Category: dVerse
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dVerse “Sevenling”
A Flinch I was smaller. Younger. Sharper. Like gravel. I spoke in consonant chords. In song. I was like earthquake weather © Misky 2016. for dVerse “Sevenling” themed music
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dVerse Quadrille #13
A Fluttering Folly Time’s not making this any easier; I wear your memory like a ring. Twist it when it’s too tight, curse it like a floundering rite when it aches. Memories of all my failures, fluttering follies like sails on little boats fleeing this journey. © Misky 2016. For dVerse Quadrille #13…
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dVerse Quadrille #12
Just Roses I’m eyeing a hooded parking meter. Its flag is up. Expired. Like some Tranquil step toward death. Across the street is the barbershop. Then the bank. And that’s the whole block. Banks need space for all that money to grow. I just grow roses. written for dVerse Poets Quadrille #12 –…
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dVerse Does Summer
What better blessing than to move without hurry under trees?” — by Naomi Shihab Nye The Summer of 1958 Those summer days when the sun grew – those were my spun white flats days. Long as ribbons, a satin sheen across the skies, and the hills soaking up nasal sting of pine, and paths of…
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dVerse: Shun Enu Prayers
Shun Enu Prayers I’m praying. It’s a nightly ritual. Like brushing my teeth, washing my face, pulling off my socks (right foot first). And it’s rained all day. A steady mist, it soaks into everything. Makes the air heavy. Makes my head heavy, too, my thoughts condense. There’s solitude in rain for good reason. And…
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A Meter for dVerse
A Morning Walk on West Pier We walked the pier, that early day, Young boys with lines that begged for fish. We watched the pier splitting waves, Fair dawn so bright and dewy wide. To float a while on morning mists, Its gentle sighs and rippled swell, If just to lift its jealous veil. …
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dVerse Quadrille #11
Bound to Mine Steal a moment from this mad procession, lie with sunbeams; long, slender as fingers. Come and steal away on mossy green and wreaths of ivy. Bind your desires to mine like perfume, like your morning-scented robe, and we’ll spill this world on weedy rocks. Poetic Form: Quadrille (44 words including the…
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dVerse Haibun #15
I am awake. I wake too early some days. No pattern – not just odd days, not just even days, or days with certain vowels or syllables. Some mornings I seem to wake in a neon blast, a flickering slap. A toothpick in the eye. My bones are agitated the way Jackson Pollock’s paintings sets…
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dVerse Quadrille #10
A Bit of Lunch with My Cousin A piece of me came to visit, a genetic piece — my cousin. We shot the breeze over lunch. Fish and chips by the seaside, Bank Holiday Monday. Weather poured down on us, and the wind howled fury — my hair tangling in ketchup and chips. My…
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Dry Rain for dVerse Poets
Dry Rain When Dad passed away, I was a wailing shell. There was no goodbye, no tidy ending — not like the movies. There’s nothing pretty about a howling heart. And I keep thinking about the airport, last time I saw him, you know — hugs, and I said, ‘See you soon. Love you, Dad.’…
It's Still Life 