My Town

 

In my town, silence

deepens as the night

slows to late.

From my hill, I observe

streets and houses 

settling down to bed.

An occasional dog.

A passing night bird.

One or two homing cars.

Then it belongs

to me and poetry

alone. Mine.

A second Quadrille about silence (inspired by dVerse) in response to a request from one of the others who answered the prompt, who wrote of his town and wondered what others might say of theirs in 44 words. (I'm not sharing this with the dVerse group as a whole, as we were only asked for one Quadrille to address the prompt, and mine is the poem I posted here just before this one. But it's fine of course if they happen across it.)

Poetry and Duty

 

Conscience tells me 

not to be silent.

When poetry is duty

is it still a poem?

But in these times, 

being human 

gives everyone the duty

the imperative 

to speak against

all the kinds of destruction

by which 

we are taking 

ourselves 

into silence.

A Quadrille written for Shhhhhhh.......Quiet, Please!  at dVerse. 

(Quadrille: 44 words excluding title – which in this instance must include some form of the word 'silent'.)

Coping with the World

 

Listening to the thin squeak 

of my radio turned low

playing non-stop jazz 

all day and night, but not

to disturb the neighbours … 

I fill my dark with

other people’s dreams.

I read, too – stories that all 

end happily, they are all alike. 

Afterwards, I forget them.