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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…
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for dVerse: Haibun #18
The Victor Writes the History I keep those memories, treasure them, fall in love with them – over and over again. I colour each one with a whitewash tint to fit, add lilac fragrance like punctuation, form and reform (memories are so delectably malleable), and no one corrects perception, ones private and privileged view,…
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Poetic Bloomings Bucket-List
My bucket-list includes a trip to the desert for star-gazing, where no artificial light masks the sky’s wonders. Desert Stars I want to see the triumph of stars bewildered by day. Chased into far away skies, in desert-wide nights that hide starlight. Star bright. A comet’s scar © Misky 2016, Poetic Form:…
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Rebooting an Old Poem for dVerse
Here are two versions of the same piece. One is the original; the other is a revised version. I’m not saying which is which, or what is what. Any preference? 1: The Chop Dad chopped firewood every day, until Parkinson’s stopped him. His axe, abandoned in a block of cedar — sunk deep as…
It's Still Life 