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for Poetic Bloomings #230
And It Keeps On In the east where the sunrise sings, faint horn of a train rings. Dawn is gone — a flash and burn, counting milestones. I want to live where I can remain. See the seasons. Rain scour — blow against my door. Live. Let live today. PB #230 Motivation, Poetic Form…
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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 Wordle #385
Man o’ Manischewitz There’s a man, thinks he’s invisible but he’s not; he’s just blind. Not a beggar, not a tramp, either. He lives under the railroad trestle. And by night he stores his right eye in his pocket, slips it back into its socket by day. Gets a kick out of telling people it’s…
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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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For Sunday Whirl #381
Two Left Feet and a Piano Prize I’m the one who stood a few steps away from the others, who’d shrug when picked last. I was used to it. It was like an unfamiliar word when my name was called. It’s not a crime to be picked last, but here’s a memo — it’s not…
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Quadrille #70 – Untitled
Quadrille #70 – Untitled Memories from My Aunt’s Kitchen I recall laughter in the kitchen. Condensation on the windows. Net curtains. Yellowed. Frilly tie-backs. Ruffled aprons with long ties. Politics in the living room. Stinging scents — cigars, whiskey. Cheers, they said. We children, we were told to go away. And we did. …
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Nudge #23
A Storm It’s a storm in the teapot. Not a cup; it’s a proper pot. With a spout, and a snug-fitting top to keep a lid on it all. That pot is a simmering swamp. Like a ship on the horizon that defines what you can’t see. Or rainwater that’s not safe to drink. Like…
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Nudge #18
A Poem Starting with a Line by Lee Herrick This one happens in the morning as a nearby crow wakes me. Chips of memory keep rising to the surface, as if there’s some small bit in me, you know, like an overly excited egg timer proclaiming This Is The End, like Jim Morrison sang. You…
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Nudge #16
This Is Mr H Ellis His head. Fedora, middle creased, ribbon band, wide brim as level as a plate. Although it shades the eyes, nothing hides from what he sees. What he thinks. Wears. White shirt, collar stiff, buttoned up. Keeps ones chin erect, chin up, pal, no looking down at your shoes. Although looking…
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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 