Strong Verb

’WOKEN’, Old English still pulses in your shift from ‘wake’,
SCALE of inflection makes you a relic among verbs.
BLUFF their way past you, modern speakers do,
FLING ‘awakened’ about, steer clear of queasy changes in the stem.

Playing with fire

Shake the snake and break it, DRUID!
SWELL, pour out all its fluid.
Once nailed to the stake, the SNAKE,
CRUELly treated, may prove devil’s fruitcake.                    

Carpe diem

WOKEN from a too short sleep, I heroically

SCALE a cliff (a.k.a menial tasks I didn’t want to do)

BLUFF my way through a meeting I wasn’t prepared for,

FLING my unread emails to the wind and go back to bed.

No Antidote

DRUID with all his lore, in moment’s distraction tastes
CRUELty of creation’s estate. Fangs sink into arm,
SWELL begins in instant, time stopping on an edge. He watches
SNAKE wriggle away. Sometimes, creation’s dispensary holds poison only, no antidote upon its shelves.

Diaspora

DRUID, the last one, mutters
CRUEL invective against the newcomers, whose numbers and power
SWELL like the seas, pushing them out like
SNAKEs slithering, seeking warmth.

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This is the rare non Quordle poem post. I have been gradually transferring my Quordle poems from Twitter to here (my “back-catalog”; I’ve only 53 days left that have not been transferred, spanning from when I started in April last year till now). This also means we will have documented the full set of Quordle… Continue reading Tag your favorites