Petal Peril

Whatever you do, don’t fall asleep on a Sonoran Desert summer, or an underdog, or dark horses, or mama bears.  Such pretty things—have teeth.  They can bite; they can burn.  They last while the world tumbles and turns.  Grow fierce in threat of storm.  Stand tall when assumed to fall.  Underestimate them at your peril.  Pretty petals may be fragile—roots are not.

 

desert willow petals

blowing sideways

straight against the fall

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse Poetics: “Whatever you do, don’t fall asleep…”

 

Mourning Dove in Milk and Pepper

 

Like dropped white petals

in the Colonel’s yard,

lie wing bones

and feathers—

 

cat, coyote, or

desert skunk,

having taste for only

head and trunk.

 

But, no hint of scent

of the last night spent—basting

in the coo that ended in a coup.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

dVerse Quadrille

 

things that glow in the dark

 

under the blacklight

they glow green

and grow still

 

sometimes they’re

tucked into a nook

like a lost doubloon

 

ready to sting like a curse

for one stolen

pieces of eight

 

sometimes they fall with a plump green thump

on the lawn burning white

in the moon’s light

 

sitting like plastic children’s rings

stuck into the green buttercream of supermarket

cupcakes near all hallows’ eve, harmless—

 

or like tonight, behind my eyes

while dreaming, a memory, a fog of gray-green

shadow moving scorpion-like,

 

not carrying enough venom

to kill,

but still—

 

 

© 2025 jennifer wagner

 

dVerse mtb

El Vernadero

 

It’s more than a place,

it’s a calling—

where red hibiscus,

and pink, too,

blush the air with their kisses.

 

This old Spanish hotel,

a retreat among royal palms,

where Florence’s Alcove

calls poets back to their gurgling dreams

near carvings of animals

and fountains for black-throated sparrows.

 

It’s more than a respite, or retreat,

it’s an oasis shaded in the desert sun,

where little casitas dot storied stone pathways

 

—and just walking here

turns lion to lamb,

and my eyes—brown silk,

soft and lamplit,

as if in parallel realm,

cured of the madness

of a lesser world.

 

 

© 2025 Jennifer Wagner

 

 

Combining the prompts from two of my most-admired poets.

Shay’s Word Garden Word List

Dora’s Poetics at dVerse: A View of One’s Own (I’m too late to link)

 

“El Vernadero” means “winter haven” and was the original name of the “Royal Palms” at the base of Camelback Mountain in Arizona.  I live locally and visit it often—and feel as if I’m on vacation every time I do—even just walking the grounds.  I could not love it more.

 

Photos © 2025 Jennifer Wagner