Category: prose
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11 June: An Ode to Dawn
An Ode to Dawn (Rewritten with Salt & Ether) The sun licks its copper fingers,turns eyelids into gilded scripture—awake, awake, awake—each blink a hexagainst night’s failed coup. Breath arrives—unpaid, unblessed—thoughts chime like cathedral glassin the cage of maybe,where silence brewsin chamomile steambeside a tarot spread of dreamsleft face-down. And love?Love is the unasked-forsecond spoon of…
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The Ghost of Elbow Road
Virginia Beach —dusk whispering left at the curve. She was never buried—only bent. Like the road. Like the truth. Her name—lost in the turn, caught between asphalt and afterthought. Now, she lingers where the trees lean too close, where the ditches weep when it rains. She’s The Girl. No name. White dress. Waiting eyes. She’s…
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2 June: Echobane – The Liturgy
9 of 27: Echobane – the vow that outlived you — A long-form liturgy poem (2 minute read) Intro: Some vows are broken. Others linger. Echobane is what remains when a promise keeps haunting the room long after the voice that made it is gone. I. The HauntingThe house learned your voice before I did—how…
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26 May: Glimmourne – The Liturgy
8 of 27 Glimmourne – The Poem – The ache of beauty that betrays you Oh, it shines—not like sunlight,but like a knife turned just so,flashing a promise it never meant to keep. It is the stage-light’s lie:the kind that makes rot look like texture,makes hunger look like art. (You’ll know it by how it…
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20 May: And the Wind Said …
And After the Flail Mower, the Wind Said … the earth knows grief—how it pools in your palms like rainwater,heavy with the weight of severed rootsand the stunned silence of neststorn open too soon. You are allowed this sorrow.It means you rememberwhat the world tries to numb:that every blade of grass has a voice,that even…
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13.05: Elegy for the Grounded
This is a four-part Prosery, each one less than 144 words, written for dVerse Poets, and including the phrase “I have no skills for flight or wings to skim the waves effortlessly, like the wind itself.” from the poem “The Magnificent Frigatebird,” by Ada Limon An Elegy for the Grounded I. The Veil Tree She…
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26.03: Let the Last Breath Linger
Prosery: Let the Last Breath Linger some memories, like thin bells,vanishing, a song faint and low. A summer of being. Thirteen. Surrendering my mornings to the public library—piles of books, biblichor, waiting quiet as secrets. Quiet as a librarian’s finger to her lips: shush. I devoured the Dewey Decimal System. It became a fiery furnace…
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20.03 Spring’s Arabesque
I dreamt of spring—such a strange little telling; blind, blue-eyed flowers straight from the dark brows of doom into a gentle dance. A swaying arabesque—so soft were its April eyes upon the woodland, its shock of white from a blackthorn’s blossom. There’s always a romp, a bird’s pantomime between branch and bough—a secret song, like…
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18 March: dVerse Prosery
And in the end,” she said… It’s my eleventh year, far from home, but oddly, I’m at home here—twilight in the garden, the sky open wide to a single star. It’s summer; I often sleep on the porch, and she says, “It’s not what we may be, it’s what we are.” …
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18.03 Cadralor for the Oracle
A Cadralor for the Oracle I.There’s a crow on the roof ridge,struts across it as if it’s the world,bends its wings, scolds, clamours,swears an ocean of words from itsdark battalions of creamy clouds. II.Petulant weather. Raining as ifspitting upwards by the dead.Splashing against the window,a drummed blur of silver fingersthat change tunes in whispers. III.Listen—a…
It's Still Life 