Pale Season of Titivated Lace
(rewrite of Winter’s Lace)
Vibrant blooms ignite against a blank canvas under brooding, iron-gray skies.
Amaryllis gazes out from the window; a periwinkle winks back, whisper-warm.
Across a stark alabaster landscape, autumn falls silent while pansies thrive.
Bleak, bitter, yet, in defiance, Narcissus lifts its radiant face for all to see.
A little ray of sunshine, burnishing a crepuscular glow, Wendy’s Gold rises.
Lucille’s Squill’s whimsical scent swirls with the turning season.
Write an imaginative landscape poem without using snow, snowy or wintry terms.
Wassailing through their quarters, Holly and Ivy sang yuletide tunes.
Preening on the desert table,
a bourbon-soaked fruitcake that could render a sailor drunk in minutes.
And next door, the inflatable dancing Santa, now plastered like an Andy Warhol-inspired Art Deco project.
TopTweetTuesday challenge.
March Moons / Haibun by rbrontebrown
The sky looks down with the dark eye of a new moon; spring buds pop their heads. Winter snaps, not yet. March Moons howl for seasonal winds that breathe change. Terrestrial tides collide, and winter gives way. Sun and moon stand poised.
Worm Moon signals the nightcrawlers to rise and stir the loam, breaking free of the frozen dirt. Spring Moon stirs the sleepy pods to shed winter's coats and stretch their fertile roots. The Sugar Moon coaxes the sweet maples to release their sugary sap.
Permafrost relents. Skywatchers eagerly anticipate the moons of March.
A morrowless day
arriving on the equinox
perfectly balanced.
Permafrost relents.
Skywatchers anticipate
the moons of March.
Our theme next week for TTT is spring.
80 words max, metaphorical, imagistic, inventive, quirky, unexpected.
Words to avoid: bulb, growth, shoots, buds, earth, green, soil, new, life, leaf, light
Feb 28 Moon Theme (90)
Free verse by rbrontebrown
With a crescent wink and radiating argent hues, the night sky wakes. Tomorrow sleeps while silver beams thread through the darkness, inviting whimsy to skate on imaginative trails. Dreams dance.
Slow, slow, quick-quick, slow, a small step etched with sandy footprints. Chimerical images skirt golden pathways across a sea of midnight blue. From Ganymede's summit, a breathtaking view is suspended momentarily.
Laced with ice feathers, dreams frolic on through the night sky, searching for sky treasures. Stories lie quiet in star streams as wide-eyed tales fill the mind's eye. Tomorrow wakes.
dreams dance
on silvery moonbeams,
tomorrow sleeps
Write a moon poem without using the word ‘moon’ or ‘lunar’. Make it new and really focus on an alternate take. Preferably write a poem about other moons in the Solar system other than our own. Imagistic, metaphorical & 90 words max. No tired descriptions.
a sea of midnight blue
Quixotic images
skirts
golden pathways
March 4: Our theme is ‘otherworldly’ in the cosmic sense. Excluding our planet and moon, write a poem about other planets or stars, galaxies, black holes, quasars, etc.
Revision for March Hawk Press
The Dawn Before Time
There was darkness with no night and a universe without no a view. As God's spirit hovered over the vast waters, He spoke a contemplative word with a quiet breath. Energy rippled, light separated from darkness, and a new dawn broke.
Free and unfettered, the universe unfolded, showering waves of thunderous speech and radiating liquid sunshine. The intricate interplay of a cosmic dance began.
Light erupted, and a cascade of stars swept around Orion's belt. Sol joined the celestial cadence, defining the rhythm of night and day.
The tangible universe, spoken into existence, was designed to fit into a unique space with a specific purpose for sustaining life.
The scintillating rays of the solstice stretched summer's boundaries as nighttide catenates. In a fleeting moment, poised for a return, light converged at winter's gate. Concatenation linking the coming spring.
Envisioning a never-before-seen ribbon of time, the universe whispered its story.
March 4: Otherworldly
Darkness without night, a time with no view, quiet and contemplative breath, a word is spoken. A ripple of energy swirls and twirls; light breaks a new dawn.
Free and unfettered, the universe releases showers of thunderous speech, oozing liquid sunshine. The tug-a-war begins.
Light bursts forth, raining stars stream around Orion's belt. Sol joins the dance, separating night and day, laying its boundaries.
