Category: Poetic Forms
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Changes for dVerse
We walk along the ageing edge of things, reading tombstones like book titles. Everyone has a story, you say, and I wonder what percentage of my story is a prank. It’s all too depressing here, you say, but I find Highgate strangely calming, as if existing amongst these fates is an affirmation. And the wind…
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dVerse Quadrille #45
Up in Smoke I remember him suffering inside a cloud of smoke in his chair. Rocking. He said he never found his proper place in the world. Claimed his cough was an allergy. He died later that year amidst pipes, cigar boxes, papers and a pitch-sticky spittoon. dVerse Quadrille #45 “Rock”
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Day 14 & 16 NovPAD
Whispered Encomiums And when the earth is dead, when it lays stiff and cold with one candle by its head and another set at its feet, we’ll mourn its passing in whispered encomiums of bird song and cedars, blue chiffon skies and seas salt-dyed and unkempt as we say rosaries, and recite from flyblown books…
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dVerse Haibun Monday
Courage Winter is courage. It’s a well-disciplined march stopping for nothing. And it’s those middling, dead-centre winter months that possess all our complaints, and illnesses. And tragedy. Winter stalks the frail, takes them into its crushing tranquility, leaving us in deepest grief and melancholy during the whole winter journey. We are for loss of green…
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dVerse Quadrille #44
Kick Plastic no plastic, no kicking this plastic planet into the long grass. no scrapyard-plastic junkyard, no poisoned water pumps or floating microbeads. rising, rising, and how to hold back a tideline. we’re drinking from a madman’s glass, drinking up desert. nobody trusts a scorpion’s nose. dVerse Quadrille #44 “kick” 44 words
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dVerse Haibun Monday
The bird bath is frozen, and the house stares out on a silvery fog. Crows on the hop. On the lawn. Pepper on white. Onyx on the hop. They argue. They joke. It’s a caw a caw — it’s a stabbing incantation as their beaks seek small creatures hidden in the soil, hidden like deep…
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Found dVerse
Erasure source: “The Poem of the Future” by J.R. Solonche from Invisible. “Pulvis et umbra sumus” (We are but dust and shadow.) ― Horace, “The Odes of Horace”, written for dVerse
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Twiglet #47
Running Parallel Mum has a dark edge, like sun in and out of clouds, but every story has a bit of meat. I’d know hers anywhere. In one or two of my lives, she’s been my root – roots run parallel. I look like Mum. Mum looks like her father. Same eyes. Jaw. Same frown.…
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Pantoum for Gnomes Poems
If The Wind Be a ship and her sea a moon, travelling run and drift a trimmed sail is a whirlwind, occasional dew and mist. travelling run and drift in avoidance of its fury, occasional dew and mist, is uncertainty of direction. in avoidance of its fury, sailing around a compass, is uncertainty of direction,…
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2 Easy for Miz Quickly
Got Me on My Knees He’s been arguing with himself these days. It’s all gone wrong. Been wronged. It’s a paler shade of broken, he says, while he argues with the mirror, and longs for her legs. A lost prisoner to her songs. And he falls into blond on blond dreams, begging Layla, you’ve got…
It's Still Life 