Category: dVerse
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dVerse Quadrille #56
A Broad Song Always in motion, this broad and singing dawn. Robins nibble seeds and fatten on raisins, muddle over fat grubs and a nub of bread. Magpies dress in tuxedoes. Wrens in brown weave. The air is motion – dandelion fluff bright as whirly-spins against the sun. for dVerse Quadrille #56…
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AprPAD Day 17
It was shortly after I broke my bedroom window with a baseball, which by the way wasn’t my fault, my little sister threw like a girl and I swung a bat like a boy, and it wasn’t my fault that she didn’t catch the ball when I threw it back a tiny bit too…
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dVerse Quadrille #52
And There Was Room to Grow This is the portrait of a parka with a broken zip, with pockets deep enough to hold my hands, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and a bag of salt and vinegar crisps, and a red apple, and that was just in one pocket. for dVerse Quadrille…
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a dVerse Tanaga
(Untitled) These are stale days. Always grey and knotted. Nowadays, shadows shed colour; paler than air, blanker than paper. for dVerse: poetic form: Tanaga 7.7.7.7/aabb (untitled)
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a dVerse Twiglet
A March on Rain and Sleet a new start, they say, this spring, this golden daffodil, this sinking, stinking sodden hill, this muddy boot, this springy start of pastel art, and so I March on April’s promise, this bringer, this temptress. this spring. dVerse “Sunny Side-up” and Twiglet “start to sink”
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Quadrille #53
Goodnight Sweet Girl I’ll tell you how on the night my aunt died, she was tucked tight and laid straight below crispy sheets, sheets white as her tight thin skin, and how her night nurse sat beside her bed, held her hand, as if fragile as eggshells. for dVerse’s Quadrille #53
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Quadrille #52
Catching Stars It’s March just beyond the edge of rain-soaked snow. Beyond the fire of northern lights and imaginary sheets of singing smoke. I watched the stars that shot sideways, plotted maps to catch their washed-out blurs. Their light is my night — a deep ripeness. for dVerse Quadrille “Fire”
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dVerse Feelings
A Second Reading When I am gone and critics give my life a second reading, will they know the right questions, so they find the kindest answers. Which parts of me will stay behind, and which parts will sweep along with the wind, with the shadows. Am I verb, or adjective. A warm glow or…
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dVerse Concepts
Pulling in the Thunder The fisherman plants his hopes against the current. Sand and salt and sea, it stings his lips. His life is pebble-rattling, like thunder pulled from the sky. It’s a lullaby to deafened ears. His fairytale songs of seagulls white, and nights crow-black. Wings beat the air, as long nets draw in…
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Quadrille #51
Roots of Fiction my first waking thoughts are never of morning, never what pills I should take, which joint ointment for knees or sore muscles, or is it Monday or Tuesday. I wake to my pens and paper, scribbling down remains of dreams, burning roots of fiction. written for dVerse Quadrille #51
It's Still Life 