Category: Wordles
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A Bit of Pure Fiction for Sunday Whirl #280
It’s Never Just About a Back Door Slamming More like a mean demon wind, always bristling against my good nature, banging like iced-cruel fingers, he said, in that way he has with words… The back door slammed again, bruising the door frame. It was already hanging thin by its own echo. Damned kids can’t do anything…
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Sunday Whirl #279
We Dance as Candles Burn This is a great excuse to wrap myself in a drift of chimes. Bells that slip the air with tunes that melt winter’s chill. And we dance around a towering tree, candles burn, and bring to mind holy signs up there in stars. So I wish you all a happy Christmas, and a chin-chin…
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for Sunday Whirl #277
And Not Only That, The Girl Had No Rhythm Third row up, stood at the end, she draws the tune under the momentum of breath. rum pah tumtum High notes are thin skin, beyond her reach to hit, so she answers the lyrics with those three words — rum pah tumtum She’s rehearsed this far…
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For Sunday Whirl #275
Mosquito Chatter mosquitoes chattering at the porch light, tapping, demanding entry at the back door, tangled in the patterns of the bedding nets, screeching bugger banshees flying by my ears, and I heave myself at the fly swatter, swinging and swatting. see that mosquito splat on the wall? it’s an anatomy of dead. and here…
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Sunday Whirl #272
That Morning in Norcia After the shaking and the rubble, the air fell still. It was hell. Hands busy, panicked, curled around stones and bricks. Every passing minute echoing disaster, and every breath a silvery dust. A man tripped, dropped to his knees — from exhaustion or maybe sorrow, maybe there’s no difference anymore. Is…
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Wordle #271
Daybreak Bounce We break with morning, carry our dreams into mist’s wake. A way… Away into this spent night, and its thousand stars that give birth to sky and plant hope on sunrise. Sunday Whirl’s Wordle #271. Not all words used.
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Weathering Wordles
Weathering The sky is thin. Trim. Buff colour, and spilling down in kidskin soft mist. Summer breezes could only hope to be so soft, so still. To fill winter’s promise with bone china white views, cold as a sharp needle morning. This unknowable day of borrowed speech, crutches for a weathered limp, stand up walking…
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A Red Hen Wordled
Reflections on a Red Hen We bowed our heads, reflected on what that chicken’s life had been. What it’s like to eat stones and grain and wisp-winged bugs. What it’s like to sleep locked up, and maybe cower under cover when thunder comes. What it’s like to stop, to watch billowed clouds and rain drops…
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Coffee with Sunday Whirl #265
Ten Minutes Over a Coffee I leaned in for a listen – like a windmill tilting into the direction of talk. Such silliness, I know, wild gossip. “Where’s the authenticity in doubt,” she said. You see, she and I, we meet at the same time every day for a 10-minute coffee break. The coffee goes…
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A Little Night Air for Sunday Whirl #264 & dVerse
A Night’s Light Air A lightness shines across the window, lovers rise and fall like a wave’s song. Whispered words in flakes were heard, mutable turns of breathy phrase. Precise, entice a bee to pollen, a cuttlefish flash in cool moonlight — its iridescence is night’s sparkling tapestry. Held, beheld, this light air is a…
It's Still Life 