Petrichor cloud balloons bob as the band tunes up; it’s time to celebrate heaven’s newest angel. She’s been orienting for a few weeks and just passed the fit-for-duty quiz. She’s test-flying her wings; landing is expected in five. God always gets the first dance. My mom passed away on June 21. This is what…
Category: dverse
dVerse — Monday Haibun — Solstice
Mom will not see another solstice in this life. Day is night and night is day as night approaches. They say the morphine is to help with breathing and for the pain; but mom was breathing ok before and she had no pain other than that of the children she bore and the grandchildren she…
dVerse — Poetics — The Death of Dolores Haze
That summer when sweet dew was on the rose she danced and played along the merry lane while mother hummed a tune and hung the clothes. Yet ill winds soon would spin the weather vane. A stranger from Bigtown, in fancy clothes, arrived and said he’d traveled on the train. Slack-jawed and bug-eyed, looked just…
dVerse — Monday Quadrille 154 — however it’s spelled
Does exuberant green panorama speak Spring or Summer? Mid-June paper flutters in ninety-degree heat. Rhubarb roars. Dandelions smoke cigarettes, bees hmmm carnal at rainbows. Lilacs’ brown sugar memory; mitigated with gingered peonies. Life cycles’ motors rumble. Six letters may spell what they wish. This poem is also a nod to Sanaa’s included quote (thanks Sanaa!)…
dVerse — Prosery Monday — Lost? plus update: youtube of Matthew McC… speech
These are the things they don’t tell us.– Girl Du Jour, from Notes on Uvalde I’m floating up, out of the operating room ceiling, through walls, the roof of the hospital, and into the night sky. Drowsy in the black expanse, I feel warm in a giant palm that closes around my nakedness. My hospital…
dVerse — Poetics — Our Stories
(There are) many stories which are not on paper, they are written in the bodies and minds of women. — Amrita Pritam I hear her each morning before she rounds the corner heading to the well. It is a shuffling, almost furtive, where her worn sandals scuffle hard-packed dust. It would have been kinder to…
dVerse — Quadrille 153 — Greed’s Covet
Dawn blushes horizon’s lip as deer, mist-soaked, hooves to coats, browse. Drowsy after night’s day, they, dainty, step through stone testaments of dust. The grass is greenest here, over bones, where ghosts’ collective groans lament our kind’s terminal folly; our greed’s covet .……………………………………………over love. top image link Linda is today’s host of dVerse’ Quadrille Monday. …
Tao-Talk 