The challenge at Real Toads is to write about “Future/Tense” however we see fit.  I’m also sharing for the open link at d’Verse Poets.

Pasture Flower



never-ending patterns
consistent cycles
for how much longer
spring, summer, fall, winter


butterfly on coneflower


changing seasons changing
warmer, wetter winters
hot, drought-laden summers
spring, summer, fall, winter






science deniers turn away
as polar bears drown
and fire engulfs the land
spring, summer, fall, winter

snowdrift shadow



the time to act is now
before we destroy it all
never again to see
spring, summer, fall, winter



The challenge today for d’Verse Poets is to write a cover for another poem.  I was rather stymied, so I decided to try to sort of do a glosa, but not quite.  Anyhow, I’ve chosen Shel Silverstein’s poem Batty as the poem to do a cover for.  I’m also sharing with Real Toad’s Tuesday Platform.

The baby bat
screamed out in fright,
‘Turn on the dark,
I’m afraid of the light.’

Dark, dank, filled with gloom
a festering ancestral home
on the edge of an ancient fen.
A slight young woman
strokes the soft familiar
fur of her old, black cat;
deep in the hidden recesses
lies the devil’s cavern,
the blindly skulking rat,
the baby bat.

Alone with her thoughts at altar
in silent torment of despair
sliver-bladed knife in hand
her desire–to end the never-
ending struggle at hand;
No strength left to fight.
give in to decadent desire
or escape the carnal world.
An angel strangled by a wight
screamed out in fright.

The devil dances on slain angel wings
takes the lady by her delicate hand,
and ends her dream of easy death
pulling her close, whispering his oath;
no way to escape his invisible power;
kisses her forehead to leave his mark
She melts into his arms
her fate is consummated in
a wedding funeral march.
Turn on the dark.

Bridal morning finds her home
drowning in forbidden love
His mark a reminder of lustful power
over freely given body and soul.
Shrinking from sunshine and bird song,
her new-found lust felt right–
desire to leave paternal home
and expectations of ancestors gone.
Let me return to the night;
I’m afraid of the light.