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Twiglet #24
Her heart is a watch’s tick. His words are lyrics to delicate ears. Sandbags against the wall, sagging, like tired ears that have heard too much. Note: two American Sentences of 17-sysllables. Written for The Twiglets
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for Twiglet #23
He did seem taller than I remembered; maybe his hair was shorter. #17Syllables for Twiglet #23 “his hair was shorter”. Image is from Unsplash, used without restriction.
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It’s May at Visual Verse
When the Thunder Died Paint it as you want but there is no we. No more us. It’s just you. You and your pebble-brained tales, and blue birds of sappiness. And somewhere between Christmas and mid-February, your tone turned from white noise to shocking blue. Blue noise; you filled the air with static graffiti and…
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dVerse’s Haibun #36
It’s May. The streets are wet from this morning’s sharp shower, apple blossoms are falling from the trees, and the birds are singing and whittling twigs into nests. The air seems a song. My dad, bless him these 10-years gone, used to whistle that zip-a-dee-doo-dah song. He’d smile as if Mr Bluebird was on his…
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dVerse’d Limericks
Bricked There was bricklayer from Surrey who mistook ice cream flurry for mortar, and as the sun shone and he talked on his phone, the mortar melted in a hurry. dVerse Does Limericks
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Miz Quickly’s Time Out
A Bee Came Knocking A bumblebee’s knocking at the window. Again.Again. A useless joy of a roaring boy who’s happy to drop into a concussed disgrace. It’s a black brush with a yellow apron, bright as a summer day, or a gold bracelet. Again. Again. It hums a happy fumbling tune, then drops into a…
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Poetic Asides Music Genre
A Blues Fate Blue Is but a name. It lays in sheets Across horizons as A scar, A stretch, For ships, For sails. It’s heard and felt In a gull’s cry. Blue is this loud morning Carried toward its fate. Written for Poetic Asides: “Music Genre“
It's Still Life 