In Paris, we walked–through Montmartre, perhaps–
where people carried baguettes under their arms,
like my mother’s purse. Look, my parents said,
there, the Seine, the Mona Lisa, the Eiffel Tower—

and they glanced through guidebooks and at maps
for lost love, and Paris’s hidden charms
rekindled their passion for only a moment instead.
As the bells tolled the new year, the passing hours

my older sister read, and fed us scraps–
the story of the Danish prince; no harm
in telling this story of ghosts, the dead
return, my mom still sits amongst the flowers.

For dVerse, an attempt at Rimas Dissolutas.

Waiting

On a long wander, cold-breathed,
I think every spring’s a poet born
as from rain a rose—
yet, if we recall the red petals’ fall

in sun turns and moon cycles,
and after dusk’s berry-glow and bird-light flickers,
the deep song of ancient souls
carried on wind-fiddles–

now wait for light whispers
and the caramel breath of dawn,
a honeyed smile that lingers on treetops
and beneath, the lichen rocks
and moss blankets,

seeds rest,
knowing when to bloom.

My poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. It’s cold here today.

In early morning hush,
the moon sings farewell,
gelid murmured notes
through white cat-paw clouds

if you listen, recall
light recalls time recalls light,
the ancient ships of night seas
ask when
ask what
you want
from the whispers and pulses
of mother music from earth and sky,

the fiddle, flute, and drums of
wind-beats and tree rustle,
the cardinal chirps and crow caws,
black on red on blue and green, every color
a promise, a warning
of what is and what was.

My poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle.

Ingrid at Experiments in Fiction is hosting a Global Assembly on Climate Change. Read more about it here.

In early morning hush,
the moon sings farewell,
gelid murmured notes
through white cat-paw clouds

if you listen, recall
light recalls time recalls light,
the ancient ships of night seas
ask when
ask what
you want
from the whispers and pulses
of mother music from earth and sky,

the fiddle, flute, and drums of
wind-beats and tree rustle,
the cardinal chirps and crow caws,
black on red on blue and green, every color
a promise, a warning
of what is and what was.

My poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle.

Ingrid at Experiments in Fiction is hosting a Global Assembly on Climate Change. Read more about it here.

It’s difficult now to remember the time before. Before war, before I knew the evil that humans can inflict–when my worries consisted merely of studying and passing exams. I was determined to prove that I was as brilliant as any man, smarter, in fact. But that day, the dandelion sun glowed, white seed clouds drifted in the azure sky, and reflections floated languidly on the river. Laura begged me to join the rest of the group for a picnic, and I’d agreed, even as she threatened me with the admonition, “and bring no book, for this one day, we’ll give to idleness.” How young and carefree we were, lolling on the grass like the figures in an Impressionist painting, but all clothed. Or mostly.

Laura, Keith, John—all of them gone, victims of war. And I’m left, still searching for answers.

And revenge.

A flash fiction piece for dVerse, Monday…

If beneath the blue and honeyed light,
we dream of love, and watch
milk-lather waves in tumbling play,

then we can recall those dreams
when shadows scream
and mind-aches sway

our thoughts—
there’s evil about
and cold winds blow, my love,

but there! They sweep the sky
of storms, and blanketed against the air,
we wait for sun-dazzled caramel rays

to cast aside the haunted winter-breath
and with summer-warmth overlay.

The Oracle kept giving me “shadow,” today, and it made me think of the Lady of Shallott,
“I am half sick of shadows,” said
The Lady of Shalott.”
And aren’t we all?

Yes, it’s 2022 and we back again with a drop in by Margaret Royall, as she reflects on a poem (or two!) from her Immersed in Blue (Impspired Press, 2021)…

…First of all I would like to express my sincere thanks to Nigel for inviting me to drop in and talk about poetry from my new collection, Immersed in Blue published by Steve Cawte at Impspired Press

I have chosen two interlinked haiku sequences, Late Summer turns to autumn and Land and Seascape from my Iona Journal Haibun of September 2021.

I have been extremely fortunate to visit the Scottish Isle of Iona annually since 2012  (apart from 2020 due to Covid) to attend a writing retreat there run by poet/author Angela Locke MA. For me this has become a special place, a home from home and has inspired much of my poetry over the years. After my return in…