Category: Twiglets
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for Twiglet 120
There’s eternity in waves, as constant as a clock that never stops. A Ginsberg’s American Sentence for Twiglet #120
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19 March 2019
Memories of a Wheel of Wind She was like that. A wheel of wind. My mother possessed the kitchen when she made bread. I watched in wonder, her softness of motion as she stood in a white floury cloud. Stretching dough. She’d slap her hands on her apron, flour dust rising like scattered smoke. Everything…
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Quadrille 75 and Twiglet 117
Draining Dark I recall a broad moon spiked high on treetop forks, a weave of breezes moving the day’s heat in chattering stops. Moon shadows soaking leaves and roots, and all winter we waited for its radiant silk, a milky moon that drained dark from night. For dVerse’s Quadrille #75, include the word…
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Twiglet #113 Constraints
Playing with Twiglet #113, the phrase “a pinch of fog”. Same Thing Four Ways A man’s eyeing my garbage bins, Gnats heavy around his head. He’s thinner than a pinch of fog. I’m trying not to be annoyed. I’m trying not to be annoyed. A man’s eyeing my garbage bins, He’s thinner than a pinch…
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for Twiglet #112
A House of Sticks and Straw There’s a place in my head where I sing to myself. Talk to myself. A space for my very small voice. I’m loud and bold inside my head, but in truth I’m a half empty cup pretending that I’m half full. And, carrying a tune is no small thing.…
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for Twiglet #111
To Walk in My Shoes I keep my shoes behind the door. Toes pointed toward the wall. Neat. Tidy. Aligned. I once saw a grey rabbit while wearing those shoes. I saw sunlight on granite, and made peace with God. Written for Twiglet #111 “Behind the door”
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for Twiglet #110
A Conversation with a Crow My arms that lack your feathers, to my sides held firm. My dreams that rustle in the woods, kiss the darkside of the moon. For Twiglet #110 Photo by Amarnath Tade on Unsplash
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Twiglet #108 and dVerse Haibun
Gone. Too soon our celebrations done. Customs. Quaint. Traditions and rites. That was then. But now, on this stretch of unhurried street, all’s quiet. It seems tarnished. Drowned in icy rain and galvanised sky. A Christmas tree hidden between bins and the wall. It’s seen happy days — good will and peace on earth. Now…
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for Twiglets #105 & #106
It’s No Surprise I Can Still Hear It Those skyscrapers that stood tall were heroes to us kids. Looking down at us, laughing at our little round faces as we shot hoops in an over-lit tennis court. ‘Make it count, kids’, I can still hear her voice — and she’s been dead for more than…
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Twiglet #102
Winter Quiet We build our little fires to warm the winter, strange captives to the unmoving sun. It settles thin and permanent as a stain. We didn’t know these days were a soft psalm. Twiglet #102 “We Didn’t Know”
It's Still Life 