Rosemary Nissen-Wade #29.2: A Gift of Roses

A Gift of Roses

Unusual pale apricot –

roses from my friend,

in a black pot

where they stayed,

moving with me to all

the rented houses.

Every year

they flowered twice:

in Spring and Autumn.

Until they stopped. 

No blooms, not a bud,

now my friend is dead. 

For Quadrille #12 at dVerse: Rose

Rosemary Nissen-Wade #15: After the Kill

After the Kill

Tears spill

from the eyes 

of the kind,

even those

not personally 

involved.

All over

the world

they spill

for all

that is over –

life –

stopped 

by the blind

hater.

I 

don't  cry – 

find

no tears 

left 

to spill.

I freeze,

still

hating  guns.

Prompted by Quadrille 11 at dVerse.
Responding to the shootings in Orlando.

Rosemary Nissen-Wade #1: Mother's Voice

Mother’s Voice

The breeze blows chill.

I sneeze, as mother taught me:

‘It’s cold. You’ll catch a cold!’

obedient still, against

both will and reason.

Well, I’m in my eighth decade.

Suddenly I let it go. All right, Mum,

old voice in my head, be there.

Hello, people, and thanks to Kit for inviting me to be a guest during June.  

This poem is exactly 44 words excluding title, which is what the folks at dVerse Poets Pub, whom I sometimes play with, are calling a quadrille. (Dancing is not obligatory.)