September’s palette green purple yellow and tan soft shoes, still sunny she tries to hide, but she’s too pretty in bed of soft hydrangeas my hair afrizz, I’m having a purple moment in now’s perfection green fern dresses with wide open smiles, our faces to the sun a bee festival every day on our stage…
Category: poetry
earthweal weekly challenge: When to the center? and dVerse’ OLN
image: The Otfrid labyrinth design, here the scene for the battle between Theseus and the Minotaur, in a late twelfth century manuscript from Regensburg, Germany. Ten thousand collective stepshave gotten us to right here,twisting and turning, each with,moment by moment, myriadsteps of thinking, feeling, receiving, transmitting, yetwithin a context of one-way-inone-way-out, as prescribed.When will…
dVerse — Poetics — Foot soldiers of death
I’m a hungry foot soldier,part of an army of warmongers.Leaderlessclan wiggle stepsany terrain with trees.Inches, feet, yards, mileswe march. Our pasty belliesgrowl until we find our leafy prey.Rippling ribbons of black squirmred stripes say we mean harmtasting bad our lucky charmendless search & destroy.Hair telegraph signalssay a sapling snackwe’re on attackswarming likesharks we chew it…
dVerse — Prosery — Calling All Humans
“So if all do their duty, they need not fear harm.” by William Blake, from, SONGS OF INNOCENCE (1789) “Mars Attacks!,” images of glittery spheres encompassing Earth’s atmosphere arrayed themselves on every screen. Suddenly the petty grievances between individuals and nations disintegrated. A thrum of voices registered on the Richter scale. Fear rippled through most,…
TSM 177 and earthweal’s OLW 83 — Rapunzel’s Prayer
When lady moon shines silver light, a beacon in fall’s black ink night, I see her through the window pane. She weaves her plait of gleaming white with nimble fingers, brown and veined; an act profound yet so mundane. Rapunzel, beloved priestess crone, prepares to practice arts arcane. Fresh-flowered steps barefoot to throne, raises a…
dVerse — MTB — Dancing Dead
she reads the last few pages of the book,a tale of high adventure ev’ry page,vicarious indulgence, what it took;done to distract her thinking from its rageexciting tales of bravery and hopewhere villains die and heroes conquer allno need to weep and in the darkness gropeeat, drink, be merry, maskless for the ballwe’re dancing dead…
dVerse — Poetics — Unraveled
“The trees are mad silhouettes against the rouge pink sky; perhaps they too need emptying.” – by Sanaa Rivzi, from, “A pocketful of maybes” Winter trees were madness, webbed silhouettes, gaining grey sky; compelled, relieved a keened need for empty… Pulled out through every hole in the head, crystal-silk threads now fill still, glittered heaven….
Tao-Talk 