THE DREAM CATCHER Her dreams flew by on gossamer wings, too high to reach some days, even on tiptoes.
THE ELDERLY MRS HOLIDAY Waste not want not. She’d heard that all her life lived by it too – Christmas wreath upon her head ready for the Easter parade.
THE SENATOR With perfect pitch, opera singer by avocation and meteorologist by training, he became a successful politician. Elected term after term, he simply changed his tune depending on how the winds blew.
THE LIBRARIAN She collected books. Being of short stature she carried a stack wherever she went, booster seats not always available.
Mainly small time gigs,
circus tents in rural areas.
Environmentalist at heart.
Some thought her silly
giving up two weeks of pay,
assisting farmers in their fields.
Strange sight though,
legs in the air.
Pollen dusted knees
moving through acres,
Quadrille (exactly 44 words, sans title) written for dVerse where today the prompt word is “silly” – or any form of the word. Photo from Pixabay.com
“You said you’d follow me anywhere,” he yelled out above the roar. She stood there shaking. Obviously he didn’t understand the meaning of hyperbole!
Her parents had warned her. Her stodgy father mumbled “He’s a fly-by-night.” Her mother wrung her hands and kept repeating “He’s not good enough for you.” But she loved him. So she followed her heart.
It was romantic at first. Driving cross-country in his converted VW van. Lying on the hood looking up at the stars. Then he got this ridiculous idea. She didn’t think he meant it literally for God’s sake! Who really runs away to the circus??? But here she was. Sequined tights, gaudy tiara, leather grips on her hands. No one left and no one came on the bare platform. It was her turn. And there he was, hanging upside down swinging on that damned trapeze!
Sarah is hosting Prosery Monday at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. However, we’re not writing poems today! Prosery is the use of a given line from a poem, word for word, within the work of flash fiction which can be no more than 144 words, sans title.
Sarah’s line which we must use within our flash fiction is “No one left and no one came onto the bare platform.” it is from Edward Thomas’ poem Adelstrop.
Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!
Tickling incessant tune.
Go in and out the windows . . .
Shut off the radio.
Cadence that kicks
rhyme that sticks.
Like ear muffs close exits
on cold winter days.
I don’t even own a car
but it’s driving
through my ear canal.
Drive it to Panama instead,
out through those locks.
Out of my ear drums.
Quit base thumping,
oh just snare it!
Where are you, Aretha?
Lift the needle,
Just put on the B side,
Click on the video and listen to it for a bit. I dare you. Beware the ear worm!
Written for dVerse, the virtual pub for poets where today Linda asks us to explore surrealism in poetry. She tells us surrealism in poetry is “the true function of thought. Thought dictated in the absence of all control exerted by reason, and outside all aesthetic or moral preoccupations.” To me, this sounds a lot like stream-of-consciousnes writing….which is what’s happening in this poem. Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us!
Mr. Bobcat trains wildcats in his purrfect cat-filled town. Miss Pussycat educates tiny ones, eradicating copycats all around.
Devilish hellcats fornicate in cold cathedral catacombs. Catholics’ scatter catnip, as holier-than-thou catchalls.
Mr. Tomcat struts vainly in the town’s decathalon, like a catty fat-cat victor, like he’s the cat’s meow.
Catatonic mayor catnaps, dead asleep
as cat burglars roam the littered streets.
When crime reaches cataclysmic levels
catcalls will be heard, Abdicate NOW!
Cats will suddenly get sick as dogs, as heat rises and dog days come. Cats will be dogged by fleas and this poem shall end . . .
in unbelievable catastrophe!
It’s Poetics Tuesday at dVerse and we’re asked to write a poem that has something to do with cats in the subject matter, as metaphor, or wherever the muse takes us. My muse took me to the Catskill Mountains! There are twenty-nine cats in the body of this poem….some hidden as in educated. Can you find them all? Pub opens at 3 PM Boston time. Come join us! Photo from pixabay.com
. . . I could buy the Sea of Tranquility.
Probably more lucrative than Greenland.
Exciting ride to get there.
If a cow jumped over it,
how hard could it be?
Me: The Man on the Moon.
King of the Green Cheese!
Second posting for Quadrille Monday: poem of exactly 44 words sans title, that includes the word “tranquility.” Illustration from Pixabay.com