Category: dVerse
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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.’…
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dVerse Haibun #14
Note: This hasn’t gone at all where I wanted it to, so I might take it apart and play with its innards later. Counting Numbers To melt. To melt. Into this stress. Into my ears, sticky-thick. Hear that beat. That struck tick. That clock. Free my bruised breath. Count. On one. I step. On…
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An Etheree for dVerse
Toast The air seems distant, no landscape to see. Dusty purple greys the hills. The sky breaks out in argument with weather as air holds warm and motionless. It’s one of those simple things, like walking through fire to toast some bread. written for Victoria’s dVerse Etheree prompt of building a geometric shape…
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dVerse’s Character Study
And Run Same time, every day. She runs. I’m finishing the breakfast dishes, up to my wrists in hot soapy water, and there she goes, she’s a shot of sun. Her red hair’s often a shapeless flame, but today it’s tied up in a brass knot – and she runs. I’d love to run that…
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dVerse Quadrille 9
It’s Deeper Than Skin We are each other’s skin, an inherited thorn touched by lineage, memory’s echo. Soft as silk, as green is to spring. I sleep in quilted flesh. I dream to breathe, my heart; its voice. Skin … my moral default when I wander far and flooded. for dVerse. Quadrille…
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dVerse on Doors
Cut and Cold My left hand worries, it knows about closed doors. All kids know about closed doors. Do not enter. Private. Get out. But my right hand is like an old woman’s stare – empty, so I grab the knob, bevelled glass, cut and cold, and push that door open on a loose creak…
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dVerse Haibun #13
West Beach The sea breaks just inches from where I stand. It’s a cannon’s crash in my ears. A tempest. A churning purgatory. We’re walking fast along this wet sand, the tide pushing us faster, the beach paperflat and straight into the west sky, and we’re barefoot. Mom says it’s good for the arches of…
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A Golden Shovel for dVerse
Unimportant Strangers I was all eyes and hands back then, each moment rosy smiles or a quick descent into dusty tears. Five years old. Such is the way of small hands, little limbs, and as I chased the summer, graceful as butterflies I chased, as the dust rising underfoot, I saw the sky as a…
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It’s All Perspective
It’s All a Matter of Perspective God doesn’t care about walls or fences or boundaries, nor your politics or prejudices. I once knew a man who lived in the desert — wanted to be a hermit. So he built fences all around him, mended them, kept them tight and tidy, and when I ask him…
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dVerse: Quadrille #8
Virgin Green These days are virgin green. A sultan’s feast upon our eyes. Satin pillows, violet’s spring, bluebells skipping a breezy song. A child sits, picks bouquets. Daisies. Clover. For her mother. These are her brightest days. Her curly head unaware of lonely nights. Broken hearts. for dVerse: Quadrille #8. 44 words…
It's Still Life 