Almost midnight,
when my shift ends…
and in walks a thief
at this dark hour.
But I’m no prophet,
no vessel,
though I speak with a seraph
every night at this station,
and it beats its blinding wings…
each eye gazing at lowly me.
{This poem is based on a prompt from the poetry community dVerse:
Create a 44 word poem (called a quadrille) using the word “eye”.}
Small eyes of bright dark glass, brighter than beetles crawling through infinite grass.
Tall and white as the flower beneath my window that opens each day and disappears each night. You move so fast.
I must step out for a better view. The bloom doesn’t mind…why do you?
{National Poetry Month is here. I will try to write a poem every day for the month of April. This is possibly one of those quantity over quality situations. There may be typos…
I don’t know if I will be able to publish a poem every single day, but I would like to at least attempt to write one.
This poem was inspired by the “early bird” warm-up prompt on March 31, 2020 at NaPoWriMo.net.}
When a cold front arrives,
it’s conspicuous.
Whole trees sway.
Leaves and chimes are moved to music.
Cats and coyotes cry
at dawn. They sound
like children in peril.
Or demons.
I am a prisoner watching
from morning’s window.
Listening to the cries
of the lost and hungry.
Slipping out of blankets,
I am grounded
on a floor of ice.
Foggy but steady,
I step in slow motion
toward my daily routine—
silent and desensitized,
in striped fuzzy socks.
Green Tea and Poetry 