Peony in Spring are shiny reaches from dank humus. Peony in Summer are two-tone fronds building buds. Summer peony sing frilly perfume songs. Autumn peony post-confetti subdue to yellow glow. Peony in Autumn accent crimson maple and apples. Peony in Winter are hapless sleeping stalks. The predictability of a peony’s life cycle reveals itself over…
Category: poetry
dVerse — Quadrille 132 — Anystream
Willow-draped trickleswear wet green strands, fluttering naiad’s locks tickling shaded pale fish bellies. Ordinary magical stream meanders; along its obscurest banks gnomes and bullfrogs picnic and play checkers; where butterflies and birdstraverse undergrowth tosip in mid-July’s droughtand thirsty violets tiptoe. I went looking for a nice image to fit the poem but decided to…
TSM 170 — Babydoll
Back then she was called Babydoll,a spark from mommy’s fever dream;their heaped station wagon zig-zaggedto try-outs with soulless faces. P(r)imped in ringlets and pink ruffles,back then she was called Babydoll.She batted her eyes; dimpled herway onto marquees nation-wide. Sedatived for conveniencethat by teenhood became habit.Back then she was called Babydoll.The offers changed, the lights now…
The Anthropocene Hymnal is published! — Experiments in Fiction
Today, this book of wonderful poetry about saving our planet becomes available in both paperback or kindle versions. Two of my poems have been chosen to be in it. All proceeds from the book go to organizations working to save our planet. Please consider buying one $4 (for kindle) or $9 (for paperback) or donate…
dVerse — Poetics — The Wells that Never Empty
The Muses who inspire do not abandon me;round the clock they tick, sparked heartbeatsthat draw the world ever closer in varied splendor:morning’s cooled dew in Summer,pink snow of sunrise in Winter,the earth-toned blanket of Fall,and the creeping green of Spring. At dusk’s change of shift, I listen for the wingsof Mother Night as she travels…
dVerse — Prosery — Ama
No, I do not weep at the world –I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.–Zora Neale Hurston,from “How Does it Feel to be Colored Me”in, World Tomorrow (1928) Daddy was known in our backwoods holler as Deacon. When he got up on his stump near Heron River’s shady cool banks, folks gathered; no…
TSM 169 — Sun on my face
When the sun warms my face,when the wind blows my hair,I can feel grey erase. A direct shot of grace,it reads like a prayerwhen the sun warms my face. Benediction in raysto disperse earthly cares,I can feel grey erase. I forget my mistakes,cast my doubts to the airwhen the sun warms my face. Content thoughts…
Tao-Talk 