Category: dVerse
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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…
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A dVerse Response
Unalone I have a friend in stillness, in the dark, the cold of snow, the gaudy days, the nights of destitution, in the quiet, a moment, … almost, the sweet voice of wind, and old skin. That friend, nay, that confusion is a remote shadow, scattering my thoughts. I am unalone. I Have…
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dVerse Golden Shovel
To Break a Stone Let them meet. Would they laugh. Let them find their way through tempers. Not a pen, nor ink, scarlet and bloodied. Make them talk. A voyage in understanding. Me and you, he and him, her and she, let a conversation talk us out of our stone hardness. dVerse Bold…
It's Still Life 