-
✔️ Poem Form: “Pathya Vat”
Thunder’s Middle Voice Those black crow clouds Just keep rolling, Building, boiling, Then pouring scorn. Our summer storms Are whiskey warm, Like peppercorns’ Heat wakening. We wait, listen, For the lightning, Thunder’s frightening Torn middle voice. For Poetic Bloomings In-Form Poetic form: “Pathya Vat” is a Cambodian verse form, consisting of four lines…
-
dVerse Does Summer
What better blessing than to move without hurry under trees?” — by Naomi Shihab Nye The Summer of 1958 Those summer days when the sun grew – those were my spun white flats days. Long as ribbons, a satin sheen across the skies, and the hills soaking up nasal sting of pine, and paths of…
-
dVerse: Shun Enu Prayers
Shun Enu Prayers I’m praying. It’s a nightly ritual. Like brushing my teeth, washing my face, pulling off my socks (right foot first). And it’s rained all day. A steady mist, it soaks into everything. Makes the air heavy. Makes my head heavy, too, my thoughts condense. There’s solitude in rain for good reason. And…
-
Magnetic Poetry: “The Moaning Sausage”
I’ve been playing with Magnetic Poetry, thanks to De and Björn. Here’s my first attempt at one, and I have to admit that it’s addictive.
-
Pressed Between Estop and Ethiopia
Pressed Between Estop and Ethiopia I’ve never heard a cuckoo sing. I lost that moment of spring to the big city, to its noise, and roar and smoke and feet, which might explain why I press flowers and leaves between unabridged dictionary pages, (usually between estop and Ethiopia) in weighty books and scrapped paper, and…
-
Miz Quickly’s Dishing Out Words
A Disturbing Paragraph from a Housewife’s Ecstasies Crane fly on the wall licking at grease, and a blueberry pie cooling on the pine table, you know the one – it has the Queen of Spades folded into fours so it stays level, won’t rock, the one in that corner; that always seems empty of air.…
-
12th Night
12th Night a red-handed wind carries that sort of crow-black heat. a curious quiet that’s always just off the boil. a rapt listener; devourer of flush and glow; delver into sweeps and swarms. grabs and gasps. your ear. your neck. your heart. boils your bones whilst painting shadows wherever there’s a vacancy. heat, just heat.…
-
Being a Bit Backwards with Miz Quickly
Slips It’s all so odd, they thought, as if I were wasted scenery. Their failed passion. I was scuttled there for a while, my own narrative movement, and they looked at me like a foreign religion. You find that there’s nowhere to hide in an array of silence, like when Mum hid away all my…
-
A Meter for dVerse
A Morning Walk on West Pier We walked the pier, that early day, Young boys with lines that begged for fish. We watched the pier splitting waves, Fair dawn so bright and dewy wide. To float a while on morning mists, Its gentle sighs and rippled swell, If just to lift its jealous veil. …
It's Still Life 