dVerse Poetics and Word Craft Poetry Tanka Tuesday — Eternally

Kneeling in church, as he whooshes by in his blood red brocade she breathes cinnamon and flounders between heaven and earth. He glances her beatific form in passing. For him it is her ginger locks, rolling down her slender back against the vanilla cream gown. Unholy unions will be revealed and punished. They have a…

dVerse — Quadrille 160 — to a better place

We fair fringe, found.You invite us to sit,to listen to talesof your faraway, homewhere all are one,where superfluous bodiesare given in serviceto gods like you.Departure day we sitknee to knee, selfless circle,sipping farewell punch. top image: APOD: 2004 October 3 – Comet Hale Bopp and the North America Nebula De Jackson (aka whimsygizmo) is today’s host…

dVerse — Ekphrastic on Lee Madgwick image — Safe — linked to OLN323

Lee Madgwick safe am I; green velvet glove cushions me. protected from harm, the fires in the hearths warm; seamless clay walls and chimneys, each story’s windows caulked and locked; a fortress, constructed brick by brick. sleep comes easy without anxieties, yet why are my dreams about escaping? sometimes, when awake, it’s hard to breathe…

dVerse — Prosery — apples, alyssum, and arnica

I’d like, too, to plant the sweet alyssum that smells like honey and peace. by Katherine Riegel, from the poem, “What I would like to grow in my Garden.” Summer’s wandered off. Harvest moon presides during crisp-aired dormiveglia that sweetens the apples. Not quite autumn, sunshine continues cavorting with wind’s playful nips. Today, Melba strolls…

dVerse — MTB — aphorism

No matter how limited the supply, scavengers will eat. I started thinking about how expensive all resources are getting. Food, shelter, water, heating & cooling costs, when combined, can be too much to afford for many by traditional methods. People who are in need and desperate need to get creative. Like scavengers in nature, I…

dVerse — Poetics — Harvester

hourglass flips I’m on my way to dormiveglia. sage smoke vespers propel my orenda, a shimmer globe, among cloud trails. scavenging flotsam from former scales and jetsam tossed to eddies, I’m adrift in mother night’s owl-winged domain. golden harvests of ageless symbols; chits — gathered fruit of querencia tree Dormiveglia – (n.) the space that…