February 13, 2022 · 2:39 pm
Blue Earth-shadow rises above the hills,
while day falls away as we walk the ridge,
night flowing up until the sky is filled.
‘til we stand, sunset-lit upon this bridge
between the working day and evening rest,
and recount the day’s small losses and gains,
an accounting of the worst and the best,
of what the day washed up, its joys and pains.
Then day put away, and night full-risen.
we look ahead now to the next day’s plans
a dozen tasks, ‘tween work, chores and children
a dozen balls juggled by our four hands,
as we turn again toward home and stride,
moon-shadows leading, walking side by side.
I wrote this for the dVerse Thursday MTB prompt “some shadowy lines“, but was too late to add it to the links. It doesn’t fulfil the prompt requirements, as it’s a sonnet rather than a shadowed sonnet with the first word of each line repeated as the last word. I didn’t have the head space for that. I’m finding it hard to write at the moment, because I can’t read and write. I can read or write. At least when either is intensive. I’ve just finished reading the second full draft of my student’s PhD thesis – it was pretty intense.
Filed under poem
Tagged as dVerse, sonnet
September 16, 2021 · 7:21 pm
For the dVerse prompt “creepies and crawlies“, a sonnet about slaters:
When the sun is up and the birds about
you can find them, if you know where they creep
into the crevices, all flattened out –
the slate-grey slaters, all huddled in sleep. Continue reading →
May 8, 2021 · 9:02 am
For the dVerse prompt MTB: Palinode this is a retraction of my earlier Sonnet for my pig, which was one of my first blog posts. Since I wrote that she has eaten hundreds of dollars of bulbs, two chickens, three doormats…. She has also stolen clothes and sheets from the line to build a nest, and bitten me unexpectedly.
My piggy’s eyes are little and evil,
But it’s the use of her snout that does tell,
That she’s the most wickedest of devils,
That has ever risen to Earth from Hell.
She snuffles and wuffles through the garden,
Leaving holes where once were lovely flowers.
I see the mess and feel my heart harden,
But the foolish pig ignores my glowers.
And standing now below the washing line,
As I hang the clothes, my piggy has come,
All quietly sneaking up from behind
and that monster pig has bitten my bum!
Oh piggy, to love you, I really tried,
But you’ll be your best as bacon crisp-fried.
Pigs can be taught to sit. But not to refrain from eating anything left outside, including doormats, tins of paint and garden beds.
February 11, 2020 · 8:54 am
Written in defence of my pet pig (with apologies to WS) when other family members were advocating spit roasting her:
My piggy’s eyes are nothing like the sun. Continue reading →
Filed under pig, poem
Tagged as pig, rurality, sonnet