Category: Poetic Forms
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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.…
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Twiglet #12 “Even the Ducks”
It’s one of those sticky bitumen days when even ducks sink like stones… written for The Twiglets #12 “Even the Ducks“. Poetic Form: American Sentence (17 syllables)
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dVerse Haibun #31
Those Free Absolutes This morning’s sleep fell away into a different sphere, upward like grey smoke or fog lifting off an icy sea. And there was coffee, its scent humming through the air, and I grew more awake, stretched my clattering bones as the clock ticked away with cold clarity, in steps, by steps, by…
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dVerse Quadrille #26
I. Living In a Quiver I remember your mouth, soft and sea salt sweet, awake as a scattered melody. Lighthearted and revealing as the moon’s careless truth. Our buried whispers. We moved through the years, lost happily in a quiver. Those memories are ghosts but we’ll pretend we’re forever. II. Up In Smoke He’d…
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dVerse Haibun #30
Back When back in the day when I wore pink gingham dresses and my cotton socks were lace trimmed, and my world seemed delightfully old as a smothering summer of wallflowers and big willows and poplars and broad brimmed sun-hats. back then when I was seven, or maybe it was eight, and I didn’t know…
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dVerse Quadrille #25
A Sketched Ruin I live in a village that runs north by south, trees thickly dot the main road with summer’s shade and cover. We’re neither rich nor poor, though our history’s rich — our old church is a sketched ruin, a dwelling place that echoes at dawn. written for dVerse Quadrille (44…
It's Still Life 