Category: Poetic Forms
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dVerse Quadrille #63
A Stoney-Face Sky Summer’s end burns exhausted, as if falling faint from effort. The sky is stoney-faced, torn and tense and shining, and trickling jigsaw shapes against the windowpane. Earth chews its bottom lip, nervous, life’s slowing to a static stride. Winter watches in the distance. for dVerse Quadrille #63 44 words, excluding the…
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Miz Quickly’s Found-Deux
Found in Saturday Conversations at Fell House Gardens We are a taste of this – of styrofoam cups it’s always insane, up on the ceiling and under the floor, empty in the middle wherever that is. He fell in love with a drop of rain, spikes of red and yellow, a good morning, a coffee…
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A Sestina for Miz Quickly
Battered Clouds Shallow grass of fluid green, flows broad, old river Narrow as shadows that slip between bridge and roots. So softly spoken as you drift, fall, these leaves That tumble everywhere, thirsty as the clear blue sky. You shape a daydream, of home, of battered clouds, Your right hand holds tight the last curls…
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dVerse Quadrille #61
Puzzles The neighbour has a white rabbit, and a terrier that yaps all day long (at that rabbit) — and there’s an empty vase set on the windowsill, shaped like an over-ripe woman (desirous of sex). It’s like a puzzle, that’s missing a few vital pieces. for dVerse Quadrille #61 and Punctuation & Enjambment
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dVerse Rooms
Grandpa was autumn. That’s how I saw him. In his brown trousers and rusty-red shirt and a folded paper hat on his head that looked like an origami boat, and he’d stand there in his basement workshop sawing up some piece of driftwood, sawdust flying about like a blizzard. A lightbulb hung from a cord…
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dVerse Quadrille #60
The Art of Scratching I’m an itcher, perfected as a child. Mum made me a coat from Dad’s old peacoat – worn during the war, only war worth fighting (he said), claimed every shot since was political mischief. Hated that coat. Scratched my neck raw. Like rope burn. dVerse Quadrille #60
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Haibun and a Twiglet
I. It’s hot. Like record-breaking hot. I want to chill my skin across cold marble. Like shortcrust pastry needs. Or submerge myself into a wave, into the sequinned imagination of a mermaid. Like a cold water fish. Like a big old lazy cod. I want to hibernate in a green grassy mirage before I falter…
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A Freedom Haibun for dVerse
A Last Gasp Breath I learned today that he died on Saturday. Liver cancer. He didn’t want to live in that soon-gone-body any more. Didn’t want those same wiry eyebrows that knitted together, a spiky caterpillar, when he frowned in pain. Didn’t want those same weak legs. Weak creaky knees that refused to hold his…
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dVerse Quadrille #57
Off a Duck’s back Here’s another list of water off a duck’s back. The sun’s glare, and crow’s feet. Rain on your picnic. Anything that’s faux. My memory. Ice cubes that melt too fast. Tepid tea. Armpits dark with sweat. Rain on your glasses. Tip-of-your-tongue words, and rain. for dVerse Quadrille #57
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dVerse Quadrille #56
A Broad Song Always in motion, this broad and singing dawn. Robins nibble seeds and fatten on raisins, muddle over fat grubs and a nub of bread. Magpies dress in tuxedoes. Wrens in brown weave. The air is motion – dandelion fluff bright as whirly-spins against the sun. for dVerse Quadrille #56…
It's Still Life 