Quince X 2

Quince 

(free verse )

Stark tangle of december

black and bare, sharp and brittle,

hook twigs a shakespearean drama of thorns

spotlighting from darkness the posturing coral bud.

Life in death, wildfired and torched

over every branch, its ending

smoothed by something born

swelling in promise:

a Paris green blast of

bitter juice.

Quince

(shorter, as a shadorma)

Earth's burlesque,

december's bare black

theatre,

masque of thorns 

flaring color from darkness;

posed bud, bitter juice.

~March 2013

posted for  dVerse Poets
Poetics: Short Verse
Fred Rutherford's challenge is to tell a complete story, and to 'maximize effectiveness' through brevity. I wrote the first version of this free verse, then decided to see if I could shorten it by using a favorite form of mine known as the shadorma--a six line poem with the syllable count of 3-5-3-3-7-5. I'm not sure which version is more effective as they turned out rather differently. Thanks for the challenge, Fred.

Process notes: Paris green: " is an inorganic compound more precisely known as copper acetoarsenite. It is a highly toxic emerald-green crystalline powder that has been used as a rodenticide and insecticide, and also as a pigment, despite its toxicity..."~wikipedia  

Quince, on the other hand,  are completely edible and non-toxic, but extremely bitter.

Definitions of burlesque and masque.

Hover mouse for image credits, or click on picture to go to photographer's page @ flick'r  creative commons.

Mousehole

Mousehole

I scream in the night

for the rescuers

but there are no sirens, no

flashing lights traveling

a moonscape of ash.

I lie down on the floor

open my mouth

pretend I'm a mousehole

so something

will come and live with me here.

Something closer than skin

warmer than frost at

heart dead void; it can be small

even as small as a sin

creeping in.

A warm twitch-nosed mouse

or even an unquiet imp

would be company enough;

dogs only sleep

and I let them lie.

~December 2012

Posted for   real toads

Challenge: Fireblossom's Wednesday Friday

The illustrious Catblossom has delegated this prompt to her accomplished acolyte Fireblossom, who asks that we write about disaster and cataclysm, or something. This is probably 'or something.'

Image: Mouse, by Barnaby Kerr Photography, on flick'r

Shared under a Creative Commons license    

Quills

Quills

Living with her

was like living with roaches,

flimsy, easy to kill but never
really dead, always stutter running

always more hidden than shown

always a scuttling when the switch flipped,

impossible to hold accountable.

In a hard country, the dog chased

the porcupine

catching a hundred razor

barbed quills in his face every time.

Every time, they'd cut and pull them while he cried, 
saying, he's learned now, 

he won't do it again.

Before the blood was dulled dry, he'd be up

hunting, disfigured nose twitching, bantam
brain eclipsed, swollen with the useless rage
of the violated; just so, the child came back at her 
teeth bared, howling outside the den, nose down

for the yelling, the curse, the barbs in its

face, a hundred times.

In the rank stillness Mama Roach
drops her eggcase on the drainboard
casual as shedding a dirty thong.

Mating. Eating. Her own survival
absorbs her, and there will be more
eggs, many more. It's nothing
personal.

~August 2012

Posted for   OpenLinkNight   at dVerse Poets Pub
 I'll be hosting tonight at the pub, so come join us. Doors open at 3:00 PM EST and link-in is live through tomorrow midnight.

If you would like to hear the poem read by the author, click below:

quills by Hedgewitch O'theWilds

Header photo: Porcupine quills, by lamiot 
from Stekelvarken.JPG (Image:Stekelvarken.JPG) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Pentas

 

 

Pentas

The harder the times,

the 

more

I stretched

and dried,

the 

more, 

the brighter

you grew.

You were the color

in landscape burnt umber,

I the drab hill-coined

sunflower wilder than fire,

origin unknown.

You were the wrought iron

sun, the shadow soft

traceries of midnight

candle against

 monsters

under the floor.

You filled nothing,

yet the emptiness

slipped away 

in your

 tumbleweed kiss.

 In the

 dryheat storm

you brought the rain

that carried inward 

to the bone.

 You were 

my five pointed star

symmetrical in chaos

flaring flame-blushed coronas 

of uncatchable peace

above the dark soil 

of the heart.

Now there's nothing

in bloom

but words that plump

in acid petals behind my eyes

and cerise memories

even drought 

can't burn down.

~July 2012

revised August, 2012

Process Notes: Pentas lanceolata, also known as Egyptian Star Flower, is a tough and durable bedding plant for climates with extreme heat, and blooms better and more profusely the hotter it gets. It is usually seen in a cherry red or lavender color, though there are pink, white and two toned cultivars also. It has a vivid, lush green leaf and clusters of star-shaped blooms which are attractive to butterflies and hummingbirds. I grow it every summer.

Posted for   Poetics   at dVerse Poets Pub

Stu MacPherson of Poems of Hate and Hope  hosts today and asks us to try to find the Beautiful Sadness. (His photos are better than mine, but not of flowers.)

Images of wild sunflower and Pentas lanceolata  © joyannjones