Category: Poetic Forms
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A Meter for dVerse
A Morning Walk on West Pier We walked the pier, that early day, Young boys with lines that begged for fish. We watched the pier splitting waves, Fair dawn so bright and dewy wide. To float a while on morning mists, Its gentle sighs and rippled swell, If just to lift its jealous veil. …
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Collins Sestet for Poetic Bloomings
A Tale Without Title I’m held by the call of doves. Do they know the risks of love? Oh the stories doves could tell, the loss, the sorrow that befell a tender heart, a stoney fit, but that’s the nature of it. Cool-hearted, crystal kiss, love fell into dusk from skies above, his arms entwined…
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A Weekful of Haiku
I. Sun-bleached on the line Sheets fly like a sparrow’s wing We sleep deep tonight II. The day is restless A pace gripping at both legs Puffing steam and smoke III. Young love and young flesh I watch them growing older My eyes, rimmed with soot IV. Workers. Soldiers. Ants. Wasps and bees in hollowed…
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Miz Quickly Has a Few Words
A Town Like Ours This town’s worthy of hate, its valley cloud-soaked, flowed with rain and smoke, and dingy as old grey sheets, a bed unloved, a corner where the sun never shines bright enough, where bells plead and peal plain expectation off-key, off the back of war that emptied our town of hope but…
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dVerse Haibun #15
I am awake. I wake too early some days. No pattern – not just odd days, not just even days, or days with certain vowels or syllables. Some mornings I seem to wake in a neon blast, a flickering slap. A toothpick in the eye. My bones are agitated the way Jackson Pollock’s paintings sets…
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A Diminished Hexaverse for Poetic Bloomings
Beyond Rust and Red My pen grows silent as a silhouette. I write of life, write with dues of truth’s bones. Beyond rust and red. My first poem was red like that. An untidy dark appetite. Like father’s final words, gone unheard. He slept, We slept. Silence. Poet form: “Diminished Hexaverse” — A…
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dVerse Quadrille #10
A Bit of Lunch with My Cousin A piece of me came to visit, a genetic piece — my cousin. We shot the breeze over lunch. Fish and chips by the seaside, Bank Holiday Monday. Weather poured down on us, and the wind howled fury — my hair tangling in ketchup and chips. My…
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A Nonce for Miz Quickly
A White Moth Wander I am a moth dressed in cheddar white, a celebration of what I once was. Before my edges blurred heavy and dull, and will heaven lower itself when my time comes – so I can reach it? So cruel and so tender is age, and my virtues are scarce vices; my…
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A Bit of Sriracha Red
A Bit of Sriracha Red I. My strongest memory from kindergarten is not what I learned, although I must’ve learned something, but rather it’s the iron grills in the wooden floors that blew hot air from the belly of that hell-shackled furnace hidden in the school basement. I’d stand there on the iron grill,…
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dVerse Haibun #14
Note: This hasn’t gone at all where I wanted it to, so I might take it apart and play with its innards later. Counting Numbers To melt. To melt. Into this stress. Into my ears, sticky-thick. Hear that beat. That struck tick. That clock. Free my bruised breath. Count. On one. I step. On…
It's Still Life 