I keep a mason jar with water at my bedside to fill the vaporizer with in winter. I also have gotten used to using a small low-watt led light as a hand-held night light as I go through my bedtime ritual of turning on the fan, filling the vaporizer, lighting incense, turning on the heating…
Category: poetry
Mourning Dove Solstice (tanka)
Mourning doves snugglein boughs of soft pine needles —bedtime comes early.Solstice soft moonlight gleams onfluffed feathers and diamond white. top image linkbottom image link
TSM 191 — You’re Mine Today
She served us hot tea and cold sesame cakeWe sipped, chewed, and talked, with a view of the lakeThe waves blurred. She cawed, “My dear, come and lay down.”I woke in her nest, now dressed bright in her gown.I struggled to sit and found wings ‘stead of arms.I struggled to speak, instead cackled and barked.My…
dVerse — MTB — Kwansaba Praise Poem
left to right: grandma at age 72; grandma holding my younger son; grandma holding me as a baby; grandma and grandpa one Christmas. To Grandma Her name means little free man. A little woman, she was not free, in tether to home, ills, and pills; yet clan flocked to her oasis for coffee, cards, laughs;…
dVerse — Poetics — One hundred and six
Kenopsia: the atmosphere of a place that is usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet. One hundred and six. Campsites, that is;with a sugar hump of dunes betweenthem and a freshwater sea.March first begins claiming dibsas fingers square-dance to ticking timersfaster than ticket nabbing to see Pearl Jam.The first weekend in June…
dVerse – Quadrille Monday #142 – Falling
Falling Tinsel flutters among sun baublesslicing wounds upon the dead, yetlost in his head he wanders, blind. Son’s bittersweet meanderingslikewise cling to bright marblesin half-sunk goo of clotted blood. Trapped in the present’s purgatorya son leaves; a man dies alone. I watched the 2020 film, “Falling,” which is written, directed, produced and starring Viggo…
Ghost flowers (tanka)
“Blue Moon Lotus,” by Kate Hungerford Ghost flowers twinkle in my silvered wake; luna’s reign gleams soft yet bright; almost home, I pause and raise a jug, toasting her tethered stars. I learned today that some white water lilies bloom at night and are called ghost flowers.
Tao-Talk 