From cold to warmfrom dark to lightdreamworld’s flightto reach for skyin straight linesthat soon swell a story to tellveered fringes oncolored velvet. Bjorn is today’s host of dVerse’ Meet the Bar. Bjorn says:write a riddle poem. image link Answer: tulip (from a bulb planted in the fall)
Category: dverse
dVerse — Quadrille 150 — Final Farewell
image link Her living lingered, her funeral brief; children scattered, peers long gone home. Ghosts’ welcomes await her release from the bronze urn. She’s sprinkled along Spring thunderstorm’s wake, towards the lake. April sun’s comfort warms as it dries; her chalky residue remains, her final farewell. De Jackson, aka whimsygizmo, is today’s host for dVerse’…
dVerse — Prosery — December May Yet…
Talk what you please of future spring and sun-warm’d sweet tomorrow. –Christina Rossetti, from Daughter of Eve Bell is working her way towards upper management. Armand is an exchange student beginning a summer internship. As Bell speaks fluent Spanish she’s been asked to mentor him. Even though she, forty years old, is twice Armand’s age,…
dVerse — Poetics — Losing My Religion
lose the stones in your pockets lose the guilt that you choose lose the grit in your sprockets lose the rotgut in your booze lose the shadow of your fear lose the whine in your bellow lose the cotton in your ears lose the judgment on your fellows lose the hunger of your want lose…
dVerse — Quadrille 149 — cloudfish speaks
It matters not the season, awake or asleep, please know me and understand, from grain of sand shifting with water, to morning’s crystals on a blade of grass, to your hands along warm scented skin, my swimming infinity; tender breadcrumbs offered as holy gifts. [44 words] I wanted to use one of my collages to…
dVerse — OLN 313 and earthweal 112 — A Walk in the Woods tanka series
just a few steps in wreathe of trailing arbutus glistens in the rain soon my coat is heavy also soggy humus path my home ◊◊◊ such a tiny thing this small pink berry, yet it becomes a world here litter of wet forest floor rotting testament to life ◊◊◊ imagination wants me to believe that…
dVerse — Poetics — just the baubles, please!
You all know the wild grief that besets us when we remember times of happiness. – Ernst Junger, On the Marble Cliffs, John Lehmann, 1947 If, if only we could choose them, severed threads cauterized, polished and shining like coins rolling end over end in sunlight, when it’s always what we call it — where…
