Category: dVerse
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dVerse Quadrille #119
The Dogs of Hunters In The Snow Dogs lead the way in this cold otherworld.Stray to scents, and footprints in snow.Paws dancing dense and cold to frost clear tunes.Iced twigs.Clings to limbs.Same sameness laying a tapestry of white. There’s no sensible heatin this featureless light. dVerse Quadrille #119 “way”. Image…
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dVerse Prosery
Sometimes Sometimes weather flings itself in a tantrum at my feet. Such wild abandon in its reach. And sometimes I am lost in my own deep stare. Deep in the face of angry clouds that flood my sight, deep in rain punctuating the ground with broad, cursive raindrops. Sometimes the great bones of my life…
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dVerse “Personification”
You Will Know It Is Winter When you step outsideinto blind white,and cold comes at you, not as a chill, but as a wall of blinded colour, and frost squealsunder the bite of your boots, and every step fracturesthe sound of snow falling, you will know it is winter. for dVerse “Personification” © Misky 2021. Header image…
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dVerse Object Poem
This Is Not A Man this is not a man,this is morning’s image.daybreak.a robin’s song. sweet tea.this is a sea blue wave.old spice.this is the first kiss of the day. this is a shoelace,tied to my skin.a mortal eye, a pen of truth.night’s curtain. this is not a man.this is my husband. for dVerse: write…
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Double Quadrille (88 Words) for dVerse Poets
Bruegel Narrates Hunters in the Snow Down by the stony roadwhere the trees growsnowy twigs, and the frozencreek babbles in its bafflingstring-like voice, and tinyflickering candles defythe winter gloom from thatchedroof houses, and the north windscrapes an alto low moan from God’s own rudder-spiked mountains that spill chills on the good brothersof the monastery, whereonly…
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A Golden Shovel for dVerse
Under the 500 Spires of Prague It’s the same dream of 500 golden spires, hereby the fast-flowing waters of Bohemia. Areyou and I just vanished reflections off theold Charles bridge? Are we the fallen red tulipsthat are rolled and floating into damp buddedfolds? We stroll the ridge of mortar rot, andfeed stray dogs our bread.…
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dVerse Goes Gothic
An Unscented Rose She stoodon the hillaloneon the cliff’s ridge,seeing only bleaknessin the sunin the sea, bluewashed curtained sky. Gone.Donewhen his carriagewas drawnand broken.His journeyblackened into descent. His onyx-black coffin,a processionwith those unscented roses.Why, too, did theirfragrance escape. Where she once stoodwhere the sun settledinto night’s ruins,where stones throwthemselves from cliffs,where she neversaw the quietof…
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dVerse Quadrille #118
An Old Small Song There’s smokefrom the dying fire in her eyes, it bites deep at her heart,and she sings an old small song. Laughs. Then cries.Old flames never die, she says, and then nods-off into her past years as the inglenook’s firegoes cold. dVerse quadrille #118 “inglenook”. 44-words, sans title. © Misky 2020 Photo…
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dVerse Prosery
It’s Life She pays a woman to tell her fortune. Her future. Says this woman is brilliant. Sees stuff. All done over the telephone. You should talk to her, she’ll tell your future, she says. But I don’t want to know my future. I prefer to roll along like a drunk stumbling over my own…
It's Still Life 