Mother’s birthday gift,a planted sapling you, the front yard ash, grewold with me. A weathered,tuckered man, limbs drooping, I was laid to restbeside you underyour open arms. Now we share rollingseasons in silent comfort,as fond companions do. Ash tree image link Sarah is today’s host for dVerse’ Quadrille Monday. Today’s word is “ash” and…
Category: dverse
dVerse — Quadrille Monday — One Blessed Night
Hunter Moon, stark orb in silent stage,lights a way lost by day, to folly’s repose.Stone wiggled loose, a puff of dust,candle bright as shadows sway. Intoned promises, from ashes you spark to life.Dark price paid for this one blessed night. Image was taken last year at Felt Mansion. Sarah is today’s host of dVerse’…
dVerse — OLN Live — Silken Threads Hold
Silken threads holdtight, sticky lies, promisedforevers, extremesdesigned to die, sigh.Round seeds, sharp edgesTextured mirage, hybridized bait beckons,“plant me!” (wrong zone) “plant me!” (no germ, no growth.) Silken threads holdseasoned seeds of promise;to stay, hibernate,safe in winter dreams —or fly with zephyrstraverse oceans, deserts, to parts unknown.To alight, be consumed, dispersed — to grow. What the…
dVerse — Poetics — Carnivale
Curled in her warm arms, rocking as James Darren* sings on the radio. At bedtime, she tells me stories of faeries and ogres while rubbing my aching legs. I’m dropped at another stranger’s tent. Ignored, uneasy sleep in an empty corner until her midnight voice returns, slurs, “Let’s go.” Dad will never know. Carnies’ front…
dVerse — Prosery — Morning Muse
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish?— by T.S. Eliot, from The Waste Land Morning Muse She lay in a heap at the bottom of the back steps. Cold from the October morning’s hard-packed dirt crept into the arm, her right, that crumpled askew under her large…
dVerse — MTB — The Shape of Dust
I speak to maps. And sometimes they something back to me. This is not as strange as it sounds, nor is it an unheard of thing. Before maps, the world was limitless. It was maps that gave it shape and made it seem like territory, like something that could be possessed, not just laid waste…
dVerse — MTB — Cadralor Form
Crumpled, wet tissue in the motel room corner Orange shag carpet, particle board paneling Salt slush dries white on orange polyester Greyscale drear of earth, sky, clouds, trees At stainless steel polka-dots, figures sit hunched; mangy dogs waiting for the bell Military-grade metal clicks and clangs, Stale sweat, fragile smiles, hollow eyes Leaning on the…
Tao-Talk 