Category: Poetry
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Twiglet #86
games we played games with little words, round and small as pebbles. Poop, she said and fell into laughter. never mind the extra O. we kept it spare as change. For Twiglets #86
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Three Thoughts on a Saturday Afternoon
Three Thoughts on a Saturday Afternoon I. As seen from Those folds and rolls Of clouds that skate The sky, a slate puzzle Fitted and tucked Jigged and jointed Like words strung Into long sentences Into a bridge from This horizon to where, I am your audience. [inspired by dVerse “Solstice Couplets” and…
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Wordle #353
Untitled He’s like stray murmurs, or a black-cat-fear that hides in black shadows. He’s silent. And invisible. He belongs to the walls. His thoughts tickle his ears. He laughs, the sound skips across the floor like marbles. Like truth stripped from little white lies. Life gets in his way – not living. This corner, this…
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dVerse Quadrille #57
Off a Duck’s back Here’s another list of water off a duck’s back. The sun’s glare, and crow’s feet. Rain on your picnic. Anything that’s faux. My memory. Ice cubes that melt too fast. Tepid tea. Armpits dark with sweat. Rain on your glasses. Tip-of-your-tongue words, and rain. for dVerse Quadrille #57
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for Sunday Whirl #352
The Other Side of the Road I remember that music as eagle-light, or drunk jazz dragged underwater, and the Queen of Hearts, as we called her, though her name was David, was brassy-loud, a belly animated by fat. She sang and laughed as the pianist coaxed voodoo from the minor keys, and the barman mixed…
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dVerse Brands
Tea and Toast I could lose myself in this life. In the kettle’s roiling kindness. Breakfast’s on the table, I say, and we slip in and out of this hour of idle moods, bite into wheat toast, crunch and crisp as a cliff edge. You read the paper, share special bits or two of news,…
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Red
Red. I am happiest when I’m red. Red. Noisy as taffeta, layers of scarlet, vivid, livid, riveted to vermillion, dripping red swishes, chameleon bright, drawn from the first ribbon of rainbows, where pots of gold root, red as my smile, my fingernails. Red pouts. Classic red. Fire engines. Flaming. Apple. Red smears. Long kisses when…
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12 May 2018
Spring’s Sheen But still the rain beats, streaks the window in strings and seams. The wind is a rattle. Refasten the clematis, I remind myself. Its pink sheen, mere confetti. A string tight to the beam, straighten its list. A lean, bit to the right, a bit to the left. A child’s game. Simple. for…
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for Twiglet #75
I. A sea shell, Her old gold ring, A wish bone. All in an emptied bottle. II. Her every anticipation, diluted in that emptied bottle. III. There was no third or forth or fifth. Everything ended at that second. for Twiglet #75 “Empty Bottle”. Each is 17-syllables.
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dVerse Lessons
Pigeons Lessons It was Grandpa who taught me the lesson of returning home. You see, he had two homing pigeons, ‘though they could have been doves, the colour of magnolias and lilies. Grandpa cooed each pigeon goodbye before hefting them into the air. Good luck, he said, as their velvet angel wings echoed into the…
It's Still Life 