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15.03.18 TLT
The Way It Was That’s her. Nearly two. Mashed peas on her chin, and hair bound in wet rags. Curls by morning. Those black and white days, safe between covers. Three Line Thursday (#TLT): “photo” three lines, max 10 words per line
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Twiglet #67
In the Rain You’re out on flattened water, fishing — rain slashing the car window in long trickles, tracing like wizard fingers, or seahorses. Rain does that. for Twiglet #67, and extracted from the American Sentence post earlier today
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Twiglet #67
Three American Sentences All About Weather I. Stood on a muddy track, umbrella in hand. A moody slash of rain. II. Saw a sculpture. Looked like wizard fingers. Or a seahorse. Rain does that. III. You’re out on flattened water. Fishing. As rain slashes at my window. written for Twiglet #67 “Slash of Rain”
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Quadrille #52
Catching Stars It’s March just beyond the edge of rain-soaked snow. Beyond the fire of northern lights and imaginary sheets of singing smoke. I watched the stars that shot sideways, plotted maps to catch their washed-out blurs. Their light is my night — a deep ripeness. for dVerse Quadrille “Fire”
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Sunday Whirl #342
All That Noise Curious disguise, this youthful mimicry. When we lost the gift of silence to stormy wind, it marred the sky like a viral draft. We watched stillness falling on all manner of stars, in a stutter, in a song, a sparkling charge. In my youth, I was hot wired to fry like desert…
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dVerse Feelings
A Second Reading When I am gone and critics give my life a second reading, will they know the right questions, so they find the kindest answers. Which parts of me will stay behind, and which parts will sweep along with the wind, with the shadows. Am I verb, or adjective. A warm glow or…
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A dVerse Haibun
Originally posted on The Journal: Mum wants to bring the garden into her apartment; wants to paint all the walls green. I love the sea but I’m sure not going to throw salt water or coral sand or haddock at the walls. I love tomato soup but the same holds true for that, too. Maybe…
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Twiglet #66
Hung fat balls from the apple tree. Incoming. An avalanche of birds. Poetic form: Ginsberg’s American Sentence, 17-syllables. written for Twiglet #66, and dVerse Open Night
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4 March 2018
Originally posted on The Journal: Home and Hearth Blood is thicker than water; I’ve never had any trouble telling them apart. Really, it’s a small thing, Dad would say with a modest … pfffft a never-you-mind about that snarling scar on his arm. I think it was the year that the Russians put the first…
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2 March 2018 for V.V.
Strange Medicine I can only describe it as a feeling of time ticking toward an end, when a man sat opposite me, a scarred face that read like a philosophy of violence. “Is this seat taken?” he asked. I shook my head. He continued, “It’s cold outside.” I nodded. When I eat lunch, I prefer…
It's Still Life 