Wordle Me This #2

So many fantastic poets have sent us their work to feature on the site, and so we decided to do a wordle dedicated to them! These are all words taken from poems featured in our Write for Us series. There is no set amount of words you have to use, but we hope you find them inspiring.

wordle

 

Here are your words:

shiver
jittering
swollen
mask
basement
whiskey
obituary
curtain
consolation
sway
tumbling
restless
expectations
denial

And have you considered submitting to our Write for Us segment? We’d love to feature your work here on The Reverie! Click here for more information…

Good luck and have fun!

Remember, all entries must be linked back to this post with a pingback or by commenting by Friday at midnight EST. Saturday is the vote and Sunday the winner will be featured. The winner is also entered for a place in the spring edition of our magazine.

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20 thoughts on “Wordle Me This #2

  1. Another Cigarette

    I sit shivering
    In the basement
    Hands are jittering
    Not ‘cause of bereavement
    Face is a swollen mask
    But not from cryin’
    Half bottle of whiskey
    Not empty for lack of tryin’
    Hot streaks, cold spells
    Should be my obituary
    Bet it all for a thrill
    Was a sure thing
    Broke its leg in the stretch
    They called the doctor
    Vet made the kill
    So that’s how I end up
    Sittin’ in my rocker
    Staring at butts and ashes
    In a chipped coffee cup
    So light up another smoke
    Crush the pack, its empty
    Toss it in the air
    Pushing aside
    My curtain of denial
    I get up to grab
    My next twenty
    Sticks of joy
    Stagger and sway
    Along the way
    Barely can remember
    What was my next play
    Left the track behind
    On those big screens
    From dim lights to bright
    As I entered the casino
    Slipped by the suckers
    Sittin’ at the slots
    Plenty of bright colors, sounds
    Machines were clanging
    While I walked around
    Keno numbers blinking
    Me, no cash so
    I was tapped though
    Had a bucket of chips
    Needed to start drinkin’
    Few wrinkled singles for tips
    Was ready to shoot craps
    Made my way to the table
    Waved at the waitress
    Ordered a cocktail
    I said anything with ice
    Just not rum or gin
    Stood there at the rail
    Watching the dice
    Go a tumblin’
    Got my drink with a thanks
    My free hand gripped the pair
    Rattled, launched
    Bounced ‘em off the banks
    They came up my way
    So of course I
    Hadda let it ride
    As I made my point
    Five times the cubes
    Landed just right
    Had my stake back plus
    Shoulda called it a night
    But that bead of sweat
    Appeared on my lip
    Fever was searing my head
    Bones jangled at my hip
    “One more time” I said
    Eyes turned to slits
    As I let ‘em rip
    The table was packed
    The ivories were whirlin’ ‘round
    My forehead I smacked
    As they landed with a thud
    Suddenly barely a sound
    Voices whispered
    “Snake eyes”
    So I was busted again
    No real surprise
    Stumbled to my ride
    Drove home in a daze
    Ended up down here
    Ain’t got no regrets
    Just need another
    Cigarette
    Strike a match and puff
    So I add to the haze
    Cast an eye at the drawer
    Thinking about that
    Colt 38
    No more worries
    It’s saying to me
    Maybe at a later date
    Cuz its time for another
    Belt of whiskey
    To wash down the smoke
    Well howz about a noose
    My neck to choke
    Nah, no thanks!
    I’m not that kinda bloke
    My restless eyes
    Take a look at my paws
    Grit under the nails
    All broken and gnawed
    Holding a vial of tranq’s
    Hell if all else fails
    Just take ‘em and nod
    Put ‘em down and pick
    Up another cancer stick
    Hold the glowing tip
    Of one to the next
    Before grinding the stub
    Just about starting
    To lose my grip
    When on the TV set
    The scores come in
    Hit my last ticket
    Six teamer, really big win
    That fifty dollar bet
    Brings in a bundle
    Also had a parlay
    So my score’s doubled
    Hey now my hands
    Are steady and calm
    No more sweat
    Wettin’ my palms
    Once more made it back
    So come tomorrow
    I can play again
    Time to hit the sack
    As soon as I finish
    The rest of this pack

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I move a little slow with the times of late, but here’s what I saw at 2am amongst the words a whole week or so late, but thought I’d share just the same, somewhere between remembrance and a future.

    Inside laneways, inside those condemned

    Narrow fills as gaps, a gaping hole threaded in twisted steel, in cinder blocks surround what shivers beneath a mind,

    While winter rain dances to a basement bar, bleeding people and perhaps those sounds to blues, maybe jazz,

    As a faux warmth in a brown paper bag, whiskey in a bottle feels good here inside dark uncharted shadows,

    Where swollen hands grasp tight to both brown paper bag and a condemned overhang above, trying to keep dry,

    Within a cavity’s ruin remains long past its use by date, though still denial renders an unsound reasoning to consider,

    Perhaps to call such a place in decay, home; where on these long nights old newspapers mask an eroded concrete floor,

    Back inside this manmade cavern, while an obituary pasted to a room’s cracked buckled wall, reminds this last resident,

    About days in better times before chaos and death came to town, taking her entire family with a consolation, she survived,

    So few expectations populate her mind each night now, but to keep warm and feed a hunger deep within, on scraps of memories,

    Here, wait, the rain’s easing; while still strong winds cut sway up the laneway along condemned and surviving built worlds,

    Looking up above, her eyes fixate on her little sister’s window, where a last curtain rattles notes on chimed tassels,

    Memories flood her soul as slow slips whiskey in a bottle down through this brown paper bag’s bottom, jittering a dance on pavement intune

    Before falling over, tumbling out of these uncharted shadows to spill it’s pain dulling contents amongst the lane’s litter,

    So, her body tired, she stands up, restless, staring at the bottle before turning to climb a broken drain pipe, reaching for her sister’s window,

    To a worn graffiti, poem inscribed window seat, waiting on each morning’s small hours to grow, where time will bath her in fresh sunshine before returning,

    Below once again to wander a city’s now many quiet streets, for perhaps just one more lonely hour in remembrance, before departing for another land, a new life.

    Liked by 1 person

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