Category: dVerse
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13 August: An Octelle
Waiting for the Words to Come It will come, what I want to say.Paper. Pen. Held a certain way.Inspired by that full moonWhose light fills an empty room.Those amber and scarlet leaves.Creek. River. Or ocean breeze.It will come, what I want to say.Paper. Pen. Held a certain way. for dVerse Poets: Poetry Form Octelle. The syllable…
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4 August: For the Petite Pen
It’s Just After Dawn When a person can be reborn by the shine and glimmer of it all. The sea.The bluff.Seagulls and terns.Thistles and grass. A blue-veined smear of waterrounds on the middle deep, daybreak lifting and lighteningthe water, the cliffs scrawled by wind. And on the ridge above the beachnext to an August-hardened dirt…
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27 July: for dVerse
I Might Deny Writing This I coughYou coughWe’re both coughing with Covid In the darkDown the stairsTo the fridgeA late night snack and I open the door, coldLight spills across the floorFeast or famineIt’s an empty wind that’s blowing. MayoMustardChutneyCapers One eggA pearNo tasteNo flavour KimchiPicklesRoquefortGrapes This is nutsI coughYou coughWe’re both coughing with Covid…
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27 July: dVerse Quadrille
Great-Great-Grandad’s Candleholder it sits there on the mantlepiecerich patina-wrapped,a bottom-weighted brass candleholder.the type used on a ship. gravity always keeps it upright,not that we make waves in the living room,but it’s a family heirloom,and we’re deep-seatedin our nautical gauge. dVerse Quadrille #156: include the word “wrap”, 44-words sans title. WikiArt Image: Shipwreck, by Ivan Aivazovsky, Original…
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19 June: dVerse Quadrille
Mis-Spellings I’m named after Mum’s childhood friend who sat on some scissors, slicing her buttocks open, and Mum was green as envy – that girl excused from school for 3-months, sitting being a for-sure impossibility, and it’s odd, how brainiest people mis-spell our name … for dVerse Poets. Quadrille (44-words) including the word spell. ©Misky 2022 Shared…
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16 June: dVerse Last Words
“A certain butterfly is already on the wing.” Vladimir Nabokov. To Dwindle A butterfly leaves its past behind, flies south for winter and then dies. But its children, well on a wing return to their parents’ past. I am a butterfly, returned to empty my mother’s flat, to my mother’s spartan life of 4 plates,…
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14 June: dVerse Prosery
Prosery Thinking There are places I’ll never reach because my feet ache, and there are mornings when I see a sunrise and it feels ancient and seamless, and it saddens me to see its oxygen-rich colours bleeding across the world, and sometimes the sound of new day reminds me that I’m minus one more, and…
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9 June: No Matter Your Stones
No Matter Your Stones No one tells you that Brighton beach isn’t sand, that it’s pebbled and rolls underfoot. If wading in surf is your pleasure, well, those pebbles will batter your toes and bruise your shins. The weak ankled are easy to spot, their arms flaying the air for balance, their knees wobbling about.…
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4 June: dVerse Dissonance
Dissonant Weather the rain rainthe tick tickand pitpat off guttersgurgling anddrowning the ground withgushand swill squishas worms float intothe flash of a black bird’s beak for dVerse Poets: Dissonance in Poetry. ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter
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24 May: A dVerse Summer Haibun
A robin’s on the fence, facing the neighbours garden, waiting for worms or bugs or both. I’m cutting chives to garnish cooked eggs. Hello there, I say as if a bird gives a tick about good manners and idle pleasantries. But to my surprise, it turns and stares at me. Its feathered breast is the…
