dVerse — OLN 285 — Clearing Power Lines

Great grinding jaws stalk dormant leafless stretches ofbirch and pine. Hawks huntfleeing hare and mice, afrightunder a pale yellow sun. For months, a crew of tree service people have been working to clear the power lines on a five-mile stretch of road (and probably more, but I only see them on the stretch I regularly…

dVerse — Poetics — Lonely Strangers

The first time I saw him was in the 90’s, when I worked as a receptionist at the health department. He was a little man with white hair and a serious expression. He said he’d cut his leg and needed medical treatment. He didn’t know that the health department only treated Sexually Transmitted Infections, dispersed…

dVerse — MTB — A moss-covered path

Padding spongy moss, I inhale humus air to where our love playedA tunePine canopy dapples flicker as old movies play. Warbler’s songLifts me.Wait, am I dreaming or is that your laughter I hear? My breath isTethered,I see you and she, lazily languishing, your eyes twinkling into hers.Clingingillusions de-clutter; I wish you well as I turn…

dVerse–Poetics — Sentences of Night

I am thy fool in the morning, thou art my slave in the night. – from The Paradox, by Paul Dunbar Bladder nudges release, now intermission, cuing curtain’s whoosh, open into bright. Duty calls, urgent, while captive on reprieve holds tight to the sentences of night. Soon blurry-eyed scrabble on the bedside pad, bits weave…

dVerse — Quadrille 122 — Avocadette

  Avocadette, photo taken 022221 Once she was an almost cast-off pit to be tossed into the compost heap.Redeemed on a whim, toothpicked and watered, she sprouted thanks.Inspiring beyond all weathered strife, spider mites, and indoor gloom, she goes on, greening and growing,reaching out for Spring. I have a lot of indoor plants. Most of…

dVerse — Poetics — Winter Rainbow

Winter Rainbow What do you call the color of sunlight on snow?A whiter white with flecks of sparkling prisms?Bright silver with contrasting greys of depth?Where corkscrewed plow has churned, itlooks like chopped gunmetal-colored cement. Fast-moving rust jerks, robotic in her searchfor milquetoast bits of kernels in mostly emptysunflower shells. Reds hit and run above herin…

dVerse — Prosery 21 — Sailor’s Song

I went out to the hazel wood / Because a fire was in my head.–from The Song of Wandering Aengus, by William Butler Yeats Leather felt strange on my feet again after six months, mirroring the feeling of stepping on dry land again. Circling gulls seemed to laugh at me as I navigated through the…