Category: dVerse
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Twiglet #47
Running Parallel Mum has a dark edge, like sun in and out of clouds, but every story has a bit of meat. I’d know hers anywhere. In one or two of my lives, she’s been my root – roots run parallel. I look like Mum. Mum looks like her father. Same eyes. Jaw. Same frown.…
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2 Easy for Miz Quickly
Got Me on My Knees He’s been arguing with himself these days. It’s all gone wrong. Been wronged. It’s a paler shade of broken, he says, while he argues with the mirror, and longs for her legs. A lost prisoner to her songs. And he falls into blond on blond dreams, begging Layla, you’ve got…
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de-Grammer for dVerse
Another Cloud I knew a girl, she grew she grew, a hued music lived inside her, finger-dancing across her knees. Another day, acid-etched, another soft-edge cloud spilled, another bird’s scribbling word. And her cat’s the colour of sunset. It keeps itself just beyond her dancing-fingers reach. for dVerse and Gnomes
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Sleeping for dVerse
The Ragged Edge of Sleep I. Even as I dream, I hear his sleep. I’ve come to expect it, the way you expect water to be wet, and I wonder about the depth of my dreams if his sleep was no longer mine to hear. II. Mine was an embalmering sleep, and I dreamt of…
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dVerse Quadrille #38
She Forgot to Weep my mother’s years call her to rest. says, it’s a long-lost dream. cold winter mountains. just a bit of sleep. comes with heart’s desire, care-free as a new dress. those old joys: her long-lost bright gleam; youth. her dreams know nothing of old lips. Quadrille #38: Dreams
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The End for dVerse Poets
Underfoot Morning breaks. She watches over the roses with a squint of scorn, then pulls the clothesline tight. A grooved branch holds its weight. And she pegs his shirts by the side seams on the line. Upside down – a distress signal. Socks paired, then pegged. Jeans, wrinkles flicked away by the breeze. Clothes billow,…
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dVerse Quadrille #37
He Dreams of Gin When he dreams of gin, he takes this, not that road. This fork, not that one. Claims that despair’s his wisdom — he’s no damned fool. Blasphemy is vanity’s prayer, he says. This man fears his dying sounds. He sleeps with rats. He dreams of gin. dVerse’s Quadrille #37:…
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Haibun #40: Summer
Lemonade Daze That particular summer was endlessly hot. The sun withered my sister and me into fragility, splayed us in a reach for breezes as we sheltered in dark corners. We whined when mum insisted we go outside and play. “You two act like you’re afflicted, struck by some serious brain condition.” So we stalked…
