The Quantumverse
The Year slow-rolled to a stop,
at midnight the moon’s transmission
fell out with a clunk.
The poets were out of gas –
no roar in their coffee,
no boom-boom love in their pens.
The return of the sun and inspiration
a dreambillion lightyears
away.
Quadrille for dVerse
Sea worms
litter the winter beach –
wriggling rings,
tiny Christmas wreaths
of bristling pink holly
and red berry ossicles.
Unwrapping
their presents of clams,
seagulls feast
like it’s Saint Crispin’s day –
an all you can eat
martyrdom of bivalves.
The bluff has given back
fifty feet to storms
another house will soon fall,
calve it’s cinder blocks
and sticks in
miracle birth.
You hand me gifts of beach glass
but my pockets are full,
my store return slips them
back to the sand
when you bend down at the tide line –
magi of starfish, cockles and myrrh.
The hobnail feet of Winter
mash us into slush
as if to press iced wine
from our broken skins
a crush on spirits
of summer love
tasted, stripped
just off the vine
sleet’s sharp rhythm
in robes of immaculate white
dancing
on our graves
Quadrille for dVerse
The crack of dawn…
is like a big taco!
OK, a big breakfast taco –
scrambled egg clouds
stuffed in a flour tortilla.
The sun split your sleep
against the bowl
and whisked your dreams.
It’s quite a mouthful.
You’re going to need salsa.
Quadrille for dVerse
A late summer sky so hot
you could cook extinction
on the pavement –
soon enough it will light the leaves
above my head
and they will burn to the ground,
comforting flames
before we cave to winter.
I am in harmony
with Nature here.
Late Quadrille for dVerse
We play Voce like backyard Bocce –
rolling our tongues across verdure,
verbiage, herbiage, lawntastic poems
we’re having ball –
trying to avoid the gutter
or splitting infinities –
we’re Bowling for Dollars
(OK, maybe not)
but for a braggadocio moment
we win naming rights
in the Garden.
For dVerse Quadrille and friends.
Dragony:
That firestorm
of nerves teething
when you need to shed
your alligator brain –
Because snakeskin
swallowed you whole.
Because, impossible to imagine,
you are both pig and python here.
That scaly lump in your throat
is you –
a stretch to get over
yourself.
For dVerse Quadrille and friends.
