The challenge today is to let reality and fantasy blend a bit in the heat, then find a shadowy patch under a tree & write your poem. Visit dVerse for more poetry.
This is where the porcelain horses gallop,
rasping in the wind as Pachelbel orchestrates
his Canon in D. This is where mocking woodwinds muffle
thundering ironed feet across peat and
dared riders leap adagio and free over twisted falls.
And this is where my misfit toes dig
inside cooling sands and where I am lulled
inside the fevered painted sky.
I spent the better part of Sunday attempting to write a Decima as described and prompted at naming constellations. I won’t even begin to say that I succeeded as I’m still not even sure I did it right. What a struggle. Today’s poem is the Sunday Poetic Bloomings prompt: Water, water, water. Or no water at all.
a hazy mirage of baby’s breath—
my desert sanctuary,
on wounded lips, raw cheeks
rough on my lone lonely heart.
eyes too blind
to see the shifting art—
jeweled tribal veils
snapping in the wind.
baskets of water
from the arid oasis
drinking the mirage
of our love.
Poetic Bloomings Prompt 59