Category: dVerse
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P’Blooming & d’Verse Quadrille #13
Quadrille #13 The Swimmer He was all blind bones and tendons, whip-willow arms and flying legs. Stood sturdy. Stood jar-steady. It seemed easy, there in water, light as clouds are in sky. Fluid and flowing, a light blue mountain’s breath, and he fed off the roar of crowds. © Misky 2016. for Poetic Bloomings…
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The Blues for dVerse
Those Half Blues where is the blue in sky, and where is my view through fog. where is the dew in water, and where is the green in blue. and where is the shelter in tears as I lay here half awake for dVerse “Blue”
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for dVerse: Haibun #18
The Victor Writes the History I keep those memories, treasure them, fall in love with them – over and over again. I colour each one with a whitewash tint to fit, add lilac fragrance like punctuation, form and reform (memories are so delectably malleable), and no one corrects perception, ones private and privileged view,…
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Rebooting an Old Poem for dVerse
Here are two versions of the same piece. One is the original; the other is a revised version. I’m not saying which is which, or what is what. Any preference? 1: The Chop Dad chopped firewood every day, until Parkinson’s stopped him. His axe, abandoned in a block of cedar — sunk deep as…
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dVerse Does Fear
A Chase I don’t much talk about my fears, don’t allow them that much credit. I don’t welcome them with open arms, don’t offer them my spare room. I don’t let them cosy into my shadow, don’t set them up high for a view. I just keep moving; those old fears chasing me around ‘till…
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dVerse: Quadrille #13
The Birthday Dress Time is beige. A sepia moment on the run from invisible. That’s me. Two, maybe three. New dress. Brown plaid. Mum did my hair. Ring curls. My smile’s brighter than sun. For Dad. He’s the one with the camera. Smile, my girl. Smile for your daddy. written for dVerse Poets:…
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for dVerse: Drought
The Aftermath My sister has a photograph, a study in monochrome, and it’s a story of not what you actually see, but what was once there. An ox stood there once, stood in prairie grass that reached belly high, and there was a red barn for shelter, a farmhouse filled busy with noise. Orchards. Apples.…
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for dVerse: Haibun #17
Heat: To Sweat & Turn & Tick By 5 o’clock, I’m buckled into heat. Its grim tactics empty me of summer’s pleasure – no appetite for sweet cherries, no thirst for berries. And tender leaves curl in distress, shrivel into brown and brittle spines as if devoured by cruelty. And so pitiful those cankered apples…
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dVerse: Twitter Poetry
Tidy Mowed the grass into narrow straight lines, trimmed the edges sharp. Deadheaded roses. The apple tree needs spraying. I had my haircut today. for dVerse: Twitter-Length Poetry. 140 characters total
It's Still Life 