and they danced in the light of the moon

He brushed aside the crows feet, as the raven perched on his head,
sitting regally as a black swan.

The old man swatted it away -“Get off me, you ol’ chicken!”

“Your go – you said when you sat down here you were gonna play”

The small bat moved the pawn.

“No, no! We’re playing cards – deal those things!

“Are we playing gin again?”

“No, skat, you silly bat – but gin sounds perfect at a time like this.”

The small bat began to beat the rooks with the queen-
thwack ,thwack ,thwack with the constancy of a metronome.

“That queens gonna ice you good if you keep that up”

He sloshed gin from the old liquor bottle, into the teacup,
washing the faces of the painted orange flowers
and causing one nasturtium to hiccup quietly.

Rocking gently in the corner, the wheelbarrow creaked
as the long dragony tail of the crocodile kept time
with the blues man, his sax crying that black cat blues.

And the old man, grinning like a yellow toothed dog,
danced to the blues man’s tune
with Selene, her raven hair crowned with the crescent moon.

(Meanwhile, the raven and the bat played mumblety peg
with a needle in the haystack until the violinist played
last call.)

*** For dVerse Poetics, Claudia gave us a list to play with -Obelix, a dragon, a crocodile, an old tractor, a bat, a spaceship, Neptune, Superman, a greek god or godess, a chicken, a black swan, a nutcracker, a man who can’t stop clapping, a cup with orange flowers painted on it, a black cat, a dog with yellow teeth, a bluesman playing the saxophone, a violinist, Hänsel&Gretel, the Icequeen, an old liquor bottle, a wheelbarrow, a needle in a haystack, a raven, a blue car, a metronome…

Then an extra challenge, tell us about the old man, the moon and a little bat who meet at night here in the pub for a game of skat.

heron wings

Blue Heron by Gary Dorland

Early morning fog obscures the eastern ridge,
holding the dawning sun at bay-
resting its gray blanket across the still waters,
soft as the color of heron wings.

Warm fog obscures the bath’s mirror-
holding the real world at bay.
Resting your face against my neck-
softly our hair entwines, the color of heron wings.

*** for imaginary garden with real toads 55 word prompt and poets united poetry pantry

what glory- a paradelle

holding the soft morning, round and perfect in my hands
holding the soft morning, round and perfect in my hands
what glory will be found in this day
what glory will be found in this day
what in this perfect morning glory will be found
holding my hands in the soft and round day

the sun and moon skyward beyond the pale blue
the sun and moon skyward beyond the pale blue
seeking heaven and the glittering stars away
seeking heaven and the glittering stars away
away beyond the pale glittering stars
the sun and moon skyward seeking blue heaven

I sought and found sweet refuge and home
I sought and found sweet refuge and home
under the steep ridge and deep green hollow
under the steep ridge and deep green hollow
sweet green home refuge sought
and I found ridge and hollow, steep and deep

and my perfect home will be found away
in this glittering skyward
beyond the round sun, and found seeking
the steep ridge and the deep hollow
morning glory heaven I sought in the soft green and pale blue
and holding this day, what refuge under the stars and moon

*** This is a paradelle – a parody of form invented by Billy Collins and inflicted on the dVerse pub by Brian Miller, whom I used to admire and consider a friend, but have recently had a change of heart.
His note regarding the form.
NOTE: The paradelle is a poem of four six-line stanzas in which the first and second lines, as well as the third and fourth lines of the first three stanzas, must be identical. The fifth and sixth lines, which traditionally resolve these stanzas, must use all the words from the preceding lines and only those words. Similarly, the final stanza must use every word from all the preceding stanzas and only those words.

tripping over the colors as the sky drops the sun

Sunset before new years eve 2011

dots of rainbows
speckle the iridescent carp
eying the watermelon
renaissance symphony
of gold and
light tab-
into water-
color motets
awaiting insignificant
lolling mouths
in strophic sequence
from descant to sullen
sonic waves
wafting to
and fro
across the pining

*** For dVerse poetics, a rather psychedelic description of an Ozarks sunset – Groovy!

oh those blue eyes

perched in the pale blue sky
the halfhearted moon gazes
from the stumblingdawn
but her eyes are not your eyes
(oh, those eyes, those blue eyes)

perched in the resinous cedar
tiny birds are charmed and
above your head
beguiled by your eyes
(oh, those blue eyes)

perched in my willing heart
you neither
wax nor wane
but waltz wholehearted and true
will you dance with me with those dancing eyes
(oh, those eyes)

perched silver crowned
once winsomeyouth and
barefooted minstrel
that cunning boy
still winks at me
from those blue eyes

(oh those blue eyes)