Category: dVerse
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Overlooked Margins
Small Flies and Other Wings There in the overlookedmargins of the windowsill, unpaired wings and websof grey lace and dust aredefused by the sun’s stare. Wings lay mutilated likesome mental disturbance, brushed by darkness andsideslipped in the wake ofa free-hand or brushed breath. They’re gathered into the wetgrasp of a cleaning cloth, and their fragments…
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for dVerse Quadrille #124
Who Knew I pull out a green shoot, hoping it’s a weed. One year, I pulled outmost of the poppy seedlings, thinking they were weeds. Opium poppies, so I am told. And there next to the weedsis a worm – tied in a knot. for dVerse Poets Quadrille #124 “knots”Photo by Bruno Figueiredo on Unsplash. Shared with @Experimentsinfc…
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dVerse’s Being Human
Being Human This being human isa glance over your shoulderto see if the pastis catching up with you. Other days, it’s a drudgerythat lingers on your handsas a stain or an odour. It’s a search for wordsin the pit of your stomachthat feel odd in your mouthwhen spoken. Sometimes, it’s when rainsmells like mould insteadof…
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dVerse Prosery: 16 March 2021
The Stick All winter that limb hung there as if baffled by gravity’s indecision, and sometime between dark and daylight it fell from the sky and plunged to the earth. The white beechwood bark peeling, and curling back onto itself, lichen-poxed, and laying in the mud-soaked grass like a diseased long bone. It’s what my…
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This Might Be The Most Depressing Thing Ever Written
This Might Be The Most Depressing Thing I’ve Ever Written For pen. For paper. I fumble the nightto write these stammered words. I grievefor its loss. Its misuse. This deluded lightthat I might write, and pretend to believe myself poetic. A witless froth at any age,I know not grammar, my words are awaylike disjointed vertebrae.…
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For dVerse: Verse Epistle
We Always Said After the summer hadturned fields of cut wheatto brooms, and those littlegestures of rain beckoned to winter, and as we saton the dry October lawn,and said we’d always writeeach other fond letters of Dear dearest, and wordsfor wishing on falling stars,after all that, I’m sleeplessand feeling the drift of dark, and wondering…
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A dVerse Quadrille
I Am In The Shadow of highbrick archeswalls ofchipped stuccorendering heated dust rainingfrom bellspealing namesof vanished saintsand talesof moonstruckswallowscoaxed fromnesting cliffsswift as lighton wingsthat cutclouds and sky.our shadowswere justflutteringlips. for dVerse Poets, Quadrille Monday “Swift” and 44 words sans title. © Misky 2021 Image WikiCommons California State Archive. A poem based on recollections of a…
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For Twiglet #216
The Strong Arm Water He’s the strong arm of water.A river at night. We move around the fringe of fewand plenty words. Breathe hard as frozen rainthat sticks to skin. And we drain the river. written for Twiglet #216 and dVerse “Edges and Fringes” Image from Flickr, Creative Commons © Misky 2021
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dVerse Edges
Various Degrees of Blur My pencil whorls. Gone are the edges.The sharpness erased. Roof tileshide under moss. Stones hide the curve of hills. Grass flattensunder the weight of tyres. A shadow denies its edge. And my fingerspush back the second hand, as the hours spin. for dVerse Poets “Edges and Fringe” #1 & 2 ©…
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dVerse Haibun: Memory Lane
The Straight Of It It might’ve been 1952. Or 3. It was certainly summer. I remember wearing cotton shorts and a sleeveless top. It’s hot. The sun stings my arms. I’m barefoot, walking on a narrow brick path that always feels cool and slightly wet against my toes. It leads from the back door down…
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