Bone's Memory

When I picture myself alive I'm in lavender 

fields near home back when muscles

powered me anywhere I pleased. They brought me

one morning to purple flower bustles

stretched out

far as eyes see, lavender cowls

gathered free,

held close against my decline,
becoming only bone, having to surrender

home's fields and time's spine.

Posted for Kerry's Flash 55 at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads with an additional feature of a form she devised with a word count each line and a rhyme scheme. The original inspiration was from Hannah's prompt, also from Real Toads, of Lavender Fields under Transforming Thursday/ Friday Nature's Wonders. Also posted for Open Link Night, hosted by Claudia, over at dVerse Poets Pub. Another in my bone poem series.

All that Remains

We're left with

this: the hardness of 

bone, the space where organs 

used to be, life's music itself stopped,

silence reigns.

Tonny Maude has us writing cinquains expanded (5 lines with 3-5-7-9-3 syllables) over at dVerse Poets Pub. This is another in my bone poems series.

Firsts

My, then, totally cute,

love- of- my- life boyfriend

gave me his old and my first car,

a cream colored VW Beetle.

He had moved to NYC

and I was finishing college

in Boston traveling 

to home, school, work.

That car held his scent 

and showed me his intent.

It was the scene of other firsts as well

but that's for another poem altogether.

He came to visit one weekend

and admired my legs in my mini skirt

as I swung them into the drivers seat.

It's what I remember most

about that car- the jolt

of being in the driver's seat

for the very first time.

I went on to marry that man 41 years ago and we've owned many cars since but talk frequently and fondly of our first car... Posted for Herotomost at Real Toads who asked us to write about our first car. 

Bone Quiet

It's strange

to be without

boundaries

marking inside

and out, defense 

made impossible. 

Din arrives 

not just by ear
but surrounds
each bone. 

I thought 

quiet would reign,

the death silence,

but wind's

fierce incursion 

blunts bones 

with no skin 

to hold it out. 

Intrusions
blur any sense 

of safe containment;

after gone 

comes noise.

A Flash 55 in my bone poems series for Kerry at http://www.withrealtoads.blogspot.com.