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June’s Visual Verse
Your Wind Song You sing, but your voice is lost in snarls of sails and that howl of yours scouring my spine. Nips and bites. Sail, sail on tideless days. Shrill as the chop and heave of your salty breath, sailing through this soured sea. You’ve drowned my curiosity. And I’m lost, too lost, in…
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for dVerse Sanity
Long-Winded His voice was a harmonic vibrator. I’ll start at the beginning, he said, and I thought, Oh, no, please don’t. But he did. So I listened — but only to the first three words after each intake of his breath. for dVerse: Poems to Save Your Life (or Sanity)
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Twiglet #27
Breakthrough I. When the world was mud, and its surface was soft, we didn’t need all 120 colours. Didn’t need a big box of crayons every Christmas. Everything was black and white back then. II. Mum said we kids were the muddied hue of a drainage ditch. A wee squelch. Squelching is no bad thing…
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Quadrille #34
Of You I was thinking about you as I watched the beauty of clouds. You. Stormy. Like weather fighting the world. You said we’d grow old, pitch peanut shells at the floor, and stalk shadows like dark ruins. I still think of you, and your raucous laughter. A Quadrille for dVerse: 44 words (excluding…
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Twiglet #26
But Who’s Counting Dad smoked his first and last cigarette when he was 16. He joined the Navy when he was 16, too. Lied, he did. Said he was 18. No birth certificate, he told the enlister, which was true — every record in the city hall burnt when the records room caught fire. A…
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Twiglet #24
Her heart is a watch’s tick. His words are lyrics to delicate ears. Sandbags against the wall, sagging, like tired ears that have heard too much. Note: two American Sentences of 17-sysllables. Written for The Twiglets
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for Twiglet #23
He did seem taller than I remembered; maybe his hair was shorter. #17Syllables for Twiglet #23 “his hair was shorter”. Image is from Unsplash, used without restriction.
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It’s May at Visual Verse
When the Thunder Died Paint it as you want but there is no we. No more us. It’s just you. You and your pebble-brained tales, and blue birds of sappiness. And somewhere between Christmas and mid-February, your tone turned from white noise to shocking blue. Blue noise; you filled the air with static graffiti and…
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dVerse’s Haibun #36
It’s May. The streets are wet from this morning’s sharp shower, apple blossoms are falling from the trees, and the birds are singing and whittling twigs into nests. The air seems a song. My dad, bless him these 10-years gone, used to whistle that zip-a-dee-doo-dah song. He’d smile as if Mr Bluebird was on his…
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dVerse’d Limericks
Bricked There was bricklayer from Surrey who mistook ice cream flurry for mortar, and as the sun shone and he talked on his phone, the mortar melted in a hurry. dVerse Does Limericks
It's Still Life 