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,…
Category: poetry
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…
dVerse — MTB — aphorism
No matter how limited the supply, scavengers will eat. I started thinking about how expensive all resources are getting. Food, shelter, water, heating & cooling costs, when combined, can be too much to afford for many by traditional methods. People who are in need and desperate need to get creative. Like scavengers in nature, I…
dVerse — Poetics — choice with update on 9/8/22 on Pinocchio origins
Is health dread chore as stone to bear, where taste sums not but sweat adds up? Foul apps clang fail; reminder’s swear. Is health dread chore as stone to bear as friends die young, diseased, with flair? One’s life line grows. Gray’s bitter cup. Is health dread chore as stone to bear, where taste sums…
dVerse — Poetics — Harvester
hourglass flips I’m on my way to dormiveglia. sage smoke vespers propel my orenda, a shimmer globe, among cloud trails. scavenging flotsam from former scales and jetsam tossed to eddies, I’m adrift in mother night’s owl-winged domain. golden harvests of ageless symbols; chits — gathered fruit of querencia tree Dormiveglia – (n.) the space that…
Tao-Talk 