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.

When The Apple Trees Shake Loose – A Poem By Carol J Forrester #DVersePoets

It takes three minutes to brew black tea.

English breakfast, china mug,

steam lifting lazy from the spout

in a long, spiral stretch,

my own arms raised from the blanket

for the glass bottles stowed up top

just waiting for autumn and wind falls.

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. 

Grumpy Hobbit Takes A Stab At Being Political

Tescos ran out of loo rolls and soapboxes.

Stay-at-home politicians with keyboards and opinions

screeching their how-to, quick-fix slogans.

Have you not been told?

Fake it till you make it means everyone’s an expert.

No one wants to say,

we’re all just fucking lost.

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I’ll just slink back off to my grump little hobbit hole. Rant over in just forty-four words.

Conversation With Half An Onion #DVersePoets #Qudrille

The fridge stinks again,

the thing lolling at the back,

sweating, sickly sweet,

cling film wrapped and taunting

as if to say ‘this is just your desert

for peeling me down

till we both cried shameless,

and you held a knife like a question.’

 

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