Category: dVerse
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dVerse Quadrille: Ashes
The Railroad’s Cottages Those railroad cottages withendlessly long roof ridges,chimney ash to rise and fall. Living’s not easy by the rail-line. Clotheslines with shirts drying.Trouser legs frozen. A woman’scrying heart drying in the cold. And another train flashes its rumbling noise across the window. dVerse quadrille “ash”. 44-words sans title. Images by Unsplash. Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter…
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13 October: for dVerse
Just A Pinch It’s times like these whenI think I’ll call Mum, tell herabout the garden todaywith its spread of fuchsias and how, if she was still alive, she’d be pinching outnew growth, taking it home,and rooting it in some water. I don’t think she ever boughta plant, she borrowed bitsand seeds from other people’splants, and grew…
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12 October: dVerse Prosery
This Summer Boy This summer boy of tide pools and kelp forests. He plays in waves while grains of an hourglass slip from under his feet. Up to his waist. He’s afraid to move. Afraid to call for help. He hears a chaos of language from the shore. His legs tangle in the long reach…
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5 October: dVerse Quadrille #137
On The Beach (draft version) On the beach, a poppy-red stone,it looks angry as a military planet.It’s strewn amongst some revellers’litter, wine bottles and tipsy air.The waves siege against the shore,the sea gurgles its drying fury, and air orbits around our fragrant dust. (all for the sake of a party) for dVerse Quadrille #137 “stones”. Shared…
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for dVerse Poets: Haibun Monday
It’s Just Words Someone once said that I was a prolific. As a writer. At the time, I thought it a compliment. Years later, I’m not sure that’s a good thing. Being prolific. It’s like standing in a bucket of your own sweat. Being overcome by noise. Your own noise. So you can’t hear your…
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dVerse Derivatives
It’s That Shade of Brown Again.It’s a rustling of memory. You bring me to this doorway,day after day, into our minutes. My dad, into dreams and dusk, and precise piles of crispy leaves.Our cat, a goat, and fertile land. A forest’s umbrage. Morning frost.Chocolate melting on my fingers. It’s a colour that can …
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dVerse Quadrille #135
The Worst Parts The man she loves is dead,and left her a thorny heart.It’s torture. And so she knits. It numbs. It’s transcendental.Self-medicating. Melancholystitching a repeating groove. Her rhythm never judges –the needles know shedoesn’t want to move on. Written for dVerse Quadrille #135 “groove” . Shared with @Experimentsinfc #APoemADay on Twitter ©Misky 2021
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dVerse Oral Poetry
Another Fish Story His only wish that summerwas to catch that fish.Worms on hooks.Flies on lines cast in air.Right from the start he said,I’m smarter than any fish.But it hid in tendril roots,gills breathing, nebulous greenleaves like shade from heaven.His great regret, and he had a…
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31 August dVerse: Back to School
Elementary I’ve become vaguely dubious about the roller blinds in our classroom. My teacher pulls the blinds down every Wednesday at noon, just before the air raid siren blares, and I don’t see how curling into a ball under my lift-top desk with my back to the window helps me survive a nuclear bomb. And our…
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A dVerse Soliloquy Stream of Consciousness
My-My-My My mum lived in a little blue houseat the top of a hill where lodgepole pinesleaned in the wind like a widow’s hump,and there was a creek, raged full when itrained, but the soil sucked it dry by July, (I’m being generous when I say “creek” –it was more like a drainage ditch), and…
It's Still Life 