Category: Poetry
-
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…
-
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,…
-
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…
-
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…
-
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.
-
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…
-
7 May 2018
Originally posted on The Journal: An Angled View The sun shines on us, it’s a captured landscape. It’s a magnetic bond, her epic lessons. How you stay alive. That is life. This is living. This long race is our odyssey, it hungers for black or white. I don’t remember the blink, the flinch, the harrow…
-
AprPAD Day 30
[Note: This is the last post for the April Poem-a-Day Challenge and NaPoWriMo] To Boldly Go I’m making creamed tuna on toast for dinner, which involves stirring and staring into a pot, so I interrupt the tedium of it all with idle chitchat, which I know he’ll listen to with one deaf ear. Did you…
-
AprPAD Day 28.1
In Waves Down in the far field where school boys play football, where the occasional siren or barking dog is heard, where weather cuts limbs, and rolls in waves and rivulets, down there where weather is a predator … there once stood an old oak tree. It sustained years of play, and penknife love notes.…
-
AprPAD Day 28
Those Old Time Riches [Draft Version] Mum always said we were rich, but as a kid, it never felt that way. Rich kids wore store-bought clothes. My mum made all ours. Only once did I choose the fabric. Choice was her privilege. Her money; Her choice, and that seemed fair comment to me. My…
It's Still Life 