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.
Photo: Victoria Slotto
canticle of waning light
a quadrille
whisper me now a lullaby
and hold me close in mystic
arms of memory
whisper me songs
of yesterday
when dreams throbbed
promises, danced
with love beneath the stars
whisper me peace
‘neath setting sun
and grace shall linger
in the gloom
of night.
Please join us at dVerse Poets’ Pub where we are enjoying Quadrille’s–poetry of exactly 44 words. This week’s word that must be included in the poem is WHISPER. The pub doors open Monday at 3:00 PM EST. De Jackson is our hostess and she pours a mean poem.
life
around me
(though chill seeps in)
life flourishes
winter birds
cull berries from leafless trees
drink from rainwater puddles
a lone purple flower
flaunts beauty at
my garden gate
three weeks ago today
i was there to receive
her last breath
eternal life flourishes
On October 30th, I arrived in Huntington Beach, California, to celebrate my almost-96 year old mother’s birthday on November 5th. I spoke to her the day before I left and she was happy I was coming, telling me, as she did quite often, “Don’t forget you are my little girl!”
When I arrived, I found that she was non-responsive. The night before she had told her caregiver that she was tired and was ready to die. The following day, she did just that–peacefully and with loved ones at her side.
I returned home yesterday, after three weeks sans Internet, tending to what I term “the business of dying.” That explains my absence. I have a lot of catching up to do here at home, so I may not be real present this week either, but wanted to take advantage of today’s wonderful Quadrille prompt at dVerse that asks us to use the word “breath” in any of its forms in a poem of exactly 44 words. Please join us. Little by little, I will get around to reading yours.
this is what happens in June gardens
Photo: V. Slotto
colors shift from purple
and pink to orange and yellow
coral climbing roses
spill over our fence
into the neighbor’s yard
on a high branch
robin serenades me
oriole leaps to the feeder
as soon as i move
to another part of the garden
This is for Monday Quadrille at dVerse Poets. The prompt asks for a poem of exactly 44 words, exclusive of the title, and this week we must include the word SPILL in any of its variations. Spill a line or several onto a nice white sheet of paper (or your computer screen) and join us Monday, 1500 EST.
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Driving the Eastern Sierra
snow-capped Sierras to the West
(my soul soars)
rising above volcanic outcrops
(I sing of earth)
a hawk circles above, searching for prey
(heart skips a beat)
mist lingers in the valley
(I rise above it)
litter on the highway
(spirit plummets, weeps aloud)
Jumping in late for Monday Quadrille at dVerse Poets where we write a poem of exactly 44 words, this week using the word “skip.” Just made this glorious drive. Fortunately, there was not a lot of litter, but when there was…
Victoria C. Slotto, Author 