Poetry – Writing and Works

Autumn Burns Bright – #DVersePoetsPub

It feels as if we are introducing you to Autumn. Slowly, and with care. Small hands, fingers fisted before bursting open like early fireworks. Breath-taking. Quite literally. Little face, big eyes, shadows for brows. All of these things change as the season steps in, lifts you from your bassinet, pinks your cheeks.

Look– at how much you’ve grown, at how the leaves have turned so quickly, these layers forming one over the other. Breath, and breeze, across your vocal chords. Outside a storm is cooing through the branches, changing notes, the strength of it lifting tree roots from their standings. When the winds settle, we sweep all the chaos beneath carpets, smooth the lines till their crisp. Pat you stomach. Tell you, that this fire is good.

The sky is beaten grey,
the metallic sheen of swords
unsheathed and waiting.

Time Grows Full – A Poem By Carol J Forrester

Pretending to linger
I make a show
of standing on the threshold
one shoulder inside
this room we’ve filled with moments,
cheeks smooshed against windows
limbs spilling, grasping
from cupboards unclosed
and floorboards lifting loose
to show the bodies
no longer hidden, buried beneath.

All It Takes Is Time Enough – A Poem By Carol J Forrester

Time tests all things,
makes steady work of wearing out
these old duds,
till they fall off and run like sand
along the length of your hourglass,
or come back into fashion,
following along worn grooves
and ever turning cycles
deepening down each mark.

#NaPoWriMo – Day Twenty-Four – The Small Things Between Realms (Found Poem)

#NaPoWriMo – Day Twenty-Three – Candle Flame

They were all odd dancers.
Up on their toes,
jittering ballerinas,
twisting in an old wind.
Shifts turned to ragged sails
from long wrecked ships
still trying to take their home.
Spent nights wrapping
their bone fingers tight
into abandoned symbols.
Gathered at last on the hearth,
faces pressed against soot
and ash,
begging
for the strings not to pull
them up again.
Up onto their toes
to dance like strange, dying flames,
guttering the last of their wicks.

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