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A Bussokusekika for Poetic Bloomings
Bare Bones Yesterday’s calm slipped into a blind feral wind, naked and ruthless, a murdered bruising day for wasps drunk on whiffs of apple with bare bones that gores the sky. for Poetic Bloomings: Form bussokusekika 5.7.5.7.7.7
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For dVerse: Haibun #20
An Absolute Night Up here, the moon watches, a silent astronomer gazing at us through stellar crowds. Fascinated, faintly dazzled by our unaccustomed ways, our wilds that leave its thoughts vacant as an open sea. Speechless. Barren. Spent. And that moon, searches the absolute night through sable stares of its pious eye, deep into our…
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Ice Cream with Poetic Bloomings
Mint Bright because the air bites cool and wintergreen, and bare bough trees hang withered leaves, and because they fall, they crunch like sugared cones and crispy flake, and because days are rushing into heavy fog and damp brick walls, and because autumn’s halo golden glows — we will eat minty green ice cream because…
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A Little Night Air for Sunday Whirl #264 & dVerse
A Night’s Light Air A lightness shines across the window, lovers rise and fall like a wave’s song. Whispered words in flakes were heard, mutable turns of breathy phrase. Precise, entice a bee to pollen, a cuttlefish flash in cool moonlight — its iridescence is night’s sparkling tapestry. Held, beheld, this light air is a…
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A Bit About Horses for Visual Verse
And That’s a Fact I’ve only tried once. Fell off. Slowly. Slid like animation. Like marmalade off hot toast. Right off the saddle. I was soap on a slide from that horse’s first stride. Dented myself up a bit, too. Hit my head heavy on the August-dry clay. Ended up with a soot-black eye and…
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Personifying the Moon for dVerse
To Wax Crescent I. Tonight, the moon is a slim wisp of herself, her knees tucked, and she waits. II. we throw stones, we’re safe, live in a brick house. and that old moon, it just glares down on us. for dVerse: Personifying the Moon
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For dVerse: Quadrille #15
Up a Tree My childhood was up a tree, on a limb, a branch, twigs too far. It grew, I grew legs long and arms to reach up through colours – spring, summer, fall’s scent on bark, sticky, pitchy, sweeping ’round my head. Those leaves falling. Falling. written for dVerse’s Quadrille Monday (44 words)
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Moons and Light for Poetic Blooming
A Little Night Light I lit a candle, then held it to the moon, two sulky spectres, like two dreamy eyes, and I watched them both unravel into a golden gleam. And that candle twitched, and then trickled waxy vines across my hand. written for Poetic Bloomings “Moon“
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Class 6: Whitman’s Civil War: Writing and Imaging Loss, Death, and Disaster
Reconciling Shadows Once upon our time, we turned the grey face of war into timid rain. Sent flags falling while ours rose like the sun. and I hoped never to touch dark horrors again. Hoped never to feel steel’s heat, to see its blood. Its sticky matte. these are Curious times, where I expect the…
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A Cinquain for P’Bloomings
Fled Luck was a tapestry, days of infinity. Into your arms, a refugee of love. Poetic Form: Cinquain: 2.4.6.8.2 syllables/line. Written for Poetic Bloomings In-Form Wednesday
It's Still Life 