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PB’s Exercise #2
FOR PB’S BUILDING POETRY EXERCISE #2 1. A proper walk requires a red flannel shirt. The colour of iron rust. Or a strawberry stain. 2. My feet scuff through autumn leaves. My shoes lift dust from dust. 3. Old Myths and a Long Thirst And it’s a lie that a pebble quenches thirst. Tie a…
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dVerse Observations
SHELLING PEAS The monotony of midday summer heat flattens my thoughts. Spreads them thin. I take a sip from a tall glass, ice cubes clink and ring like wind chimes. The sky is the colour of Dad’s blue eyes, and I’m not going anywhere today. My back, up against the sun. It’s sticky sweet on…
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dVerse Ghazal
I. IT’S THE LITTLE THINGS THAT STIR A STORM Like those things that make us smile. Like life’s annoyances, too well we know. You hold your finger, crimson bubbling, perhaps, you say, I should slice the tomatoes. I adore cabbage creamed and parsleyed, you want brown gravy and new potatoes. I prefer soft-edges and floppy…
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for Wednesday Muse
The Night the Sky Turned Lilac And then the sun set. It bit the horizon, and disappeared into a run-on-sentence. Sometimes, your brain won’t shut off. The date. The time. Nope, I really can’t remember. I could, if I tried, piece it all back together. Diagram that entire day when she died. Sometimes, it just…
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dVerse Ekphrastic Poem
Seems that While We’re Alive Our holidays include the dead. Visiting parents, gone. Family members, gone. Dutiful. We pay respects. We bring flowers that wilt and die as if mimicking us. We’re highly compostable. My in-laws are resting beside a white-washed stucco church built in the 14th century. They’re buried next to each other, box…
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for dVerse Quadrille #80
There’s a Dead Rat in the Attic so says Carla, the TV-aerial-man, though I swear she’s a man. Says it’s mummified,not recent. Carla-the-man thanks me for the coffee while I tip sugar into eggs. I’m making cake. If I were a violin, I’d crave music; I crave rich, dense cake. for dVerse Poets…
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for Twiglet #126
We’re On the Old Road to Spokane I’m 10. It’s a Saturday morning. Early. Before the worst of the heat sets in, and turns the I-90 into peanut butter. By noon, the road shines like ice. Dad says it’s a mirage. I say it’s water. Mom says she has a sick headache. My sister’s sitting…
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dVerse Elements
An Elemental Trough My mother filled me with yin, metal from my father. He tasted sweet. I taste sour. Universal soft as a dark shadow. Depressed. Swallowed in a depression, I am the trough of a wave. My mother gave me earth. I feel her in the spring as the cold soil turns. Elemental wood.…
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for Wednesday’s Muse & dVerse
Reflection This mirror grows old. A mirage of flaked silver. Flecked specks of questioning looks where time shines. Some fine young woman of centuries ago looks back at herself, looks to change her past. Looks to the future. And now it’s mine. It hangs on the wall. Catches the late afternoon sun. Reflects through the…
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for dVerse Quadrille and Twiglet #125
Don’t Recall His Name But I Remember Him. Up there, sitting on the school bleachers, king of it all, lean as James Dean slipped in-between day dreams. Him, buttoned into blue jeans, tight white t-shirt, and hair slick as a snail’s streak. He didn’t see me wearing my pink poodle skirt. for dVerse…
It's Still Life 