Category: Poetry
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Poetic Asides: “Sick”
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dVerse Quadrille #48
On the Cobbles My sights are set on steep roads, sun-baked and wheel- worn cobbled ways. I am aimless through high forests of mist, undercover of desert- spawning sky, broad and wandered by reluctant heroes. I’ve no fear chasing the unknown; eventually, I will always bounce back. dVerse Quadrille #48 “bounce” (44 words). […]
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Haibun 8.1.18
I looked it in the eye, that moon. It’s the colour of steaming milk, perfectly dropped in a dark joyful void — perfect for blind sleep — for someone who can. But not for me, I’m fixed on this constellation view, watching a winter moon swallow the sky. Night’s freckles shining Mistook those bright stars […]
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Wordle #329
A Hint of Siberia Without Producing a Passport Sub-zero wind is a hard nudge An assault A deep breath feels like your last It dropped into minuses overnight Blizzardy snow and icicles hanging hard as Sheffield Loose teeth aiming to fall And there goes the wind again Against the house a bashing steel bar at […]
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Day 21 NovPAD
I. Deconstructing News It was not one of those glorious mornings where you sit on the terrace. A coffee. A view. A garden. Not a compact breakfast on a fine filigree table, ’cause newspapers blazed with war and decline, withdrawal and poverty and hunger, and I wondered how the world had fallen into such disarray, […]
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Day 18: NovPAD
Headless Yesterday, I tried to repair a gnome. A cat, with a small gesture of its tail, knocked its head straight off, knocked the cuteness off its shoulders, and I’m useless with small scale, and besides, a gnome without a head is not much use at all. Day 18: write a good for nothing […]
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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
It's Still Life 