Spring Dance

In March,
winter and spring
change places.

Spring, the master
composer, squeezes runs
from the dying snow.

The whole street stretches,
shares a faint
but urgent beat.

Feeling the rhythm,
the squills create blues
for the golden horns of daffodils.

And Spring trains the robins
to warble the words,
as she calls out the dance.


This poem is for The Sunday Whirl in which poets are challenged to write a poem using these words: march, change, master, die, street, train, faint, places, stretch, calls, create, words, share.  If you'd like to see what other folks wrote, click here at The Sunday Whirl.

Thoughts Following Surgery

Thoughts Following Surgery

Piercing sheaths of skin,
pain explodes
into unbearable fever.
Like wounded willows,
I leak,
form a crust,
mend into a ridge
and hollow.

Better to rustle
in the breeze
than to become brittle,
bitter against

the surgeon's charm.

This poem is written for Wordle 77 from The Sunday Whirl.  We are asked to write a poem using the twelve words given above.  If you'd like to see what others have written, click here.

Words are copyright Carol Steel.

When I Was Eight

When I Was Eight

Bundles of lightning

bring on

bolts of thunder.

I remember.

The sounds shook

over an ash horizon,

trapped me

trembling

in damp corners,

as a storm climbed

the husk of sky.

I remember.

A lifetime;

still the scars

and bright memory of gold

remain.

The poem is written in response to The Sunday Whirl poetry prompt.  In Wordle # 75, we are asked to write a poem using these words:  bolts, ash, corners, damp, climbed, shook, trapped, remain, bundles, storm, bring, husk.   If you’d like to read what others have written, click here for a link.  Text in colour red will take you to another website with additional information, if you click on it.  Photo was taken by my sister and brother-in-law.  Words are copyright ©Carol Steel.

Anxiety

Anxiety

Dear operator,
while I am on hold,
waiting for news,
you may be forgiven
for using your pencil
to trace empty designs
or copy a recipe
from a co-worker,
in your chain of fenced cubicles.

While I am on hold,
you don't see me.
I have been waiting
since before the sun
rose
to hear.

You sit efficient,
doling out the essentials,
numbers,
information,
appointments,
connections
to doctors and labs,
while I am on hold.

The only link between us
this phone call.

You can't know
how I need
to hear something,
anything
before dusk,
before this unknown
darkness
fills with  fear.

I am on hold.

This is for the Sunday Whirl Wordle #71 on August 26, 2012.  To learn more about the Sunday Whirl, click here to go to another site with more information.  This week's wordle suggests creating a poem using the following words:  link, chain, recipe, rose, operator, trace, forgiven, fence, essentials, dusk, pencil,empty.

Photo and words are mine, copyright Carol Steel.

Sympathy

Sympathy

Sometime make the time to drink a vintage port.

Anchor yourself in a chair on your deck

and pitch conversation,

over tiny crackers, Stilton cheese,

and walnuts in a bowl.

Fill your glass.

Navigate

the marrow of memory

to a place where it links

to your store

of stories.

Fill your glass.

Sink your teeth deep

into dark chocolate.

Perhaps,

a slice of Bosc pear with brie?

Fill your glass.

Tell the tales.

Tumble tears.

(Reminisce ‘til only

the deck rail

can help you

to stand.)

Fill your glass.

Soak

from your heart,

the stern shards

of loss.

And you’ll see, my friend,

vintage port

makes for a most comforting wake.

Ah yes, fill your glass.

This poem is for the Sunday Whirl, Weekly Wordle # 68.  The instructions are to create a poem using the following 12 words:  port, marrow, deck, store, rail, wake, anchor, pitch, link, stern, sink, navigate.

If you’d like to learn more or see poems written by others, click on this link:  http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2012/08/05/wordle-68/

Photo is mine.

Pin Ball Machine

Pin Ball Machine

Life
has a strange way
of falling
through the sublime
into the wayward frenzy
of a ball rolling down
a rough channel.

Always
after robust attack,
it will settle.

Life.


This poem is a response to Wordle #67 from The Sunday Whirl, a poetry prompt suggesting the use of twelve words to write a poem:  frenzy, strange, ball, rough, falling, robust, settle, wayward, sublime, channel, attack, life.  You can learn more about The Sunday Whirl and read other responses at:
http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2012/07/29/wordle-67/

Unrestrained Summer

Unrestrained Summer

A single gold lily
cannot be melancholy
in this erotic garden,
where feathered grasses
fling their pale gold spray
and cover the earth
with seed,
where fragrance fills
the heated air
with rosy dreams,
and stray powders swing
on the backs of bees
fertilizing
every breath
of this
intoxicating
summer.


This is a response to The Sunday Whirl, a wordle poetry prompt in which one is to write a poem including the 12 words:  swing, fling, rosy, powders, melancholy, stray, grasses, gold, erotic, pale, cover, spray.   This is Wordle #66 for July 22, 2012. 

Red text includes hyperlinks that take you to another web page where you can find out more.

Photo is mine.

The Trap

The Trap

I am down again.

Crack of the chain pulled taut,

spray of grittle, as gravity weighs

down again.

Pain triggers

humility.

I don’t relish having to learn

and relearn the lesson.

“Loosen the chain,

before you step out

or

it will rip you, trip you,

trip you…

again and again.”

I flick aside the gravel

that claims my knees,

now planted in tailings.

My skin swells

around the wounds,

and I hear again,

“Loosen the chain

before you step out,

step out,

step,

out.”

This poem is a response to The Sunday Whirl at   http://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com 

The Wordle is #65 for July 15, 2012.

The words to be used to create a poem are: humility, relishes, trigger, flicks, swells, gravity, refrain, crack, chain, plant, grittle*, spray, claim.

Grittle = to grind coarsely or the result of a rough grind.

Words shown in different colours will take you to another website, with additional information, if you click on them. 

What Comes Next

What Comes Next

When housewives return
Christmas balls to the drawers,
when the old year's gone...
subtracting months from eternity,
when the New Year's rind falls
off, and entices happy wishes...
then,
and then,
there is something that spurns
the ignorant
(caught celebrating),
as yet unaware of the stings
that await,
when they bite
into the pulp...
of what comes
next.


This is a poem I wrote for The Sunday Whirl, a weekly wordle for July 8, 2012 using the following list of given words:  housewives, ignorant, rind, spurn, subtracting, fall, months, sting, drawers, eternity, balls and year.  The Sunday Whirl is a poetry prompt site which you can link to by clicking here.