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for Sunday Whirl #289
This piece is completely depressing. It’s fiction, based entirely on a dozen random words. A Temple to Misère Ten years gone, and I’ve filled a moat around my heart. I still reach for you, expect your touch, but all I sense is a shapeless absence. An ache.I miss you. I soak in emotion, and…
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Booking It with Miz Quickly
Shoot The Kids I was six, and I knew a bit about life, like when I smiled, everyone smiled — life was easier when everyone was happier. And when I was ten, I got a bike. It made me smile, and I started smiling for myself. I was happy. That bike was my pink Cadillac,…
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dVerse’s Memento
As It Once Was It hangs, gilt frame, and a sepia sketch. 1945. Vesterport by Soren Frank. The old tollgate as it used to be with the mayor’s house on the right. Regency windows, leaded and multi-paned. Two gas lights by the door, electric shines there now. Square cobbles, a street, a walk to the…
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Twiglet #13 “Vapour Curls”
Dream Songs Pastel smooth she sleeps long as cloudless blue, her dreams sweet carnations, and I sing lullabies and warble bird songs soft as vapour curls. written for “Twiglet #13” Vapour Curls
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dVerse Quadrille #27
I Dreamt That I Woke on the Bottom of the Ocean I love the sound of rushing water, whether it’s in rivers, or over rocks. Noisy and giggling as a burlesque show. Uncharted, free and evergreen cold. But I have no such ear or affection for that sound when its tune comes from my refrigerator.…
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Mardi Gras with Miz Quickly
I should’ve looked up the word “Krewe” before grabbing a pen. I wrote, then looked up the word, and realised I’d written something that didn’t at all suit Miz Quickly’s prompts. C’est la vie. Mardi Gras 1968 I knew a girl who wore a cross around her neck. Hand-carved. Opal. It had fire that hypnotised.…
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Twiglet #12 “Even the Ducks”
It’s one of those sticky bitumen days when even ducks sink like stones… written for The Twiglets #12 “Even the Ducks“. Poetic Form: American Sentence (17 syllables)
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dVerse Haibun #31
Those Free Absolutes This morning’s sleep fell away into a different sphere, upward like grey smoke or fog lifting off an icy sea. And there was coffee, its scent humming through the air, and I grew more awake, stretched my clattering bones as the clock ticked away with cold clarity, in steps, by steps, by…
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Sunday Whirl #287
And Then She Said “It’s just you and your idiot hope. The sky’s invisible,” she said, “it’s gas – like a filled balloon.” But I knew what I saw, and it seemed the real deal to me with its jet streams and vapour lines. Its noon blues and morning reds and migrating birds and flying…
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“Simply” Miz Quickly
And All Those Things Quite simply, I don’t remember the last time I saw an ashtray in a restaurant. It used to be the norm, like salt shakers with a piece of Saltine cracker in it, or laminated menus, or never having to ask a waitress for a glass of water, and as a treat…
It's Still Life 