Category: Poetic Forms
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for Twiglet #23
He did seem taller than I remembered; maybe his hair was shorter. #17Syllables for Twiglet #23 “his hair was shorter”. Image is from Unsplash, used without restriction.
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dVerse’s Haibun #36
It’s May. The streets are wet from this morning’s sharp shower, apple blossoms are falling from the trees, and the birds are singing and whittling twigs into nests. The air seems a song. My dad, bless him these 10-years gone, used to whistle that zip-a-dee-doo-dah song. He’d smile as if Mr Bluebird was on his…
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dVerse’d Limericks
Bricked There was bricklayer from Surrey who mistook ice cream flurry for mortar, and as the sun shone and he talked on his phone, the mortar melted in a hurry. dVerse Does Limericks
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dVerse Quadrille #29
Jane’s Ashes That afternoon became the entire day; that’s the way of memories — morning’s chorus of seagulls wheeling updrafts migrating across county lines, barren hedges and low light of off-shore storms — all forgotten. We only remember weeping hearts, and releasing pink balloons in her memory. written for dVerse’s Quadrille #29 44 words…
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Wordle #292 & Haibun #33
Those Early Years I am 60 years more than I was then, inhaling life, and out in the middle of nowhere. We fled the city for the shadows in foothills, camping under soothing stars and between the wide feet of trees. We toasted bread with licks from open flames. Made velvety stew, thick and sweetened…
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dVerse Quadrille #28
A Nod to March My daffodils’ angelic glances tremble with suspense. Statuesque stems shivering at the thought, snow forgotten so soon, so absolutely in sun’s gloss of satin and crocus pearls. Spring’s vexed by winter’s squeeze while ladybugs sit cross-legged, prop their chins against their elbows and wait. poetic form: Quadrille. (44 words…
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dVerse Haibun #32
It’s spring. The leaves are green lisping tongues, and the faint sun stays low as a lost soul. It sings rather than shines. But that’s March, that in-between month, when winter lingers and spring seems too reluctant. I long for air, and walk amongst finger branches and spreading green that reveal truths hidden from my…
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dVerse Quadrille #27
I Dreamt That I Woke on the Bottom of the Ocean I love the sound of rushing water, whether it’s in rivers, or over rocks. Noisy and giggling as a burlesque show. Uncharted, free and evergreen cold. But I have no such ear or affection for that sound when its tune comes from my refrigerator.…
It's Still Life 