Category: dVerse
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dVerse Quadrille #60
The Art of Scratching I’m an itcher, perfected as a child. Mum made me a coat from Dad’s old peacoat – worn during the war, only war worth fighting (he said), claimed every shot since was political mischief. Hated that coat. Scratched my neck raw. Like rope burn. dVerse Quadrille #60
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Haibun and a Twiglet
I. It’s hot. Like record-breaking hot. I want to chill my skin across cold marble. Like shortcrust pastry needs. Or submerge myself into a wave, into the sequinned imagination of a mermaid. Like a cold water fish. Like a big old lazy cod. I want to hibernate in a green grassy mirage before I falter…
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A Freedom Haibun for dVerse
A Last Gasp Breath I learned today that he died on Saturday. Liver cancer. He didn’t want to live in that soon-gone-body any more. Didn’t want those same wiry eyebrows that knitted together, a spiky caterpillar, when he frowned in pain. Didn’t want those same weak legs. Weak creaky knees that refused to hold his…
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dVerse Brands
Tea and Toast I could lose myself in this life. In the kettle’s roiling kindness. Breakfast’s on the table, I say, and we slip in and out of this hour of idle moods, bite into wheat toast, crunch and crisp as a cliff edge. You read the paper, share special bits or two of news,…
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dVerse Lessons
Pigeons Lessons It was Grandpa who taught me the lesson of returning home. You see, he had two homing pigeons, ‘though they could have been doves, the colour of magnolias and lilies. Grandpa cooed each pigeon goodbye before hefting them into the air. Good luck, he said, as their velvet angel wings echoed into the…
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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”
It's Still Life 