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Poems for Gnomes
It’s a Small Matter it felt real, as real as a shadow, or a wrinkle across the water. dreams feel like that. this one was bright as an orange lamp, and the sky was smooth and waiting. I dreamt that I couldn’t sleep. it was a small matter. for Poems for Gnomes
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Twiglet #37: See It
For Twiglet #37: The phrase is “See It“. I stray from the usual poetry or prose approach. This print encapsulates the phrase “See It” for me. I may try to throw a few phrases at this week’s Twiglet, if I’m inspired beyond this painting.
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dVerse Quadrille #38
She Forgot to Weep my mother’s years call her to rest. says, it’s a long-lost dream. cold winter mountains. just a bit of sleep. comes with heart’s desire, care-free as a new dress. those old joys: her long-lost bright gleam; youth. her dreams know nothing of old lips. Quadrille #38: Dreams
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The End for dVerse Poets
Underfoot Morning breaks. She watches over the roses with a squint of scorn, then pulls the clothesline tight. A grooved branch holds its weight. And she pegs his shirts by the side seams on the line. Upside down – a distress signal. Socks paired, then pegged. Jeans, wrinkles flicked away by the breeze. Clothes billow,…
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Twiglet #35
A Change of Heart i am the smell of rain, wind napping in trees. i am lily-clouds chasing light and dark. cool as a shiver, i am a change of heart. for Twiglet #35 “Lily-Clouds”
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dVerse Quadrille #37
He Dreams of Gin When he dreams of gin, he takes this, not that road. This fork, not that one. Claims that despair’s his wisdom — he’s no damned fool. Blasphemy is vanity’s prayer, he says. This man fears his dying sounds. He sleeps with rats. He dreams of gin. dVerse’s Quadrille #37:…
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31 July 2017
To Stitch Time She finally found a way to say goodbye. Mum took Dad’s remains to his favourite river, tipped out the urn, and he slipped away. A sliver of cloudy light that spread like spilt milk. She stood there, in the shining rain. Quiet. Thoughts lost in the pine-scented air, Mum wearing an old…
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Twiglet #31
The Small Of It i. Vinegar keeps shells from cracking but broken eggs are just small mistakes. II. Vinegar kept the shells from cracking but we still have to peel them. Twiglet #31
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2 July 2017: Remix
Heavy Fingers She hollowed out the tide raised me in a well with lightning bugs around my head a flood of roses like a little shrine and I raised hell like Frankenstein. It’s bigger than speaking Remixed from “Take Me to My Grandmother’s Shrine” by SC Machlay
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Haibun #40: Summer
Lemonade Daze That particular summer was endlessly hot. The sun withered my sister and me into fragility, splayed us in a reach for breezes as we sheltered in dark corners. We whined when mum insisted we go outside and play. “You two act like you’re afflicted, struck by some serious brain condition.” So we stalked…
It's Still Life 