TSM 229 & Friday Writings 45– Hymns March

“See the Light” by Giulio Bernardi How neatly click blocks as they form the walls of box container; clay, baked dust pads prison, hope long flown, left to airless midnights. The keeper’s metals clank thrice bringing tasteless gruel; little more than corpse fuel and sensory morsels. Heat of stones tell seasons. At times I’m graced…

dVerse Poetics and Word Craft Poetry Tanka Tuesday — Eternally

Kneeling in church, as he whooshes by in his blood red brocade she breathes cinnamon and flounders between heaven and earth. He glances her beatific form in passing. For him it is her ginger locks, rolling down her slender back against the vanilla cream gown. Unholy unions will be revealed and punished. They have a…

dVerse — Quadrille 160 — to a better place

We fair fringe, found.You invite us to sit,to listen to talesof your faraway, homewhere all are one,where superfluous bodiesare given in serviceto gods like you.Departure day we sitknee to knee, selfless circle,sipping farewell punch. top image: APOD: 2004 October 3 – Comet Hale Bopp and the North America Nebula De Jackson (aka whimsygizmo) is today’s host…

#TSM228 — sellebrity

Theda Bara in Cleopatra 1917 From the dawn of time, women have been held hostage by the fantasies of weak, selfish men. Clothed in death and coerced into lassoing the moon for her milk, how can we ever consider wealth and fame as food for our souls? Or the price paid with batting false eyelashes,…

dVerse — Ekphrastic on Lee Madgwick image — Safe — linked to OLN323

Lee Madgwick safe am I; green velvet glove cushions me. protected from harm, the fires in the hearths warm; seamless clay walls and chimneys, each story’s windows caulked and locked; a fortress, constructed brick by brick. sleep comes easy without anxieties, yet why are my dreams about escaping? sometimes, when awake, it’s hard to breathe…

dVerse — Prosery — apples, alyssum, and arnica

I’d like, too, to plant the sweet alyssum that smells like honey and peace. by Katherine Riegel, from the poem, “What I would like to grow in my Garden.” Summer’s wandered off. Harvest moon presides during crisp-aired dormiveglia that sweetens the apples. Not quite autumn, sunshine continues cavorting with wind’s playful nips. Today, Melba strolls…

TSM 227 — Angel without wings

[Inmates playing chess from prison cells, Attica Correctional Facility, Attica, New York], March 1972, Photography by Cornell Capa Born in chaos, bathed in misery; ribs stoved in until my red fist was an icy stone. Iron contains the beast; clanks as grunts of ghosts echo in canyons of justice. It took a queen to thaw…