Category: Poetry
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The End for dVerse Poets
Underfoot Morning breaks. She watches over the roses with a squint of scorn, then pulls the clothesline tight. A grooved branch holds its weight. And she pegs his shirts by the side seams on the line. Upside down – a distress signal. Socks paired, then pegged. Jeans, wrinkles flicked away by the breeze. Clothes billow,…
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2 July 2017: Remix
Heavy Fingers She hollowed out the tide raised me in a well with lightning bugs around my head a flood of roses like a little shrine and I raised hell like Frankenstein. It’s bigger than speaking Remixed from “Take Me to My Grandmother’s Shrine” by SC Machlay
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Twiglet #29
The 11:42 TRAIN TO LONDON This is the London Bridge service, a recorded announcement. Sorry. excuse me. a girl with a daisy chain tattoo takes the window seat. She’s talking on her phone. from Brighton the announcement continues I’m bloody annoyed too. I’m not his substitute, says the girl. She looks out the window. Excusez-moi…
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A Sunday Whirl
Crow It’s out there in the trees, under the wilt of summer heat, and it’s a gnawing whistle, a tinnitus ring. Apart and pitched. The craw tone of a string plucked, broken threads falling into echoes for crushing under wheels. And then it was lost, like words never committed to print. I once heard a…
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Those Old Days
Those Old Days Those were the old days when the air was treacle-blue and stars were rancid bright. We drank to the miracle of water, walked within our own whispers, pricked our shadows with pins, and watched the world ripple. Those were our washed days when we read ourselves into a trance and ignited paper…
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dVerse Does Lai
A Bear’s Picnic Our hike ended here. Sun risen. Sky clear. Twigs snapped as we walked in fear of grizzly bears near. In fact we could overhear growls — oh dear, bear tracks! for dVerse Poets. Poetic form: Lai. aab/aab/aab/ a=5 syllables and b=2 syllables
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for dVerse Sanity
Long-Winded His voice was a harmonic vibrator. I’ll start at the beginning, he said, and I thought, Oh, no, please don’t. But he did. So I listened — but only to the first three words after each intake of his breath. for dVerse: Poems to Save Your Life (or Sanity)
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Twiglet #27
Breakthrough I. When the world was mud, and its surface was soft, we didn’t need all 120 colours. Didn’t need a big box of crayons every Christmas. Everything was black and white back then. II. Mum said we kids were the muddied hue of a drainage ditch. A wee squelch. Squelching is no bad thing…
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Quadrille #34
Of You I was thinking about you as I watched the beauty of clouds. You. Stormy. Like weather fighting the world. You said we’d grow old, pitch peanut shells at the floor, and stalk shadows like dark ruins. I still think of you, and your raucous laughter. A Quadrille for dVerse: 44 words (excluding…
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Twiglet #26
But Who’s Counting Dad smoked his first and last cigarette when he was 16. He joined the Navy when he was 16, too. Lied, he did. Said he was 18. No birth certificate, he told the enlister, which was true — every record in the city hall burnt when the records room caught fire. A…
It's Still Life 