Welcome to another installment of Movies, Movies, Movies! It doesn’t happen real often, but occasionally I invest a little time in a movie or series and reach a point where I can’t – or won’t – go on. I will include them, not to put them down, per se’, but more as a warning or…
Month: November 2020
dVerse — Prosery 18 — Tanked
[T]here is nothing behind the wallexcept a space where the wind whistles…–from “Drawings By Children” by Lisel Mueller I’m floating in aquamarine dialed to an optimal degree. My breasts point to the sky. Bubbles tickle my back. I flap my arms like humpback flippers and hum low, sending a message to my lover. Please…
Happiness… — amusicalifeonplanetearth
Will has written a wonderful post about Joe. Which Joe, you ask? Read to find out. Oh, and listen to a wonderful song while you’re at it. is a thing called Joe! This song was composed by Harold Arlen with lyrics by one of his top-three collaborators, Yip Harburg. They wrote it for the great…
dVerse — MTB 226 — ROYGBIV
Redwaves ofsorrow wash throughme, a nerve-searing tsunami of loss. Tart, sweet, your twinkling eyes with deep laugh linespull me in. Idream or-ange. Yel-low slidesunder leaves, inwait for industrious, distracted mice. After long months of masked fear, the time comesto put it down.New greensprouts. Bluechangesabout, tiptoesin my peripheral vision at first. Long wavy tresses caress her…
TATS AND STATS — Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple
Rochelle Wisoff-Fields is the host of Friday Fictioneers. Today I’m reblogging about how some loved ones of Holocaust survivors remember them. This past week I posted a flash fiction of a granddaughter’s devotion to her grandmother who was a Holocaust survivor. I wrote it as a sequel to a story I posted the week before….
#FF — Taste of Heaven
PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields Dawn-to-dusk they nurture the orchard. The trees give them life by their fruit. Billi and the rest are rotated one day a week to sell their pomegranate products. Three at a time they go, loading the truck before dawn then filling the stand with cool freshness. City people appreciate…
dVerse — Poetics 428 — November
November creeps labile, weak, clinging to memories of warm-vigored nights; then casts them to bitter cold winds where tears fall in sheets. Careless deer, callous to lilies’ needs, nibble their leaves, leaving stark stalks that cannot feed summer’s hopes of rainbow starbursts. Spent frogs, turtles, and furry crawlers dig or weave beds, hoping for pleasant…
Tao Talk 