Lost in War represented in all that rubble the only frontier you have left in tones alternately pleading and hostile laws condemn us to boredom as if the only hope of compensation lay in what was property-lined and speed-limited and zoned scorched and smashed remnants of the past the county letterhead warning them the happiest…
Category: dverse
dVerse MTB — Catch a Man Out of the Sky
“The Fall of Icarus” Catch a man out of the sky with a soft and, she feared, insane longing heard snatches of the glassy sound she looked down and saw the snakes drag strength into his body from the universe the church sheltered their ancient nest The man wore a giant yoke language she had…
dVerse Q169 — I Believe
Sculpture of Tinker Bell by Diarmuid Byron O’Connor, photo by Patrick Steele Moon’s zenith casts its limelight on her landing amongst field stubble. In wonder at her tiny flowing form, realize Tinker Bell is not Barrie’s figment, but sprung from stars. She flutters over, chimes, “May I have some hot tea? Space is so very…
dVerse OLN 331 — Nature Speaks
You gaze, your golden eye fringedwith pine lashes; snow cradle angelsframe your grace in a face of blue. You brush a message of “unknown“across grainy crystal canvas thatanswers a question from the soul. You frost the dancing winter willowas its scraggly yellow hair shimmieswith gratitude; “no limbs lost, thanks.“ Your tacit promise of Spring singsin…
dVerse Poetics — Grandmother Moon
I carry Spring in my heart as I gaze up at my Grandmother Moon. There is too much to write about my grandmother. It is like writing about the moon. I created the collage to celebrate the Chinese Lunar New Year of the Rabbit and decided to use it for my American Sentence about…
dVerse — Q168 — Winter Tears
Red plume finery cannot deflect; Angel pink dips cannot stem; White sheet bark cannot turn, nor wood smoke drift to gone, today’s cursed canvas of gloom. Its stench cannot be washed off. Ice crystal tears weep in dismay. Until sun sword slices to blue. Mish is today’s host of dVerse’ Quadrille Monday. Mish says: Write…
dVerse Poetics — In January
Crimson wings cast weak shadows on russet fluffs still standing from once-sunny goldenrod; they clump, the mangy fur of a hungry coyote lost from its pack. Limp, muted green mats of still grass fill the spaces, where deer lie, hide to hide, in their warm rests until Venus nightly beckons from her speckled black bowl….
Tao Talk 