Wounded Words [Poem]

The words bleed through the page like open wounds

sewn shut with scratch-marks,
dried into imitations of themselves.

I had to gouge the falseness
from the spaces between each letter

so when I wound a thick gauze
around my wounded words

they would heal.

Photo by Peter Chiykowski on Unsplash

At DVerse, the prompt today is to write a Quadrille: a poem of exactly 44 words, not including the title, that includes today’s prompt word, “wound” in the body of the poem. We can use the word “wound” or a form of the word – not a synonym for the word.

Blooming [Poem]

Like a seed
the thought arrived
on westward winds
blown from foreign fields
beyond
comprehension

It laid roots
and rainwater rivers
ran through
sprouting flowers
into sun-dashed days

Suddenly
it fled
on an eastern wind
leaving me
distracted
by the beauty of
its blooming

Photo by Barna Kovács on Unsplash

On DVerse, the Quadrille prompt asks that we write poem must be exactly 44 words and include the word seed.

Blinding [Poem]

Her glasses sit lightly
across the bridge of her nose,
reflecting early autumn sunlight
so that to my unaccustomed eyes

< She is blinding >

even after the sunlight recedes
and I close my eyes to sunset hues,
sun-spots bleed deep blue across my vision
in the shape of her name.

Photo by Anne Nygård on Unsplash

On DVerse this Tuesday, the challenge is to write a poem about bridges OR write a Puente (Spanish for “bridge”), which is a poem that uses a line with a tilde (~) to connect two stanzas.

More Than A Stranger [Poem]

When you
visit a new city,
treat it
like home.
Hold it tenderly
and love
all of its
rough edges.
Roam outside
of the usual
tourist traps
and turn
the worn pages
of each
passing street.

Find hidden places
and turn down
chance
side-streets
without warning.
Walk briskly up
escalator
steps.
Glare at those
who
do not.
Grumble at tourists.
Wish you had stayed home.
Experience
the city
as more
than a stranger.

Photo by Kamil Kalkan on Unsplash

The Sweetest Wine [Poem]

You are
the sweetest wine
to parched,
sun-dried lips

the bluest oasis
in deserts
no one
could survive alone

the last drop
of rain
in a flood

a sudden rush
of blood
to my heart

a rhyme
without reason
I repeat through
wine-stained lips

Photo by Jr Korpa on Unsplash

I wrote this poem from a prompt in dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. The prompt calls for the writer to write a poem of exactly 44 words, not including the title, and including the word “wine” in some form.