Category: dVerse
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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
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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…
