Category DVerse

dVerse Quadrille Monday: Threshold

freyathewriter 27 Comments

Photo by NASA on Unsplash

I form the edges of the night,
my boundaries cast wide
for we are in the darkling time,
the liminal space between the end
and the beginning.

I, your moon, grow large
at this juncture,
a silver disc,
frost bound, ghostly,
your cold companion.

…..

This week in dVerse Quadrille Monday, we are asked to mull over the moon, in any way we feel, as long as the word ‘moon’ is included somewhere. Of course, it being a quadrille, there absolutely must be 44 words, no more and no less, in the poem. I’ve counted my offering several times, so I hope I’ve managed to count correctly!

I have been away from dVerse, the lovely poetry writing community for a long, long time. I encourage you to visit them here and read the wonderful moony quadrilles these fabulous poets have penned.

I’ve also been away from WordPress so I had to re-educate myself on the formatting – but that’s another story!

dVerse Poetics – Song of Songs

freyathewriter 37 Comments

This week in Poetics over at the dVerse Poets Pub, we are asked by our genial host Laura to step away from all that is distracting us, all that is bringing us down and be inspired by the poets whose thoughts turn to the mystical or spiritual. This is to mark Bhodi Day (8th December), when Siddharta Gautama achieved enlightenment and became the Buddha.

Please do hop over to dVerse, read the contributions and why not take part yourself?

Here is my offering, inspired by the line below:

My heart was split, and a flower appeared (Solomon)

I count them, not to accumulate the seeded wealth

but to honour your blessings, your beauty within.

For your lips are like the crimson thread

that connects each ruby-polished pearl nestled within

and I kiss them in awe, in delight, oh, in reverence.

My mouth lovingly caresses your shimmering jewels,

hesitant – and yet, and yet

I may not refrain from the glories within.

I am entranced by you, your eyes, your brow, your radiant skin,

your covering cannot shroud you, cannot conceal you from my gaze

I have split you open and your beauty is mine.

613 – I count them.

They are yours – and maybe, one day, mine.

This poem is also inspired by an extract from Song of Songs, which is also known as the Song of Solomon. In Jewish tradition, pomegranates are seen as a symbol of fertility and love (“Your lips are like a crimson thread; your mouth is lovely. Your brow behind your veil [gleams] like a pomegranate split open”). They are also associated with the 613 mitzvot (commandments), because they are said to have 613 seeds (in reality they don’t, sadly!).

Haibun Monday – This is my realm

freyathewriter 26 Comments

Over at dVerse, Frank is our capable host this evening as we consider that special time of year when the veil between this world and the world beyond is at its thinnest – Hallowe’en.

Frank has invited us to craft a haibun (a piece of prose followed by a haiku) on this very theme. Whether you revel in the ‘holiday’ aspect loved by adult and children alike, whether your preference is for the inclusion of Samhain in your seasonal celebrations, or whether you just prefer a little fear and ghoulishness, why not have a go at crafting your haibun as the night draws in?

Take part, get your word on or just have a read. There’s bound to be something that will make your skin crawl…. mwahahahaaaaaa!

Here’s my offering – I hope you enjoy it!

*****

The rain spatters against the windows, reminiscent of thousands of dry, bony fingers tap, tap, tapping on the glass, demanding my attention. The curtains, ragged and thin from decades of wear, hang loosely from the rail, too short and too narrow for their supposed purpose. The pale, glowering moon menaces through the branches of the skeletal trees. Its insipid light is no match for the heavy darkness in here.

I light a candle, observing as the match is greedily consumed by the flame, cursing as the searing heat threatens to singe my flesh. Tonight is not the night for a sacrifice, much as the season might demand a burnt offering, recalling a time of witches, stakes and ducking stools. I refuse to submit, I have fought tooth and mail for the power I now possess.

Your science is no
match for me; All Hallow’s Eve
is my dark domain.