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for dVerse Quadrille #72
A Fall Skyward It is blowing out there in that field where rapeseed grew. The old oak laboured and fell, roots skyward. It snapped through icy power lines, and splashed like a whale on to the rain-steeped fallow soil. Today was hijacked by a weathercock spinning wild. dVerse Quadrille #72: Steep
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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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for dVerse and Sunday Whirl
Alone with Trees Walk. I walk with my thoughts, wild. Wild as wind, pebble-sharp. Chipped. And I think, Repent. Repent. I drink in loneliness of air, and wonder how I’ve come to love despair This week’s Sunday Whirl #387 words are: walk, knees, despair, world, love, pebbles, wild, air, lonely, calls, trees, repenting…
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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…
It's Still Life 