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.

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#NaPoWriMo – Day Thirteen – News Anchor

There is nothing to report.
Just cameras whittling time
into little pixeled boxes.
Behind a curved desk
an anchor is just that today,
a weight to keep the ship steady
focused in on itself,
to stop the rigging pulling loose,
or port and starboard drifting
too far from the bones of each other.
The mics only capture seafoam,
its hiss, hiss, hiss, on sand
as the nothing news drags in
and out across our feet.

Write a poem in the form of a news article you wish would come out tomorrow.

NaPoWriMo 2021 Prompt – Day Thriteen

#NaPoWriMo – Day Seven – Hollow Depths

Dark
mouths
open.
Hollow depths,
or so it appears
until a scream finally sounds.

Before my husband and I started dating, I wrote a fib for him a thank-you gift for fixing my laptop. It was NaPoWriMo that introduced me to the form, and he’d never received a poem as a gift before so he found it quite novel. Now I’m not saying poetry is the basis of my marriage, but sometimes a little fib can go a long way.

Fox In The Hen House – A Poem By Carol J Forrester #DVersePoets

Their heads bob like drinking birds,
of course, of course, of course.
Necks pulled up from their collar bones.
I have never seen throats so open
as when your snout is at their jugular
the gleam on bright white teeth
masked by sheer magnetism.

Tonight’s quadrille prompt had me a little stumped to begin with. Then I started writing about iron filings, got stuck fifteen words in, and wrote this quadrille instead. I even got to bring out one of my own sketches to use for the feature image.

Red Lipped Garden #DVersepoets #Quadrille

Despite the hosing,
stems still cling to their cobwebs.
Strands draped between limbs,
threads quivering in a threat to untangle.
Roses grow thirsty again in a moment,
stripped out of their petals
heat caught up on their thorns.
A lessening, in want of more.

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Roses

The Rosebush outside my kitchen window.