The Simple Things – #DVersePoetics

When the trainer asks

‘did you forget to breath’

it sounds stupid,

and unfortunately true.

A little like thinking

too much about the doing

so the thoughts twist knots

into your limbs.

The panic welling

in much the same way

as your lungs swelling up

against your rib-cage.

You were sure you were,

then you’re not sure,

suddenly so unsure

you can’t even breath

without counting

each gasp.

In…

out…

in…

in…

out..

out..

In…

In…

In…

Out…

Out…

Out..

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A Life Like Helios #DVersePoets #Quadrille

I followed your path,

at a distance.

You like the sun,

or any volatile star

burning a streak

towards the horizon.

A scorching vision

to those of us

watching, waiting.

Aware

that you would set

before us.

Terrified of dusk.

Sensing its arrival

anyway.

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Out In The Garden – #DVersePoets #MondayHaibun

The peas have podded. I’m not sure if it’s the snap, or your bog standard, good old trusty garden type, but they’ve podded first with the white petals of the flowers still stuck to the green of their shells.

Inside the crop is still too small, too young. I checked today. Popped my nail into the seam, slit through the flesh, cracked it open. New growth, old book. They both sound the same.

They are not ready for harvest, but when you bite down they explode. They taste like spring, or summer, or something else that’s hot days and sudden rain storms. They tasted like they should do. New and fresh.

It’s been a wet one,

this spring, this downpour of water

thickening the green.

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Pass Or Play – #DVersePoets #Prosery

When far away, an interrupted cry is not something you need concern yourself with.

Catherine repeated her grandmother’s words softly enough that the room wouldn’t hear them.

‘Pah!’

Her father threw his cards on the coffee table.

‘You cheated!’ He jabbed a fat finger towards his wife.

She shrugged and gathered his cards in again.

Outside the cry echoed.

‘Catherine! You play the witch, God knows she already has all my money.’

Catherine nodded and slid from the widow seat.

It doesn’t do to dwell on lost souls. Her grandmother had said that too.

The cards were split and dealt.

Two queens and a knave. A house leaking secrets. Another cry. Closer. Louder.

‘Pass or play?’

Catherine shook her head.

‘Pass,’ she whispered.

Shadows gathered by the fireplace.

She could ignore them, but the play would continue.

‘Pass,’ she whispered.

But ghosts never listen.

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If you would like to join in the dVerse Poets Pub new link up ‘Prosery’ then click the badge above to visit their site.

The challenge is to write a piece of flash fiction, a maximum of 144 words, using the line ‘when far away an interrupted cry’ somewhere in your work.

 

When Our Monuments Burn

Fire-dwarfed we all sit,

stand, wait,

drawing along timelines

scythe-eyed for news

or perhaps revelation

that this is all

just a dream, a joke.

 

Dust-tongued our words

dry up like sand

through an hour glass.

All gone and past

leaving only empty air.

A promise

cracked apart.

 

History pour out,

breaks the damn of grief

and dark-vowelled words,

replacing now with then

as what will be

already spread its roots

in the tear-culled.

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