Speaking creation into existence, His spirit moves. His hand touches the tangible. Designed to fit into a unique space with a unique purpose.
Solstice's scintillating rays stretch summer's boundaries as nighttide catenates. Midwinter, in a brief magical moment, light concatenates at winter's gate. [in a fleeting magical moment light converges at winter's gate to stretch the days again.]
Imagining a never-seen ribbon of time- the universe whispers its story.
Psalms 139:12 and Genesis 1:1-3
From TopTweetTuesday: Strong start on the WIP. Have a go at surprising similes / metaphors within your descriptiveness, a couple of lesser known words. Dramatic sound patterning! Max out the invention!
Molecules and particles
testing each other, establishing
sanditon boundaries.
Sandillion is an old way to quantify something as numerous as grains of sand; Sanditon establishing boundaries, particles and molecules.
[From TopTuesday: Strong start on the WIP. Have a go at surprising similes / metaphors within your descriptiveness, a couple of lesser known words. Dramatic sound patterning! Max out the invention!]
My ideas: Speaking creation into existence, His spirit moves. His hand touches the tangible. Designed to fit into a unique space with a unique purpose.
love expressed.
The iridescent threads of our lives are not random. Dream of what my purpose may be. Only God can settle the restless soul. I am made for another world. One where God is present. A word, a breath, a seeded thought...
"a dream- a visionary creation of imagination, a desired goal, "
Our theme next week for TTT is spring.
80 words max, metaphorical, imagistic, inventive, quirky, unexpected. No cliches and break out of your style and usual tropes.
Words to avoid: bulb, growth, shoots, buds, earth, green, soil, new, life, leaf, light
Zephyr carries the seeds.
Loam provides for their needs.
Clouds water fertile dirt.
Bouquets rise from the Earth.
Our challenge for next week - 18th March.
Write a poem about an emotion or state of mind without ever naming it, i.e. purely through metaphor.
99 words max. Imagistic
February 13 Spring
Haibun by rbrontebrown
Good morning, Sunshine.
Stretching through morning’s dew, the sunlight cracks at dawn. Nestlings fluff their feathers and squish together to listen to their twitter-song.
The red-breasted robins engage in antiphonal tweets. Jenny-wren adds her chee-pippety-chee-chee as colorful warblers chime-in. A cacophony echoes in dewy twilight.
Goose pimples giggle as my toes squish in the tender grass. A cool zephyr breeze flows, inviting the day to begin. Butterflies dance atop neighboring blooms, suddenly-
a Blue-jay catcall!
Signals a tail-twitching taunt,
kitty in the weeds.
Winter howls at Spring like a middle schooler's biological clock clanks.
"It's too early," Winter yawns.
"Autumn has arrived in the southern hemisphere," says Spring.
"Not yet." Winter flops back, adding another blanket of snow.
"The Cold Moon will be full soon," says Spring, offering Winter an enticement.
Spring knows Winter loves to hang out with Cold Moon on the longest night of the inverted season.
"Okay, I'm up." Winter sits very still, blowing another chilly breeze.
"Come along," says Blizzard. Winter stands and stretches.
"I see you've been at work- a resplendent day in pastel hues," Winter says to Spring.
"Thank you, Winter." Winter bows, whispering, "See you next year."
Spring smiles, turning to the Sun, "It's time to melt the crusty earth and direct your rays to tickle the fertile dirt."
"As you wish," replies Sun.
Spring Sings!
"Zephyr, carry the seeds far and wide. Loam provides for their needs. Seeds shed those winter coats. Nightcrawlers dig underground moats. Clouds let loose a well-spring of showers as spring ushers in meadows of flowers.
A morrowless day
arrives on the equinox,
perfectly balanced.
The first time I ever saw a dead body was in the woods. Uncle Rufus open coffin sat where the porch swing once hung. The rusted ceiling bolts reminded me of what once was.
That old dingy porch framed a poignant image. Unintentionally, I took a mental snapshot. I stood and stared at death barring the doorway entrance.
The splattered sunlight melded with the shadows. The white wood planks faded into the background as if engulfed in sadness. The inner light was gone. Only a shell remained.
Nature reclaims what it intends. Yet, life lives on where memories flow like a sweet benison between the falling rain--
quiescent tide,
the porch-swing rhythmic pace-
tealights fade
faded white wood planks
engulfed in quamoclit,
a reclaimed quiescent
brontebrown2 