Wordle – The Lady Was A Ghost – Quartine – December 2, 1014



Standing on the staircase
Banister in hand
I heard the rustling silk
And saw the pallor of her hand …

Laughter filled the room
Yet I felt an odd unease
And hastened into the light
With convulsive speed …

The lady was a ghost …
A lacteal apparition,
Maimed in her sweet youth
By a poisonous atmosphere …

Incontrovertibly dead was she,
These last one hundred years
Yet her spirit lingers still
In this house of disharmony …

So dizzily I sat down
On the chase-lounge panting,
No one had seen her but I
Nor heard that silky sound …

I looked up at the staircase,
She’d stood there smiling sweetly,
Her hand upon the banister
And poison in her veins …

(c) G.s.k. ’14



1. Banister 2.Poison 3. Rustle 4. Pallor 5. Dizzy 6. Unease 7. Laughter 8. Controvert (to argue against, dispute, deny, oppose) 9. Lacteal (milky, resembling milk) 10. Convulsion 11. Maim 12. Hasten


Linked to Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie

Wordleing – Near the Banyan Tree – November 25, 2014


do you hear the spirits – those most effable of creatures,
no it’s not the fall wind blowing – rustling the trees –
that susurrus you hear, dear friend, is their gay laughter –
it comes from there, deep inside the park – near the banyan.

hidden in an orchid, you’ll see them if you look closely –
just over there, dear, near the tall banyan tree
look! there’s a strange device, of spiraling helical design –
rooted in a tiny chasm … among the orchid’s blooms.

there are the delicate bijou like inhabitants – nude as stars –
copper-colored and haloed bright, pretty little sprites –
though I should not be telling you, but then, it doesn’t matter,
for you cannot do them harm,  they only come out for me.

(c) G.s.k. ’14

Linked to Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie – Monday Wordle

Week 36

1. Halo 2. Susurrus (a soft murmuring) 3. Deep 4. Bijou (something small, delicate, and exquisitely wrought, a jewel) 5. Helical (spiral, having the form of a helix) 6. Chasm 7. Orchid 8. Fall 9. Etch 10. Copper 11. Root 12. Effable (expressible)


Sunday Whirl – Wordleing – November 23, 2014


Photo Credits:  Ezra Millstein


in moments of solemn meditations
I reflect upon the forgotten children
resolute to right the miserable wrongs
of a cloudy weight that stains my soul

bright pirouettes of winsome dances
in a forgotten past that never was
a flutter inside my mind reminds me
of Oliver or Annie the orphaned ones

ink spills of another age, stains of our past –
I hardly remember our neglected children today,
they live in favelas work long in the sweat shops
they make our cheap sneakers and fancy clothes

no Dickens will write of these children today
though they work under masters just like in his day
the “miserable” are still part of our bright world
though Hugo’s not here to tell us the tale.

complacent and warm we flutter and storm
about a new fashion, our car or our team
it’s natural sure, they’re so far away …
we rarely see any of these people in our day.

(c) G.s.k. ’14

Sunday Whirl banner

moments, pirouettes, miserable, neglected, resolute, forgotten, children, stains, decision,  spills, cloudy,  flutter

Linked to: Sunday Whirl




The Mountain Sprite -Shadorma and Trochaic Meter – November 10, 2014


Yurixy Dark Forest by Holybr via Deviantart.com. Creative Commons.

The Mountain Sprite

In the autumn woods
A song came into my heart
Inspired by a sprite …

High in mountains living wildly
With a wisdom based in fire, she
Sings her spells and works her magic
Laughing, dancing with old phantoms …

With a hi lo dum di rum-ly
With a springing step in passing
Twinkling bright as bright moon beams, she
Howls in chorus with the stormlings.

Wake now, walk on in the mountains
Wade the rivers, walk the meadows
Meet the Lady where she wanders
Though you may not see her spirit.

High in mountains living wildly
With a wisdom based in fire, she
Sings her spells and works her magic
Laughing, dancing with old phantoms …


(c) G.s.k. ’14

Linked to BJ’s Shadorma and Beyond: Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie

Melancholy Drizzle – Free Quartine – October 20, 2014

Oscar Wilde


“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”  Oscar Wilde


Under a melancholy drizzle
Damp and cloudy thoughts
Tied my rainbow happiness
Into somber dreary knots …

The grass is always greener
Is surely just a tired cliché but
My musings kept going there
As serenity flowed away …

“Where are all these wonderous stars …
Portents for luck and happiness?
Ah – hidden behind the clouds
Under a melancholy drizzle …”

Then with the morning-tide …
Bright chirping of birds began
And just before the
dawn of light
The clouds opened and I saw …

A smattering of stars
That lifted me from the gutter
Gone, anger and despair – I hailed
The glorious, bright morning.


Written for Mindlovesmisery’s Menagerie using the words from OctPoWriMo’s prompt of October 19.


The Willow – quatrain – September 25, 2014

The Willow

The willow bows with the wind,
It sways and it bends,
Then stands tall and true …
Upright and straight once again.

Storms may tower with fury,
Yet, unlike the great oak,
I’ll bend like the willow …
I’ll dance in the rain …

Weathering onslaughts
Of anger and pain
I’ll sway like the willow
My spirit unbroken.

Such is the wisdom
Passed down through the ages
The willow will stand …
For it bends in the wind.

(c) G.s.k. ’14

This poem was inspired by the beautiful verse written by Sara Teasdale: “Like Barely Bending” which Jen from Blog it or Lose it! linked for me today in the form of a  beautiful video on YouTube … in Chinese (with subtitles).  Thanks Jen.



Red Wolf Wordle – August 15, 2014

 Vanity Fair



Vanity – Auguste Toulmouche, 1890


Life has its odd little swings
Self doubt can bring your world crashing down
Caught in a fish-net of asylum madness
The dust of an inner alley can chill your bones …

Looking in the mirror at her image
She froze becoming a pillar of salt
That glassy face of paper mache
Stared at her, so frayed and mushroom white.

Funny how carnival mirrors made her laugh
Way back in nineteen forty-four,
Now her proud youthful perfection’s gone,
Those same mirrors are a horror in twenty-fourteen.

The roots of her problem – her vanity fair
That strokes her ego and drapes her heart,
Too much water has passed under the bridge
The crisp freshness of her youth was gone.

Fight she may the ravages of time
With pure white Dove, the soap of the stars,
But the wrinkles lay claim to her face …
Her bulbous red nose was now her disgrace.

So she went to her master Beelzebub
To sell her soul for the luxury of youth …
Flew she then through the air on his blackened wings
Through time in his mystic time machine.

Gone were the wrinkles – gone was the flab
And once again it was great to admire herself.
She smiled from ear to shining ear …
Forgetting there would be a price to pay.

But time unstopped kept marching forward …
And great was her consternation to observe
That time like water erodes all things …
Then brings low every mortal, man or beast.

Finally Death knocked upon her door …
She was not humbled nor penitent,
But horror met her as she walked through the gates
She saw her wreaked face in a thousand mirrors.



Happy Notes: life doubt swings
Misky: legs stood crashing
Debi: fight mushroom fiery
Viv: sturdy stern strokes
Ron: nose found ear
Nicole: low asylum dust
Barbara: luxury alley chills
Irene: fishnet glassy rang
Roslyn: frayed wings clasped
Sabra: water roots froze
Jules: soap salt bread
Miss Stacy: turn white soap
Hannah: crisp air gone
C.C.  proud great claim
PuffOfSmoke: miles face mirror
Anya: fence drapes paper

These words were collected from last week’s contributors of the Red Wolf‘s poetic prompt #218 “Time Travel”.