Category: dVerse
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10 January: dVerse Quadrille
Skeletal Tonight’s sunset is tinged scarlet,bleeding into the lagoon, outbeyond, into the lake, falling throughsummer-thick shrubs beyond twilighted memories where something of the past joinsskeletons of rowboatsin soured brackish water, rottinglike a black heart. And the setting sun shivers. Written for dVerse Quadrille “Lagoon”. A Quadrille poem is 44-words (san title) Some artwork is created using…
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5 December: dVerse Prosery
I Was Where I Am I was standing at the kitchen sink, the cold tap turned on just enough to slide the egg and bacon fat off the plates. Standing there, staring down the street toward the old oak tree that nearly burnt when the pub had that kitchen fire a few years ago. Thinking…
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7 October: A Quadrille for dVerse
Feather Something as pure as a feather,a bleached bone quill,a white wisp vane, maybe fallen froman albatross in a brush with an angel. Or an owlsitting in withering elderberries. A feather hangs in knotted websof a spider, opalized by moonlight. A 44-word (sans title) quadrille written for dVerse Poets “brush”. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI,…
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5 September: dVerse Quadrille #183
Under My Skin You are under my skin,when you sleep, when you breathe,when I press my lips against your skin You smell of snow, and sliced gingerbread,slivers of moonlight, and waves of grass you are strawberriesand earthshine greenand my years in paradise. Written for Kim’s dVerse Quadrille #183 “Sliver”. Some artwork is created using Midjourney…
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31 August: A dVerse Ought Not Haibun
Ought Not I’m not sure about the year, but it was the summer that Mum painted the porch stairs emerald green. Greener than jade. And shiny enamel. I thought it looked like Amazon tree frog green. And she hung eight baskets of trailing fuchsias and forget-me-nots from the eaves off the back porch, as if,…
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30 August: dVerse Blue Moon
It’s Pulling On You A cold ember moon in my hand on this lyrical night, waxing and waning, worn, torn, and heavy twice in August. It lingers and hangs in its moonlight benediction. Only once in a blue moon, they say, and should I forget, that moon’s a kind of grief from the genius of…
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24 August: A Haibun
To Feed A man and a woman sit in chairs that through the passing of time have become his chair and her chair. The room is a warm beige colour, the name of which neither of them can recall, but it was a popular colour a few years ago. They both have the same colour…
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23 August: dVerse Quadrille Pines
Rooted in Pines A friend once told me,visit a graveyardwhen you’re depressed. You will feel happier. There’s a twitch widthbetween thislife and death. But I’m happy to root myselfunder tall pines, and I’m not enticed by a ledge that inventsa leap. For De’s Quadrille Monday at dVerse Poets – to include is any form of the word…
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16 August: Transitions
A Little Brouhaha All about me, they lean,dahlias the size of dinner plates.It’s a feast of decanted pinksmacked sidewise, andstrong armed in a breeze. The air twists on scents of fermenting apples, wasps behaving like angry drunks,and all their unhinged buzzingis a premonition of autumn. Written for dVerse “Transitions” and RDP “Brouhaha” (in reference to angry, buzzing wasps) and Fandango’s…
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16 August: dVerse Prosery
Vanished She’s learning about sound barriers at school. Sound. Speed. Aeroplanes. Red lights on the left. Green lights on the right. Like Christmas lanterns flashing on steel wings. “Flash. Flash. Flash,” she calls out to the hundreds of faces up there. People flying through rain coloured clouds, over roads and Tobermory-colour houses. She watches the…
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