Quilt me a cacophony of colors, floral me a scene. Roses, lilac, freesia, lavender, gardenia, scents melding into sweet aroma. Featured like fragrant punchbowl on caterer’s gleaming sideboard. Senses tempted to imbibe, I submit. Feast my eyes, inhale deeply, engulfed in garden’s ethereal delight.
Quadrille written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Today De asks us to use the word “punch” or a form of the word, within our poem of exactly 44 words,sans title.Photo taken a number of years ago in Ireland.
Black earth cracks open begging through jagged, arid lips water, please, drown me with drops of life restoring rain. Tendrils of roots seek my riches to nourish them, to bloom with promises threatened now in dark, dry soil without a drop to drink.
Butterflies and bees will be robbed of the balm they seek. Blossoms will not open, colors will fade to yellow and brown. Lavender will lose its scent, the fragrance of summer begs for life restoring rain. Clouds blow in providing shade but no rain falls from decorator clouds that quickly puff away. We watch the radar but it is like the pot that never boils.
Thunderstorms are possible they say. Rumbles of thunder are heard in the distance, winds pick up, branches fall in dry frustration. Black earth cries out water, please, drown me with drops of life restoring, blessed rain.
Written by Lindsey Ein for OLN LIVE at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. Image from Pixabay.com