Isaiah 43


Stumbling through a wasteland
(repeatedly abbreviated)
I stagger on
in pursuit of a dream,
………………..a promise,
which lies always beyond my grasp.

In the end
I fall
to rise no more
(then recognise hope),
becoming a channel of grace,
……………..a stream in the desert.


It is Quadrille time over at dVerse and De Jackson, aka WhimsyGizmo, challenges us to write a 44-word poem featureing the word “stream.”

The Heart of Winter


In the heart of wheezing winter
At the end of worn out June,
Darkness arrives quite early
with the cold face of the moon.

For the robust greens of summer
The kneeling warthog grieves
And a curious little mongoose
Sifts through the brittle leaves.


It was Quadrille Monday at d’Verse and De was the host.
A Quadrille is a poem of exactly 44 words, not counting the title, and this week
including some form of the word CURIOSITY(curious, curiousness, curiouser, etc). 



Take off your coat
and stay awhile,
Little Seed.
Let me make a bed for you
with a rich blanket of mulch.

Like Toad
I’ll sing you to a deep sleep
and in the morning
you can raise a green head
to the sun.


Today Merril is hosting Quadrille Monday over at d’Verse.
She challenges us to write a quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words, excluding the title, and including the word SEED.

Planting seeds always reminds me of the story “The Garden” from Frog and Toad Together. I do love precious Toad! “NOW, SEEDS, START GROWING!!”



You bother me

like bees bother dandelions,

like clouds bother sky,

like breath bothers lungs,

like tears bother a cry,

like rain bothers clouds,

like feathers bother bird,

like words bother poem,

like ears bother heard,

like water bothers stream,

like hope bothers dream.


De Jackson (aka WhimsyGizmo) is hosting today at dVerse and invites us to write a Quadrille. De says:
Compose a poem of precisely 44 words, not including the title, and use some form of the word BOTHER.

Me at Six-Tea


and round
and round
I g(r)o(w)
(monkey chasing weasel).
Too long on the wheel
I’ve gone wonky,
lopsided, skew-whiff.
I am weary with washing
oil, soil and blood
out —
damned spots.
I wear them like battle scars,
wreaths and stars.
I’m a lost cause,
a bootless errand,
a snipe hunt,
a waste of time.
The eyes leak,
the shoulders sag,
the wiring crossed,
the arches fallen,
the angles are worn round.
Defying the physics
of dimensions and space,
the contents
(more vibrant than Sirius)
outsize the vessel,
often boiling over the brim,
spewing prattle 
(and spittle),
tilting at windmills
and wafting wonderment
at the sky.

Raise that pinky;
let’s have a cuppa to grace.


Over at dVerse, Sarah is challenging us to write a self-portrait poem.
Why don’t you join the fun!

just another bum


just another bum,
he stands every day
at the highway t-junction,
same baggy clothes,
head bowed,
wizened, beard-spouting face,
empty hand in palm.
in a perfectly timed meeting,
he lifts his chin
and his carolina blues
assault you
through the mercedes windscreen.


De Jackson is hosting the bar at dVerse and asks us to compose a Quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words, using the word BUM.

Spring (before the rains)


My discouraged heart surveys the damage.
I stoop to gather
bits of radiant reds and vibrant oranges
strewn about the hoove-pocked garden.

Yet, I cannot despair:
soon rains will brighten bush
luring the nyala
back to finer fare.

mangled flowers grace my kitchen.


 Victoria is hosting at dVerse today, asking “How does your garden grow?
The word to include in our Quadrille (a poem of exactly 44-words, not including the title)  is garden
.  Why not join us and write along!!! 🙂

Our home is in a wildlife estate.  We have all manner of wild critters come crawling through our little residence.  My favourite are the dwarf mongooses.  They scratch and dig for insects and rarely damage my carefully cultivated herb garden.  But at the end of the long dry winter, before the nourishing summer rains, the numerous buck (duiker, impala, nyala, waterbuck and kudu) come nosing around for green vegetation.  They have big appetites and can destroy a garden rather quickly.  And I won’t even get started on the monkeys . . .

(Clockwise from top:  dwarf mongoose, duiker, nyala, vervet monkeys and waterbuck)

A Rose By Any Other Name


Brier, bramble, gorse and furze,

Nettles, spines and sticky burrs.

Prickle, stickle, thistle, thorn —

Reminders when the curse was born.

Raspberry, blackberry, wag ‘n bietjie here.

Redberry lips approach the bier.

Remove a barb and beast’s a friend.

Pies for pudding, a fitting end.


Linda is hosting at dVerse today and challenges us to write a Quadrille (poem of exactly 44 words, excluding the title) using the word “bramble.” Come play!

For those of you who may not know, “wag ‘n bietjie” is Afrikaans for “wait a bit” and is one of the names for the Ziziphus mucronata tree (also known as the buffalo thorn), called “wait a bit” because the thorns are known to hook and hold its victims.



Crafted by hand
from the heart of mahogany,
the precious spinning top
lies skew
a stack of unread books.
I pick it up,
cool and smooth
in the palm of my hand.
As my fingers close about it
I remember you
and bring it
to my lips.
Remember how we revolved around each other
in a whirling, dizzy speed?
But imperfectly balanced,
friction slowed our movement
and gravity brought us down,
pulling us into a wobble
from which there was no return.
Now I’ve lost my axis
and all I have left
is this



At dVerse, Merril asks us to write about revolution.

Till we have faces


Till we have faces (there’s)
no way of knowing
the weather of the heart.

Honey, I love
one people,
(the) uncommon type
(with) tattoos on the heart.

poem book titles



Over at dVerse, Björn is having fun making poetry from book titles on his shelf and challenges us to do the same thing!  SO MUCH FUN!!!  Try it!

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