Winter #haibun #poem

Thank you Frank for tonights #Dverse ‘s #haibun prompt about winter. it reminded me of a cycle down to work earlier in the month when i as inspired to write the haiku included within the haibun. i also took the picture included on this chiilly ride.

https://dversepoets.com/2022/01/31/haibun-monday-1-31-22-winter/

Winter. #Haibun

A cycle ride down the frost covered hill to work. Gloves not thick enough and sunglasses protecting my eyes from low winter sun. Bank of trees splitting the sunlight into many streams. Mist drifts amongst the streams of light demanding of me a picture.

A hot coffee revives my cold being, my fingers tingle with the life coming back into them. Twenty minutes before they are fit for work. I am aching in every bone and sinew for the warmth of summer. When I know I shall be craving this very cold that has crept into my aging body.

Winter #haiku

My winter won over

My frozen fingers solid

Icy morning aspect.

minute party poem. # poem

https://dversepoets.com/2022/01/27/poetry-form-the-minute-poem/

Thanks grace for a prompt at #dverse poets pub. it took me longer that expected but still had fun.

For only a minute of magic,

Lust is tragic,

When the kissing,

Goes missing run.

can we Dance to the nightingale?

Drink Fighting ale,

Party all night,

Mighty sun rise.

English breakfast cures hangover,

Bubble over,

Memories true,

For ever with you.

Magic #dverse, #wordatthewharf

thank you Linda Lee #dverse another poet/writer to add to my to read list. This is my first encounter with Jim Harrisons words.

i have chosen ” He went to sea in a thimble of poetry.” poet warning by jim Harrison. to use as an epigraph.

The members of my local spoken word group word at the wharf set a topic every month at our once a month meeting. this months’ to be written for Febuarys meet up is magic. i have tried to combine the two has have been struugling with both.

https://dversepoets.com/2022/01/25/poetics-songs-of-unreason/

#wordsatthewharf

Magic.

“He went to sea in a thimble of poetry.”

A poet warning.

Poems can be magic or tragic.

A poet who no longer believes

In the magic of the universe around him.

Like being

Swamped by

the trivial magicians

Of the tv age.

A thimble you say

Why a thimble?

a thimble of

Inspiration

Is all I have

Today.

Tragic is this

The magic I

Cannot find

To share

Words of

Wisdom.

Sobber Shivers #quadrille 144

https://dversepoets.com/2022/01/24/quadrille-144-shivering/

Tonight merril at #dverse offered up the word shiver for the 144th qudrille.

Written for all those brave souls who have gone cold turkey from an addiction. I have known alcoholics who have given up alcohol and described to me the detox shivers they got. Good luck to all who have the courage to break their need for a drink.

Sobber shivers #poem

Fearsome shivers consume me daily,

Shudders incinerate, my rationale mind set.

Shivering in anticipation of home,

Quivering with love for the bottle.

Trembling for my lovers’ arms,

Here at alcohols coercing demand.

Consumed daily by need of whiskey,

Shivers consume me,

At rebuffing yearning.

Knock Knock #poem

Knock knock!

This the hour before dawn, Knock, knock, knock,

Is when my black robed visitor, Every first Tuesday,

Knocks on my bedroom door. Filling me with panic.

————

Knock, knock, knock, This the hour before dawn,

Every third Monday, I dreamt of the darkness

Knock, knock, knock waking feeling melancholy,

Do they love me. Craving twilight ventures,

——–

This the hour before dawn, Knock, knock, knock,

Every third Monday, Every first Tuesday,

I lay terrified of a visitor’s worship. Removing my stability,

———–

Knock, knock, knock, This the hour before dawn,

Every third Monday, When starlight is weakest,

Knock, knock, knock, The sun begging to be awake,

Who is the stranger at my door? The night terrors are wailing.

——–

This the hour before dawn, Knock, Knock, Knock,

I dream of a beach and a clarinet, Every first Tuesday,

As I am worshiped by a stranger. I won’t open my door.

————–

Knock, knock, knock, This the hour before dawn,

Every third Monday, every first Tuesday,

Knock, knock, knock, My inner darkness swelling,

Until I open the bedroom door. Swamping my identity.

———–

This the hour before dawn, Knock, Knock, Knock,

I open my bedroom door, a new job beckons as,

Grim reaper taking me to his private beach, light bulbs explode overhead,

Romances me, playing his clarinet. Perpetual blackness now mine.

———–

Knock, knock, knock,

A stranger at the door this hour before dawn,

I shall never die, I’m no longer me,

As every third Monday, as every first Tuesday,

I am deaths lover! I am the grim reaper

Knocking at your door!!