Category: dVerse
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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
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A dVerse Drinker
Un Goût de Paris You see, my mother only wore one perfume. I don’t count Avon’s Skin-So-Soft ‘cause Mum used that as an insect repellent, although to me it smelled like a toilet freshener in my Aunt Suzy’s outhouse. Anyway, Mum wore “Evening in Paris” – Dad always gave her a bottle at Christmas. Now,…
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dVerse Haibun Monday “Grey”
Those Fictional Greys Funny thing about long-term memory; it’s like it just happened yesterday. Like when I was remembering my grandmother who departed us nearly 30-years ago. I can see her now. Grandma sitting in a straight-back wooden spindle chair. She sits where the sun breaks through the window but she still feels icy. And…
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for dVerse Artwork
Under a Wrinkled Sky The night sky wrinkled between the stars, a slow procession, that cat and that elephant. The cat, it sat, ignoring it all, as all cats do, and the elephant, drumming the wooden boat with its weighty foot, and shiny tusks of brassy bold against the midnight black – it breathed, it…
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dVerse Quadrille #50
Trees Amongst the Forest So that’s what you meant when you said, Welcome to the Forest — but I only know the chorus. Never learned the whole song. The trees turned, murmured unearthly tones, Does she burn as we do, they breathed. I never learned the whole song. dVerse Quadrille #50 “Murmur”
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dVerse Does Pentimento
A Slow Disappearance We all shuffle along to the weight of delusions. There are days when I feel young. Beautiful. Until I look in the mirror. Beautiful view, you say, watching snow flurries spin across the sea, swallowed into cold cusps of waves. I can’t compete with nature. I remember my first kiss; I closed…
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dVerse Quadrille #49
A Road and Pork Happiness We’re at a lay-by on the old road to Dover. It’s unexpectedly spring in January, and we dine sitting on folding chairs, eating pork pies and sipping iced tea. This is happiness, you say. Poetry. An oyster’s life. This is a poem, I say. dVerse Quadrille #49 (44…
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dVerse Poison
To a Tanacetum Parthenium Sweet daisy aster, my ornamental dream. Speak to me, Featherfew. My faithful Feverfew, release your cool hand on my head my head, this chewing throb. Be of purpose, sweet daisy aster. Curative febrifugia — white button blossom rays. Shine on me, disks of scented bright. dVerse Poisonous Plants
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Haibun 22.01.18
Her Lunchbox Spoke Volumes But that business of a first kiss was hard for my little sister — she hit Christopher on the head with her metal lunchbox (mine was Royal Stewart red plaid; her’s was bright flowers). Between us, she was always the softer one. I lived in jeans and summer t-shirts, even when…
It's Still Life 