Tag Archives: Quadrille

When the sun goes down and tomorrow isn’t promised

,  we (bold) blow our breaths loose and wonderwish a way to say   the stilted phrases,scattered phases of our long-lost selves.  we sold our souls for a star,and we’re sorry.  we hold our breaths for a silver-sliver of moon, a shiver of silence.  :: It’s Quadrille Monday over at dVerse, and … Continue reading

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Black thrones waiting for finger strikes {Wooing the Muse} 

She’s a wily one-der, all curled up crescent like a soon-hiding moon.  She swoons at sea, sirened only by salt. (But she can barely swim and gets con-fused.)  Eyes closed, we clack. For our own   (sanity) sake, we eat cake.  And are not a-mused.  :: … Continue reading

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Breaking Point 

They’ve gone wild(these wayward princesses),bored of bibbidi-bobbidi boo,tired of titles and weary of woo.  They’ve decided to break it all down lose the shoes and crack their crowns into a mosaic of glitterglee.  See? The world shines better broken. Spoken. Free. ::It’s Quadrille Monday over at dVerse … Continue reading

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Leave your cares behind 

, at the Careen Canteen. Zip-zoom into something sipped, from sun-kissed chamomile tea to rum -bled phrase on the rocks, times three.  Come on in, here’s a g(r)inwith a hint of wry.  Before last call, we’ll shakeit all (fears, hope) into a slow-stirred sky.  It’s Quadrille Monday at dVerse, and … Continue reading

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Wayward Thrones and Pocket Stories 

Weary of glass (ceilings, slippers, houses) ,we turn ourselves to stone instead, our bare feet mud-luscious in their riverbeds.  We pebble stories, toss them in.  The moon’s a diamond we are tired of rolling uphill,so we cut her into slices and shine.  It’s Quadrille Monday at dVerse, and I’m hosting. … Continue reading

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umbrella heavens

the year has taken much, and left us hollow.  we count sorrowson both hands and watchthe cold doors close. i suppose   of all these wayward things, i miss my -self the most.  i search the sky for rain and other groovy ghosts. It’s Quadrille Monday … Continue reading

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Follow that yellow brick

Tin man’s on the hunt again. She stole his Oz -heart, wrenched it from his metal chest and  smashed it all to bits. It’s amazing really, how soon  these creaky limbs bounce back, on track, reach for something new. Glue-thick as thieves. Red as … Continue reading

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occasional storm

  we are reborn in these deluge moments,heavens cracked open and boomingsudden protest of all this desert dry. in drops of liquid hopefrom broken cloud, redemption falls from sky.  we unfold our hands andrejoice in water only thrown, streams without stones.  It’s Quadrille Monday over at … Continue reading

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the sky’s a curio cabinet of stars, with her at center

it gets curiouser and curious-er, her fascination with that sky sand dollar,that noble star scholar, mama moon. she swoons at crescent smile, a fine fool for full. you can question her about it some, but she has no words. only hum, and shine.  It’s Quadrille Monday over at … Continue reading

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an etched scratch scrape in a twisting sky

this poem is a tightly wound spring. she’s a  taut wound caught up in clacked-black things.  she’s got unspoken broken and unscattered seed, unpolished corners and unmet needs.  she’s a wayward kite on a fragile string. let’s unwind her now, and let her sing.  Lill’s given us a fun … Continue reading

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