Gertrude Abercrombie’s, “Where or When (Things Past)” (1948), oil on canvas, 21 1/2 x 35 1/2 inches. Image courtesy of the Carnegie Museum of Art and Colby Museum of Art, shared with permission Note to Myself A small, tall door left,in space wherehorizon cuts offat legless knees.Reflexes subdued,tethered to lobotomizing deaf.Paralyzed marionette,holding strings,manifest myself rearing…
Author: Lisa or Li
mother, grandmother, gardener, observer of nature, reader, writer, learner, bicyclist, woman who runs with the wolves, lover of music, philosophical daoist. Welcome.
#FF — A Fine Woman
PHOTO PROMPT © Mr. Binks A Fine Woman Born eighty years ago, Marina was named after the family business. From the time she could walk, Marina was stacking bins. By age ten, she was cutting bait; and by fifteen, was taking trawlers out and throwing cages. At age thirty, it was Marina’s idea to invest…
dVerse Poetics — Skinnamarink Surreality
Nose hairs crackle in minus.One degree less and the whole thing blows.‘Cause cold means COLD.Even equators know that. In 1972, I still rememberyou were the town crone —and our summer thrill. Your name is given,but it is up to youwhether or not to use it.If you do, what it meansis for you to choose,not the…
dVerse — Q216 — Can you guess who I am?
Can you guess who I am? Hints: Matte, sparkled with prism upon flat or contoured terrain; edged by windsways, pert chirps, your grateful eyes under unshrouded bright.Wavy, opaque cylinders drip away gentle rhythm to my welcome cameo that dispels shivery moodsgloom fleesmakes wayto feel, re-embracehope. Michelle Beauchamp, aka Mish, is today’s host of…
#FF — Alive
PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson Alive It’s quiet down here, far from screeches and howls at the surface. Constant light takes some adjustment. It’s always sixty degrees, but the cement floors’ cold can work its way up your feet and ache into the long bones. Threaded power lines travel the circuit. Sometimes they hum, like…
dVerse — Prosery (2nd one) — Brimmed
where can we find light in this never-ending shade? –From Amanda Gorman, “The Hill We Climb” Brimmed The kris glitters under fluorescence in the green room. “I’ll cut you if you take one step closer,” she hisses. Heaving a resigned sigh jiggles his ponderous belly. “You promised. Just for today.” he says. “And you promised…
dVerse — Prosery — Answered
where can we find light in this never-ending shade?–From Amanda Gorman, “The Hill We Climb” Answered Curled up in blankets, layered against cold and wet, I read Clarke, Heinlein, or Atwood by candlelight; books whose pages haven’t disintegrated yet in the cave’s humidity. “X’s” on its wall say it’s mid-January. Deep underground it’s a constant…
Tao Talk 