Category: prose
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14 June: dVerse Prosery
Prosery Thinking There are places I’ll never reach because my feet ache, and there are mornings when I see a sunrise and it feels ancient and seamless, and it saddens me to see its oxygen-rich colours bleeding across the world, and sometimes the sound of new day reminds me that I’m minus one more, and…
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1 June: Sanctify
Sanctify I remember our last goodbye. A small slip of a tear between us. A kiss on the cheek. Yours felt surprisingly cold for a scorched autumn day, and I remember the blue-eyed sky, the old orchard, apples that fell like red hoofs thundering on the ground, and sunlight was my eternal joy. I have…
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21 May: 2Cellos & Playing at the Ritz
2Cellos and Playing at the Ritz Mum paid for my piano lessons, but I paid for them with fingernails clipped to the quick (a classmate said, Eeeow, you chew your fingernails. No, I said, I play the piano). I practised two hours a day. An hour before school, and an hour after. The piano was…
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V.1 C.3 Tooth Fairy
The tooth fairy came last night, and left me loose tooth money. I might stop doing chores for money. I’ll just wait for my teeth to fall out. Why … V.1 C.3 Tooth Fairy
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16.02.22 dVerse Prosery
Fish Moon New Year’s Eve means cod. Always has. Alway will. So we head for the harbour. The whole family, and a few who aren’t, squeezing into the old Volvo, always bits of Pop’s job in the back. Trowels rough with mortar, buckets, crusty boots, white overalls. Pop’s a bricky. Bricklayer. Muremand. We race down…
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And Suddenly It’s Monday
AND SUDDENLY IT’S MONDAY Pick a childhood memory, he says. “Beatles. Hello Goodbye” I don’t even hesitate. Late 60s are vivid in my head. It redeemed itself as timeless, I tell him, and it was playing as the turkey roasted in the oven, bread stuffing spilling out and on the verge of catching light. And…
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#SoCS A Stream of Consciousness: Chickens
23 December 2021: Even if it’s naked, you can tell a chicken from a duck, even under all their feathers, they’re all and entirely chicken. All those relevant bones, recognisable remains, every scrap, always recognisable as a chicken, not a duck. Poor deliveryman. Embarrassed by it all. Said there hasn’t been a duck in the…
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Reflections on a Corner
A Stream of Consciousness – Reflections on a Corner Dad said, the piano goes in the basement. It was the noise – the rhythmic low notes banging like enemy fire against the bulkhead. We were kids; mum explained it was to do with the war. What war, we asked. We were kids –…
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13 December: A Stream of Consciousness
Mike just walked by. He has a fistful of Christmas cards. I’m washing lunch dishes, looked up, and saw him. He nods. I guess we’re not on his Christmas card list this year. Actually, we never were. Give one to get one, I can hear my mother say. She had all sorts of wisdom packed…
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dVerse Prosery: 7 Dec 2021
Something About Red Tulips Your hand. As I sleep. Or do I dream. Is it your dream, or mine, or am I the voyeur, watching someone else’s dream. In your stories I am undressed, and so I dress in their stories. Patterned and purple. As night wants to be me … and awake. For your…
It's Still Life 