-
26 Aug: dVerse Quadrille
Tumultus Mus Musculus (44-Word Quadrille) The mice throw a rumpus —wearing tiny top hats,and drinking whiskey from thimbles.They’re spinning a walnut, and waltzing on tables. But —are those cat’s eyesgleaming like diamondsthrough keyholes? Dance on, my darlings.Dawn wants to steal your shoes. Kim invites us at dVerse Poets to write a Quadrille #230 about a “rumpus” Some…
-
26 Aug: A Six Sentence Story
17 of 27 – Ruinlit: Courage Mistaken for Recklessness Bounce: The 28th Glyph It started with a bouncing ball — brushed her ankle, rolled off the curb into traffic — chased by a boy no taller than courage, his hair sunrise, his eyes bright as thawing ice. Then came the car, chrome-gilled and blood-sleek, chaos’s…
-
26 Aug: Aura’s Introduction
Introducing Aura A new Six Sentence Story series told through the wind’s own voice starts tomorrow. Aura is the breeze that stirs laundry on the line and slips beneath doors — a watcher, a whisperer, and the memory that lingers when the moment is gone. Set in a small English village, Aura follows Päiviö (a…
-
25 Aug: Ruinlit – The Liturgy
17 of 27: The Liturgy for Ruinlit – Courage Mistaken for Recklessness I. The EdgeNot chaos—but its twin:the flicker at the blaze’s hem,where air whispers nowand earth hisses no. Ruinlit is the step takenwhen the choice is burn or run.You will blister.But you will not bend. II. The GlintThey call it madness—this fire in your…
-
24 Aug: A Six Sentence Poem
His Pulse (a Six Sentence Poem) The brush is a nerve,an extensionof the tremor in his soul. He does notthink of sunsetsor heartbreak. His eyesclosed,his minda silent white room,a peg in the wall of memoryholding fragmentshe cannot trust. It is only muscle —the memory in his own arm,it guides the brushstrokes,a twitch becomes a river,a…
-
23 Aug: Journal of Thoughts
The Hunger Policy Fury is too small a word. This is a grief that scorches the throat. A silent, screaming void where bread should be. This is not nature’s neglect — it is a calculated, man-made hunger. A policy written in empty bowls and skeletal frames. A scream with no echo. I will always give…
-
22 Aug: Not the Whole Bone
This Is Not the Whole Bone One ear pressedto the city’s ribs.Asleep in the moment of almost: almost safe,almost seen,almost loved, before almostswallowed me whole. I curl into print,a parody of rest,and dream ofstars, not just holesin a beggar’s blanket. But here,where shadows bend,I keep countof what refuses to end. In this kingdom of almost,I…
-
21 Aug: A Thursday Door
Tall ivory doors stand proud and wise,Guarding secrets with gentle sighs.Their whispering hinges tell stories old,While golden walls of sunlight hold. The wallpaper remembers every spilled secret. Bushboy (Brian Dodd) shares photos of doors, but not just any doors. Spectacular doors from his journeys. Dan’s Thursday Doors opened the door on this. I love doors of all…
-
21 Aug: Ten Things of Thankful
In no particular order: 1.I am thankful when I discover a new word, particular if it’s archaic or obsolete. It’s like throwing the joker card into a sentence. Like Circumforaneous — to wander from place to place, like Don Quixote’s horse is on another circumforaneous path. (1650 obsolete.) 2. Thankful for these grapes. Ripening nicely. Sweeter than I recall for…
-
20 Aug: MicroDosing 100 µg
What Remains When the River Leaves The boy’s blue balloon escaped at the fair, and for three days it floated—over wheat fields, a highway slick with rain, the chimney where it bobbed, hesitant, in the rising heat. On the fourth day, it settled in the branches of a winter-bare oak. A crow pecked it once.…
It's Still Life 