Ssss…snake

CRICK in the neck after my crazed horse
SHIED at the snake slung on a branch. The
VENOM is mild; I can still make it to the
VENUE in time, all the while looking sideways.

Woke-soft

OLIVE is the colour of the tough-as fence-
PLANKs – some aged militarian using up surplus army paint.
OUT GO the planks, their stolid lives replaced by woke-soft
WOVEN material that might survive one small storm, maybe two.

Night Thoughts

NIGHT.
EVERYone harbors now those thoughts the sun could hold at bay
:
MANOR or shack, no dwelling can shelter against the tide of the night.


Note: the first and only Quordle poem to date where I used punctuation for one of the words. COMMA would also be possible.