary, 7 years, to dVerse. It’s been a great ride.

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Life Seasons–dVerse Monday Haibun

Photo: Pixabay
Labeled for non-commercial reuse

Life’s Seasons
a Haibun

Lately, I’m almost afraid to answer the phone when Aunt Joyce, the matriarch of our family, calls. I love this elderly, alert, wise woman who has outlasted her generation, and seems to be the glue that holds much of our vast family together. But recently the calls have been peppered with sadness—stage IV cancer, death and more death. These are members of my generation that she reports on. Brings it home, it does, as I’m the oldest of the bunch.

Outside my “treehouse” office, I spotted a large, artfully woven nest a couple of weeks ago. It remained empty until Saturday when I spied papa bird standing on its rim. He ruffled his feathers, puffed out his red breast, then sidled up to mama, snuggling for a few moments, remaining as she flew off for her break. Twelve to fourteen days, my Google Assistant tells me. Will I get to witness birth?

full-throated robin
sings summer joy lustily
I prune dead roses

A Visit–dVerse Monday Quadrille

Photo: istock
Labeled for non-commercial reuse

A Visit
a Quadrille

I find him on the porch,
frame stooped, cobbled by years
of loss and melancholic memories.

Eyes dimmed, he turns within—
hears the music of birdsong,
inhales the scent of lavender,

tastes the sweetness of this moment
when friends stop by,
and hug him.

Linked to dVerse Quadrille Monday where De asks us for a poem of exactly 44 words, excluding title. The word of the week is COBBLE or any of its forms. Join us and have fun.

Spring Rain–Frank Tassone’s Haikai Challenge #33

Photo: pixnio. Labeled for non-commercial reuse.

Rain Dance–Haibun

The bipolar weather does her spring dance. Early this week she offered temperatures in the high 80’s. Today, I glance outside my office window and watch drops of rain fall uncertainly on the fully developed leaves of the ornamental pear tree. Temperatures in the 40’s early morning.

This tree brings so much joy. She offers niches perfect for robin nests and in the autumn extends her arms, heavy with small, hard pears, pears more like berries than the fruit we know. Flocks of cedar waxwings and the occasional chickadee stop by to be nourished on their journeys south.

So welcome sweet spring rain. Bring life to this high desert.

spring rain droplets hang
from dancing leaves (like old breasts)
carmine hooded finch sings

Linked to Frank Tassone’s Haikai Challenge #33 where the Kigo is Spring Rain, harusame.

Forever-Love, dVerse Quadrille Monday

Forever-Love

As years passed, her hair turned fuller’s white and the pains and joys of life etched wrinkles on her face. Eyes still sparkled. In her muddled mind, she knew him still.

rough gnarly branches,
spring blossoms flourished on twigs
he stayed at her side.

Wikipedia Commons–Labeled for non-commercial reuse.

A Haibun/Quadrille inspired by a number of former patients, linked to dVerse Quadrille Monday, where the word to use is “Muddle.” A Haibun is a short piece of prose followed by a seasonal haiku. A Quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words that uses a specific word offered by the prompter. Please join in at dVerse Monday Quadrille.

Grandmother’s Collection–dVerse Quadrille Monday

Photo: Victoria Slotto

Grandmother’s Collection

I gather feathers—memories
of color, flight, texture and joy,
she said

and flowers pressed within
the pages of a heavy tome.

Close to my breast—the loves
of countless years. Thus,

within these twisting rivers, blue,
upon my gnarly hands,
I gather hope.

A quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words, excluding the title. This week Lillian at dVerse asks us to use the word GATHER in our offering. You are invited to join in, read and share a poem at dVerse Haibun Monday