Category: dVerse
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dVerse: New Beginnings
It’s Pleasant Enough You and I fell into this notion of newness, me tucked into your fluid surface of thought, floating away easy as water-logged idleness, and you’re a reflection in the eyes of stars, I say, and I’m a silhouette, or a ripple in the bathtub. It’s all very new, new as your touch;…
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dVerse Quadrille #23
A Cold Front The air is brisk. Engaging. Better than this day deserves. Close fog sniffs at curls of rising steam from the lake, and all I hear is the lapping of wandering waves against a metal rowboat. But summer will come; manicured lawns, yellowed by heat. dVerse Quadrille #23 “Curl”
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Time for dVerse
The Time of Asking It’s that time of the year when everyone is heading home. But we’re staying home. Not going anywhere. Joan up the street, she and her husband are going to Mexico for Christmas. She pushed an early greeting card through our letter slot with a hand-written note. Nice touch that read: “Hope…
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dVerse Haibun #27 and Twiglet #2
Two version of the same piece. The first is written as a haibun for dVerse Poets using the word “night”. The second version is the original that uses linebreaks, created as a free-write exercise for prompt #2 at The Twiglets. I. Run Away I’ve drawn over my childhood where there’s no children’s hour, no storybook…
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dVerse: The Music of Words
I. Staccato Heat Siesta, and the streets are free, noiseless, bright and hot. Flamenco hot. The rain in Spain, she says, the rain in Spain, but there’s not a drop of it. Sitting there, still, be still, white hot skies, and she’s in the midst of magnesium light. On the edge. Combust. Ignite But there’s…
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dVerse: Recipe Poetry
Winter Sips It’s the season’s sour face, slowly moulding, held and cured in curdled mud. Those crisp leaves dredged with frost, soon to dilute and dissolve to dolce compost. Winter sips, an enophile, drunk on rain and sleet and hail, while I, who feels pinched as old mutton, waits for a robin’s song. …
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dVerse Quadrille #22
Sliced You’re so random, like an accident or a scar, like when you blurted out I don’t understand pickled cows sliced in half. Poor beast. It’s been Hirst’ed. Damien’ed. Like that canvas of dead black flies, or framed shells and cigarettes. I mean — bite me for dVerse: Quadrille #22 “Scar” – 44 words in…
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dVerse Haibun #26
I’m unable to sleep. Again. Winter makes me a bit flighty. Makes me fidgety as shivers. But when the sun does appear, it’s all the more welcome. This morning I watched the sun rise and focus and burn away fog so thick that the end of the street had disappeared into its own depth, and…
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dVerse Quadrille #21
Between the Days Somewhere, between harvests and rain storms, and lingering wooden crates with mythic mounds of apples, (seems only a week ago) the moon raised itself, as if to order our world to rights. It was a ripe spoon-fed ball, and it took our breath away. for dVerse: Quadrille 21 with 44…
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dVerse Gardens
And So It Seems The leaves are still falling, caught inside a whip of wind, and I can’t recall such stillness, the quietness of a churchyard. And the sky’s so blue, the ground in shades of yawning amber and maple scarlet — which seems unmatched in this light and shade, all those leaves floating slow…
It's Still Life 