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dVerse Does Spouses
Mister Julia Childs She says I taste jammy, like plums or a goblet of sweet wine. My wife is earth’s pot, its radiant heat, a swollen dragon blaze. And (shhhh) I took her right there amongst the cabbages and courgettes. written for dVerse Poets: “Spouses of Famous People”
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for dVerse: Haibun #19
There’s Always One By 10 o’clock it was darker than the wrath of god. We heard the tide rising behind us, soft and tender, the chatter of rolling pebbles, and before us a driftwood campfire rising and speaking in tongues of cackling fury. We were girls on the edge of hormonal burst, ten of us…
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A Brief Moment with Sunday Whirl #262
Jury Duty And then that long misty day yawned like some sleepy jury. The wall clock ticking as time unspun itself into games and daydreams, paperbacks with minuscule print and no pictures. What to read. What to do. Two weeks. The man next to me cringes; he’s called for jury selection. I do a mental…
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Class 5: Whitman’s Civil War: Writing and Imaging Loss, Death, and Disaster – Memories and Senses
From a Sea-Salted Dock We wore black. Wore our perfumery like strung pearls and affection, and spoke whispered words that left us tongue-tied and arid. God watched, tasted our tears; stirred our petrichor, calm-scented as grey-fringed clouds. And we stood on the sea-salted dock, released his ashes to the air, to the sea. There on…
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PB’s In-Form “Dodoitsu”
for Poetic Bloomings, In-Form Wednesday. Poetic form: Dodoitsu, constraint 7.7.7.5
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P’Blooming & d’Verse Quadrille #13
Quadrille #13 The Swimmer He was all blind bones and tendons, whip-willow arms and flying legs. Stood sturdy. Stood jar-steady. It seemed easy, there in water, light as clouds are in sky. Fluid and flowing, a light blue mountain’s breath, and he fed off the roar of crowds. © Misky 2016. for Poetic Bloomings…
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Class 4: Whitman’s Civil War: Writing and Imaging Loss, Death, and Disaster
A Widow to His Wildfire He was wildfire devoured By the dry ribs of summer, And he slipped into eternity, That long legionous march . His wife became widow’s wear; Told to be strong, to keep her faith. But her loss widened. Widening Into circles upon gone. His fruit Fallen to ground, and she’s still…
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In a Fog for Sunday Whirl #261
Through a Fog That moment is a snapshot. That wooden dingy breaking through the fog with red sails in a perpetual stretch, reaching for deliverance. Its hull gleaming with thick blackened tar and pitch paint, the bow chipped by storms and miscalculations and agitation. Such a headstrong and trusting craft under the determined eye of…
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The Blues for dVerse
Those Half Blues where is the blue in sky, and where is my view through fog. where is the dew in water, and where is the green in blue. and where is the shelter in tears as I lay here half awake for dVerse “Blue”
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Class 3: Whitman’s Civil War: Writing and Imaging Loss, Death, and Disaster
Buried at Colleville-sur-Mer We buried the dead with symmetry. Set with precision under white crosses. Très précis, our marked men. In laylines. In rows, in order to be called to march on heaven. Orderly attention arranged. The conflicted contrast from how they died; scattered like celebratory confetti. It was as if God’s hand mistook them…
It's Still Life 